story- The Earl Swan (2)

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part 2 of 6
-2-
THE 3^rd Earl of Constance had traveled a good distance to visit his fiancé Lady Parade. They had planning to do, for their wedding was in a month’s time. For propriety’s sake, of course, Orion was given his own room.
But Bri could not find him there. She had knocked but received no answer.
She thought then of all the book-related conversations they had had in private and in letters. Orion read constantly, and he was an expert on archeology, perhaps he would be in the study doing what he did best.
Sure enough, there was a light beneath the door.
She rapped on the door gently. She smiled when a soft baritone called out, “Come in.”
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. The fading sunlight illuminated the desk and the slender earl turned in his chair.
“Ms. Salud, why hello…” he gave his wide smile. “Do have a seat.”
“My lord, I’ve just come down from talking to Lady Parade.”
“Oh? How was it?”
He had a ruler, which he was using to sketch out some kind of floor plan. Bri had seen him make many things, musically and artistically. He was, in a word, ‘brilliant.’
“She…well, sir. Permission to be frank?”
He looked up through his glasses. He took them off and reclined in his chair. “What’s wrong, dear?”
She caught herself gazing again and shook herself. “Oh… nothing. She just…I feel like I would be a bad friend if I didn’t tell you. And yet…she is my mistress. I cannot betray her confidence…she…called you a ‘sodomite!’”
“Oh?” he looked off in the distance. “She used that word?”
“Yes, and for once, I think she used a word correctly. And she’s…I’m afraid she’s not being faithful, my lord…”
Orion’s green eyes dropped to the floor. He nodded, “I know, Ms. Bri. I’ve known for some time.”
“What? But, my lord! She is doing it as revenge for something that is not even true! She thinks you slight her for the same sex! That is not fair…”
“Well, you are right. It is not, I have been faithful,” he sighed. “But…she is not…entirely wrong. Do not tell anyone, please.”
He turned to the librarian then, and she stiffened when she realized he was crying.
“Orion, eh, my lord, please…” she stood from her seat and threw her arms around him. “Do not cry…I won’t tell anyone…but is it true?”
“I’m afraid so…I am…a deviant.”
“Don’t cry, Orion. Oh, don’t cry,” she stroked his hair.
The thought was strange, she must admit to herself. Thinking of the man with other men was surreal. But then again, he was so gentle and elegant…perhaps he needed someone masculine to compliment him. Bri had never been one to dismiss unconventional things just because they were uncommon.
“So…you do not love Lady Parade?”
“Oh, I love her…why else would I be faithful when I do not want her…?” he asked, pulling away.
She had always perceived Orion as a strong individual, even somewhat icy. To see him weep was making her afraid.
Desdemona was Bri’s least favorite person in that moment. She kissed Orion’s forehead before she realized what she was doing.
He looked up at her, wide-eyed. “What should I do?”
“Confront her. She is being unfaithful. That is grounds for a split.”
“I promised my mother I would wed Lady Parade. I hope to uphold that promise.”
“But she is causing you pain, my lord. Would your mother want that?”
“No…no, she wouldn’t.”
Bri was astonished by how quickly the man was following her lead. She realized she was stroking his hair and she stopped. He frowned when she did.
“I am sorry, Bri,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a small handkerchief. He cleaned his face and whispered, “I am a wreck thinking about it…there is much expected of me…that I do not know if I will be able to do.”
Bri knew exactly what he was referring to and she nodded. “Perhaps a physician would have advice.”
He looked up at her, his eyes like harvest moons. “What? No, no! telling a doctor would be scandalous.”
“You would not have to tell him why, muffin. All you would have to say is that you cannot perform.”
Orion absorbed this advice and looked at the ceiling, “Yes…yes, I suppose that would work. It is embarrassing but not scandalous…you are a clever woman, Brigid Salud.”
“Thank you, sir. I learned to be swift when I was an orphan.”
“It’s most admirable.”
“So is being so virtuous while being engaged to an alligator,” she stopped herself, her laugh bursting forth again. “Forget I said that!”
Orion stared and then laughed easily. “It will be quite difficult to forget…I only hope the physician would not ask too many questions…”
“Perhaps if you…close your eyes and imagine it were a man…”
Orion blushed and looked out the window. He scratched his neck and mumbled, “No, no, Bri. T-t-that would not work. I’m…I don’t, well, you know, I don’t do that…”
Bri cocked her head like a cat. Then her nervous laugh returned. She put her hands to her face as she blushed painfully. Had she really just mentioned something so private? And had he really just offered her such intimate detail? So, he was not the leader in bed…
Bri was not an ignorant woman. She had read many things that most men in England would blush over. She knew of the Kuma Sutra, for example, that book which everyone seemed to fear and cherish all at once. She knew the secrets of manly love.
“Well…I’ve read before…of a way…for…”
She bit her lip and inched forehead. Orion did not pull away and she whispered in his ear. When she pulled away, his face was red again.
“Good heavens! Ms. Salud! Where did you read that?” he laughed. “I know you were married, but…”
She smiled at how shy he became. Her last husband, the awful viscount who had gone all the way to Parliament to divorce her, had nothing to do with the knowledge she had gleaned from reading.
“I’m not afraid I understand entirely…” His eyebrow cocked and she felt nervous but had to press on. It seemed he was being playful. She could not stop herself from whispering more in his ear.
To her sudden delight, he had his hand on her back then and he whispered another question in her ear.
She giggled and answered in kind.
They seemed to exchange these intimate details for an entire night, which ended with Bri on his lap, kissing him. Her hands were in his hair and he held her in place. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and she was not going to let the moment pass by as if it were nothing. She was going to seize this opportunity.
Then, there in the office, she gave him a demonstration of what she had been talking about.
Earl Swan is © 2010-2011 Luz Briar. ALL rights Reserved.

story: The Earl Swan (part 1)

(Bri & Orion. By me. Yes I know I draw like Dr. Seuss…)
If you read please CLICK A RESPONSE or COMMENT to let me know people are reading. Much appreciated.
(part 1 of 6)
The Earl Swan
England, 1850
1
The librarian fastened the lace of her boots and then grabbed her load of books from the ground. Desdemona Parade’s library was so vast and so quiet the whip of the laces and crinkling of pages echoed. It never ceased to give the librarian Brigid the spooks. On more than one occasion she had screamed to find someone behind her, usually the sulky heiress Desdemona herself.
“Ms Bri,” came a lush voice.
This time it was not Desdemona. Bri jumped and her nervous tick--a petulant, uncontrolled laugh--bubbled up. It was such a deep, manly laugh, and she such a petite woman, that it never ceased to give people a start.
When she met Lord Hookwell’s green eyes her face reddened and she apologized for dropping her books.
“My lord, you move like a shadow.”
“I’m sorry, Ms Salud. I was only saying hello,” he gave his wide smile. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“My lord—“ the laugh “-- I can never quite come to grips with the gigantic SIZE of this library. For a woman who never reads, really…” she caught herself insulting Des, Orion’s fiancé, and bowed her head, “I mean, it is HUGE, you must admit.”
Bri had clutched her bundle of books to her bosom. Then, she loosened her grip, realizing that the books bunched her large breasts up and she did not need to distract the poor earl.
“What is your business in the library, sir?” she teased.
“The librarian is good at conversation,” he complimented playfully “and Des is boring me with her talk of…well, you know the way she gets.”
Bri’s laugh popped up again. “Pardon, I can’t seem--” again “to get the laugh under control today.”
Orion laughed, his face suddenly brightened. He was a slender figure, a bit taller than average and Bri always had to stare up at him, due to his tallness and her shortness. He had light blonde hair and a gaunt face which often gave him a melancholic look. But best of all was his toothy smile. He had the nicest teeth Bri had ever seen on a man.
“You have a unique voice, Ms. Salud. I’m sure you’ve been told that before.”
He was accustomed to her laugh by now, and did not mock her for it.
She snapped out of her daze, reminding herself that Orion was almost a decade her junior and her employer’s fiancé. It was something Bri had to remind herself often, for she was a lusty woman at heart.
“Yes, yes,” she smirked. “My voice. Thank you, I suppose. It is a melting pot from India to England, I’m afraid…”
Bri was told often that her accent was strange. What with being an English waif born in India, raised by both natives and Britons.
“No, it is the voice itself I would say,” Orion mused, bending down to collect a book that Bri had overlooked on the floor. “But sadly I must return to Desdemona and the ‘planning.’ Until later--” he took her hand and squeezed it. “Farewell.”
Bri felt her insides cool as her cheeks flushed, and then the earl was gone, like a swift white swan lost in the bright sunlight.
She cursed herself privately. She had already suffered much drama with her ex-husband, an unfaithful viscount who ventured all the way to Parliament to divorce Bri. And what for? Because she refused to turn a blind eye on his affairs. Of course, he chalked it up to her being “frigid.” But nothing could be further from the truth, as evidenced by the problem she had now.
Lusting after an engaged earl…she reflected, climbing a ladder to shelve a book. That would be my luck…
“Bri, I want your opinion on something,” Desdemona summoned the librarian-assistant, who was truly her ladies’ maid at the end of the day. She pointed a long, manicured fingernail to the window, a landscape of rolling green hills. “Elephants…”
The woman let the statement linger with much importance. Bri cocked an eyebrow.
“my lady…they never forget?” Bri tried to make sense of the heiress’ statement.
“Haha. No. what do you think of elephants instead of horses for the wedding? Would Lord Hookwell be too shy about it?”
“Far too modest,” and reasonable, Bri managed not to add.
“Ah, he has no imagination,” Des proclaimed in an exaggeration.
“I would beg to differ,” Bri offered, pouring the lady’s tea. “Your fiancé is very artistic.”
“Oh,” she snapped suddenly. “that reminds me.”
No topic could stay on anyone else for very long. Des needed time to shine, after all.
Much to Bri’s dread, Des grabbed for her violin in the corner and abused its strings too quickly to make any sort of music. Bri refrained from covering her ears, though the effect of the sound was very much like a cat falling out of a window repeatedly.
“Did you recognize the piece?”
Piece of Shit, in D-minor.
“Yes…uh, no.”
“Mozart. The Magic Flute,” Des raised an eyebrow proudly, not mentioning what part of the opera she had been ‘playing.’
“I’m sorry, Ms. I missed it.”
Des’ dark eyebrows dropped and she attacked the violin again in another melodramatic display, her face held stoic purposefully to appear alluring. At times, Bri wanted to jump out of the window with the imaginary cat.
The heiress Desdemona Parade was a beautiful woman, with pale skin and long dark hair. But there were many things, in Bri’s opinion, that ruined the would-be beauty. Des wore a vial of “blood” as a necklace, she professed to know spirits and be a practitioner of witchcraft. She scarcely did smile except in a contrived way and what she liked was selective and of no real opinion except what it contradicted. She thought herself a master musician after three years of dabbling in violin along with other rich young nobles. She was at home in the social circle of young rebellious artists with nothing to stand up against.
Worst of all, Des considered Bri one of her closest friends for the ironic reason that Bri would not lie. She amused Des, it seemed. Bri was a woman who could not be bothered with pretensions and flattery. Her lack of social graces-- that distinct tick of hers-- her mousy looks—she had buckteeth, large brown eyes and brunette hair -- and the famous divorce from a viscount; all of these factors added up to Bri’s being gutted of any false hopes for social status. Sometimes Bri felt like a “deviant” accessory for her friend-employer, like a sort of slave-made handbag made from the skin of baby animals.
“I’ve thought of inviting Jaun to the wedding,” Des spoke, probably cued by the glazed-over look in Bri’s eye.
“Will Orion--eh, Lord Hookwell, be bothered with that, miss? That seems a tad…absurd…”
Juan was one of Desdemona’s many lovers. Bri had met the man and found him as pretentious as the heiress herself.
“My fiancé doesn’t know so he has no reason to care,” she sighed, “Juan is sad since…we were intimate…he says, frankly, no other woman compares.”
Bri was standing behind Des, so she was able to roll her eyes freely. More secrets from Orion?
“What if he interrupts the wedding?” Bri asked, not masking her bitterness. “He will if he loves you and wants you.”
Usually her sarcasm flew over the heiress’ head, so she did not worry about masking it.
Des pasted on a smile and perked up. Again, she stroked the poor violin and continued to play. “Do you think Orion will be angry if I tell him?”
Bri unleashed the truth, all the while Des kept silent in an attempt to be mysterious.
“Ms, frankly I worry his heart will break. It is the third time this has happened with three different men. Three is excessive.”
“He wants to fester in his pants,” Des breathed.
Bri held her breath. Again, Des was trying to be serpentine and falling short. It was downright farcical.
“Do you mean, Ms. Parade, that he will not perform in the bedroom? I don’t think you are using the word fester correctly.”
“Fester means to rot. What do you think I should do, Ms. Bri?”
Bri continued but all the while Des was sulking while ‘playing’ the violin. Bri, accustomed to being tuned out whenever critique arose, began to toss out nonsense to see if the woman would notice.
“If you want a turkey for a house pet, you should fill its litter box with wood shavings. It is a dumb bird and will try to eat sand or rocks you put in a box. Also, it has been known to trip.”
“Interesting,” Des stated, eyes closed. “He’s a sodomite, you know?”
Bri’s jaw dropped. She knew that Des had been implying this for a long time now. But to hear her actually say it sent Bri off the hinge.
“Ms Parade, your husband might be refusing you because you aren’t properly wed yet and he wants to avoid a pregnancy. Furthermore, not every man who rejects you is a sodomite. Perhaps you should think before you assume things.”
“Are you finished?” Des asked, looking up from her violin, still playing.
Bri nearly wished the duchess would fire her on the spot. Alas, she kept attacking the violin and now Bri had to quit the room, lest she yell at her employer more.
She knew the earl well from having spoken so often to him, both in letters and in the library. Their friendship was not so well-known to Desdemona but that was just as well. If the duchess knew of their friendship, surely jealousy would be ignited.
But never did Bri have the courage to ask Lord Hookwell, the 3^rd Earl of Constance, whether or not the nasty rumors were true. There were some who said he fancied gentlemen over ladies, but Bri shrugged that off as foolish chatter. The lord was engaged to a woman, after all.
But now, Desdemona’s using this as an excuse for infidelity had pushed Bri to the limit. She must speak to the earl.
© Luz Briar 2011. All Rights Reserved.

Excerpts and previews…?

A writer doesn’t become published by being a private person. (Unless you’re Emily Dickenson, but seeing as I am definitely NOT a Dickenson, and much more of a shameless self-promoter we’ll exclude her from our thoughts.) Obviously, as an artist I need an audience of some sort. I don’t crave a stadium full of screaming fans (mostly because I’m not a rock star), but I do crave feedback of all kind. My problem comes with the fact that I am extremely private in most things.

That is why I have decided I would like to share bits and excerpts from my fiction on this blog.

But before I do this I need to know that people will read or even just visit my blog. I don’t want to be posting for no one as that tends to make me feel like an idiot.

This blog has so far been a home for my (polished) poetry, artwork and (crude) comics. But my real love is fiction and I would like to show it here if people are willing.

So, I ask a favor of you. Let me know that you are here, looking at BriarProse, and I will give you samples/excerpts from my work. Like any writer, I cannot guarantee you will always adore what I write, but I will toot my own horn and promise I am never boring. Trust me there.

So, what is it? Are you there? Are you reading? Let me know.  Click a response, leave a comment, send me a death threat. Whatever tickles your fancy.

(Gifts without reception…)

poem: the Meat Grinder

I met my love at 7 years old

By the age of 12, it had me to hold

I’ve thus devoted

My everything

To this hungry creature,

My Love, a machine.

 

The factory whistle pierces

Our smoggy night

While in march the products

Of its other grooms and brides;

The paltry they farmed just

For this purpose

But I send in another limb

(of my own)

 

It favors the formulas

And ripened styles.

Be they brilliant produce

Or be they trite.

It’s more fixated

With the price tags

Than with the blood-drops

That I have wept.

 

The factory whistle laughing

Throughout sardonic dusk

While others’ cattles

March in, I send my bust.

At least it tastes me

And chews me well

Before it shrugs me off

(and spits out my shell)

 

“I respect your spirit”

It chortles at me

“You don’t compromise

For anything.

And if I don’t see you

Or congratulate you

I will always swallow

What you produce.”

Hardy-har! I put my heart down

On the conveyer belt

I strung out my veins

And gave them as well.

Slice by slice

I’ll be hacked away

And just to be forgotten,

Not a part of the menu’s dine

I should have learned to farm

And now I’m only a spine.

 

“What kind of farmer

Harvests themselves?

Learn the formula

And it won’t be such hell.

Every time you’re grinded

You foolish artist

you tried to make art

instead of market.

But as long as you send me

Your meat, I will eat

I won’t discriminate

But do not expect me

To stop the factory’s whistle

On your account!”

 

I understand, Meat Grinder

I know you have no heart

You’re here to consume

You’re not here for art.

But I’m only a spine now

Your warning comes to late.

I am already processed.

Bon appetite.

©2011 Luz Briar.

(A/N: Please click a response if you’ve read. I like to know if people are reading or not. Even comment if you want…The subject matter of this poem should let you know how tired I am of selective readers…)

Chisel in Hand

 

(Pygmalion & Galatea by Bulfinch)

 

I am asking you

Who gives a damn about

The finished sculpture now,

Without its feelings,

Or a soul, or a spirit endowed?

If it can no longer cry to you

With tears that empower

If it can no longer smile for you

As a gardener’s flower

If it can no longer bleed the blood

That falls for you to nurse

Than what use do you have of it?

What is this object’s worth?

When your object’s failings cease to be

Its personal tragedy

When that subhuman statue turns to see

The world in full humanity

And marble eyes fill with tears

That you did not supply

And leaks its salty water

Is it still lovely in your eyes?

When it happens to step into the sun

And into the night wind, curious

Will you say that it has shunned

Its creator, and abandoned him for play.

Chisel-wielder, do you see

How you look upon me

Not as a Someone with a reflection

But as an object for your needs?

A sculptor looking with aspiration

Never with full admiration

Chisel, ever in your hand

©2010 LuzBriar.

 

NOTE to Reader: Folks, if you are here and reading, PLEASE click a response below. You don’t even have to leave a comment, just check off something at the bottom of the page. Unless, of course, you hate it. Then do tell me why. What’s the point of posting if nobody reads?! :(