Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Denise is the host.
You noticed the subtitle? ‘Part 2’? That means you still gots time to get off the crazy train. Sure, the first Six was a nice little piece with an interesting premise and a sneaky attempt at haiku. This post? That with the chocks kicked out. Part 2 (and Part 3) are Sixes for the fun of, as Phyllis likes to say, spending time with characters you enjoy.
You’ve been warned. lol
The prompt word:
BRANCH:
“Hold on, lemme handle this,” like an alternate-reality Ward Cleaver, after a weekend meth jag and some especially-exotic demands from his wife June, Lou Ceasare stepped to the front of the stationary conga line that ran from the entrance of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, down the sidewalk past Sil’s Loans and Musical Instruments and tapered-off in the middle of the block where the Manchester Web Mill used to be; there were no objections, protests or resistance from anyone in the line.
“Look, buddy, I know you’re a temp brought in to work the door, but what you need to understand is that me and my friends,” addressing the man on the far-side of the velvet rope, Lou waved his cigar in the general direction of the two young women standing next to him, “Would like to enter the establishment early, so that we might say hello to the guy you’re replacing, before he goes on stage, capisce?”
Both of Lou’s companions acknowledged his statement: the woman on his right, Christian Louboutin stilettos, black mini-skirt (over a pair of torn Levis) and a leather motorcycle jacket, laughed and stared at the hapless doorman, while the woman on his left, all Dior and Channel, with a delicate tattoo gracing her décolletage like a convicted jaywalker sentenced to life on a technicality, straightened the lavender handkerchief in Lou’s sports-coat breast pocket.
Like a human tidal bore, the people already in the Café began to push back on the line when the crowd suddenly branched, like a seven-year-old Moses forced to take a show after a long day playing in the desert.
A woman, diminutive in height, but 6′ 8″ or 9″ in stature, stepped up the three granite steps; the two women at Lou’s side returned her smile with what, if one were very observant, were the slightest of curtseys.
“Language, Mr. Ceasare, if you please!”
*
About clarkscottroger
Nice description of what the woman on Lou’s right was wearing: “Christian Louboutin stilettos, black mini-skirt (over a pair of torn Levis) and a leather motorcycle jacket”. It made me realize I had no clue what Christian Louboutin stilettos are. Looking them up, I see they are very expensive.
yeah… came across Louboutin when I was working on my first Ian Devereaux story. I totally lack knowledge of women’s clothing and/or fashion, so I’d spend time visiting online places like Neiman Marcus and any other high-end stores (such was/is the depth of my ignorance in the subject, I figured I could at least infer a modicum of insight, if not names of clothing items… aayyiiee)
I do like spending time with Lou, thank you.
Lou is quite a character, in every sense of that expressive word, and i have a soft spot for characters.
Tough day for the temp. I like how it ends with a bit of mystery. Or perhaps I should know the little Big Woman who carries such weight.
one of out favorite Proprietors (of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro)