Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.
Prompt word:
CHOICE
“A moment,” the tall, thin man turned from the booth where he’d just set a drink and walked towards the bar at the far end of the Café. Approaching the sole occupied table, he made the choice to treat the four people seated there to an exquisite demonstration of non-verbal communication.
To Lou Caesare: a slight up-tilt of his head with a touch of the interrogative crescenting of an eyebrow; his trajectory curved slightly outward as he came parallel to the table and to Rosetta Storme: he offered pressed-lips, the most chaste of smiles, quickly extinguishing the flare of disappointment in the young woman’s eyes with the mischievous sideways-grin of an adolescent boy discovering that, for the moment, there were no adults present; opposite the young woman at the table, Ian Devereaux who sat all Iscariot on Lou’s left side, the Manager threw the detective a frown clearly not on speaking terms with his eyes, easily one of the most threatening or the innocuous of challenges; and finally, the tall, thin man passed by the Sophomore: a gentle shake of his head, like an arm around the shoulder of a prize-fighter in their home corner at a point when things could go either way.
“Six Sentence Café & Bistro,” with the handset between his left shoulder and ear, the Proprietor smiled thanks to the Bartender. Willing the bar stool into motion, his field of vision scrolled: from the open space of the main Café with it’s solitary table of guests, panning down the interior wall, stuttering past the small, empty stage until finally coming to a rest at the end of the bar nearest the hallway that led to the Manager’s Office.
“Yeah, I’ll hold,” the tall, thin man smiled at his reflection in the darkly-polished wood and lit a cigarette, knowing that Mimi was smiling in return.
About clarkscottroger
I like how the tall, thin man gave Rosetta “pressed-lips, the most chaste of smiles” and the Sophomore “a gentle shake of his head”. That sort of sums up the situation they are in.
well said*
* you know, you’re totally welcome at the SSC&B for a walk-on
Yes, there’s a smile, and yet under it is a wish those cancer sticks would lose their grip on you.
alas I gave them up so long ago (doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the vicarious pleasure from watching a character (who might bear some resemblance to yours truly) enjoy them
Very much worth watching what’s going on, but not too close for the moment.
(she said)
arms-length yo, good advice even in fiction lol
I loved the descriptors you used here. I have to say I was able to visualize each one- the most memorable was that of the adolescent boys crooked smile. Great writing!
thanks, V
I can’t seem to shake the sense of good natured conspiratorial goings on between the tall, thin man and Mimi. What are they not telling us, lol.
Enjoyable and fun scene.
ty
… “who sat all Iscariot on Lou’s left side…” That should be the secret password for passing through the red door.
lol not a bad idea!
Pressed lips and a chaste smile … I’ll remember this description 😑
cool
So much dialogue, in between the dialogue: actionable nonverbals!
:}
Great descriptions and I enjoyed the music 🙌
ikr?
Wow, there so much going on and you’ve brought it to life through your skillfully selected words!
appreciate it, Keith