the Wakefield Doctrine

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.

Hosted by Denise, there is one rule: Six (no more, no less) Sentenceses to the story.

Previously, in our serial story…

Prompt word:

FLAKE

“Glad you could make it,” a slight pivot, shoulders barely half a degree down and the tall, thin man moved among the tables in the main area of the Café, his smile a letter of transit through the crowd, “Good to see you, how long has it been…” the ecosystem of a party, especially one with such a varied constituency as the first April Fools Day³, generated it’s own language, each individual contributing to the lexicon, snowflakes in a linguistic blizzard.

“Pierre, Héloïse we are so glad you could make it,” taking the man’s hand, he smiled at the woman.

“Non, mon ami, c’est mon honneur, le château en Normandie est à vous lors de vos prochaines vacances; après ce que tu as fait… nous aimerions tous les deux pouvoir faire plus,” the woman smiled, the patina of fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes conveyed genuine affection, yet despite her advanced years, there was a flare in the back of her eye that spoke of a lifetime of… life, as she elbowed her husband with the most subtle of marital arts, “Forgive, my husband, you’d think being a diplomat would make him more sensitive; now go, attend to your other guests.”

The Proprietor checked his phone, knowing that Nick and his fellow-traveler, while likely to put in an appearance, rode the winds of chaos on their private odyssey and headed to the left of the small stage which, at the moment, was occupied by two women seemingly intent on recreating the cave scene at the end of the movie, ‘Annihilation’; the typical concentric audience/observer/participant-wanna-be rings formed around the stage.

“Ma come puoi anche solo suggerire che… aspetta, ecco il nostro ospite… chiedi a lui, Proprietario,” the young woman lurched, thereby appending a subtext to her complaint even as her young man blushed, a not-so-proud display of the purple heart of public faux pas, “I apologize for my date, sir, she’s never been to an event with such a high ratio of the celebrated and the notorious.”

Looking through the waving reeds of human figures, the Proprietor noted that Chris‘s table was, at the moment empty, except for her laptop, the open cover perpendicular and showing stickers that included ‘Louvre ’84 ‘all the world’s a pyramid’; sensing the party had reached a level of equilibrium to obviate the need for a formal host, the tall, thin man headed towards the bar and, beyond it, the Manager’s office.

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s weakly contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, subject to the Rule of Six.

Previously, in our story

Prompt Word:

CARD

“The first guests of our April Fool’s Day³ will be arriving before we know it, time to get to work setting up,” the tall, thin man, after rolling up his impeccably-tailored sleeves, put down the rack of glasses and held his suit coat out, over the bar, “Do you mind putting this on a chair somewhere?”

Perfectly shaped eyebrows shifted like hungry wolves looking for the prey’s weakness as Rosetta Storme stared in disbelief; finally her shoulders relaxed slightly, but sufficiently, to bring her upper body from attention to at ease.

Like olden day card sharps looking for the single weakness in their opponent, the young woman and the refined gentleman began an exchange:

“No problem, what the hell, I’ll go put it in your office,” and took one step in the direction of the hallway…

“Stop, under no circumstances are you to ever go down the hallway without being accompanied by a Proprietor…”

“Jeez… just trying to, like, get in the spirit, but if you people are so uptight, maybe I should just leave…”

“Not at all, it’s for your… I promised Lou that you would be safe working here,”

“Hey, old dude, I ain’t no kid, I can take care of myself and am way capable of handling drunks both male and female…”

“You misunderstand me, this is not about the customers, hell, it’s not even about the Manager’s office,… it’s about the hallway…”

“Are you busting my balls or what?”

Sighing, the Proprietor continued, “You’ve worked here, what, a total of five days, and among other attributes, you are very observant…”

“Sure but whats that got to do with…”

“Don’t interrupt, just tell me if you’ve seen a single thing about this place, lights, plumbing fixtures, furniture that seems to be broken or in need of repair…wait, don’t answer… the  hallway at the end of the bar, tell me, what you see?”

“The lights are fucked up, a bulb or two that’re ready to burn out, … a little dark for a emergency exit route…it’s been badly lit since I got to this zoo, so the hell what…”

“Do you think Mimi, a Proprietor and one of the, to use an expression from before your time. the most-together people in this… zoo, as you so charitably put it, sits there at the last seat, right next to the service station because it’s the best seat in the house?

“She’s there so you or some other kid, being all young and oh-so-sure of yourself does not come to harm.”

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.

Hosted by Denise, there is one rule: Six (no more, no less) Sentenceses to the story

Previously, ‘The tall, thin man laughed...‘

Prompt word:

CLOUD

“Good, though I would have accepted: the original industrial section of a medium-sized city currently in the early phase of redevelopment;” the Proprietor waved an arm in an arc that, were this a fanciful Disney movie, would illuminate the granite-stone mill buildings and multi-story factories, most still empty shells, some, like the one housing the Café were showing signs of life, commercial and otherwise.

“We’re hosting an event on the third of next month and it behooves all employees be able, whenever called upon, to provide clear directions to those wishing to attend,” the Proprietor walked down the center of the midnight street until he stood opposite the Bistro’s entrance.

“From the commercial section of the city, turn right onto a boulevard where the plate-glass store windows decrease in proportion to the lessening traffic (pedestrian and auto); bear right at a fork in the road where surnames replace brand names; one more right turn on what, at first glance seems an alley, though still a commercial area, the trend is clearly from retail products to personal services, i.e. tattoos, massages, private investigation, food, beverage and entertainment not available from your computer or, even from the Cloud,” Rosetta pointed towards the far end of the street where the anemic light of the thriving city gave the illusion of life to the wet cobblestones.

“And now, for the last question of the final phase of your evaluation as a probationary employee, describe the interior of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro …in fifty words or less,” the Proprietor looked at the young woman.

“The bar forms the right wall, interrupted once by the kitchen access. Beyond the end where Mimi sits, a hallway and Manager’s office. The other walls? Exterior with alcoves, interior with a small stage in the middle and, the space between: tables for guests and the occasional audience.”

“…keep the change,” Rosetta Storme laughed and the tall, thin man let a full, unrestrained smile off-leash.

*