Rattown - Part 1 (or, Three's Company)

Every so often, I get so frustrated with my writing that I throw out whatever I'm working on and start something entirely new in a genre I either never touch or simply hate, and see what I can build from there. I like to believe this makes me a better writer; in truth, it might just make me look like I'm trying to be a better writer. Either way, somebody can learn from this, I'm sure. And for what it's worth, I hope you enjoy the next bit. I focused on dialogue more than anything because, let's face it, I could use some practice.

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Three's Company

In 1987, the Ratwater city council held its Christmas ball in the manorhouse of one George El Tuckett. The famously rich man had become so through a litany of daring and careless investments. He'd spent as much time as a defendant in court as he had the aggressor, although he never lost, either way. Something was off about the man, but he was, as mayor Rosswell put it, "so damned chivalrous, it doesn't matter." And he was quite right.

As the orchestra picked up a slow waltz and the men and woman on the dance floor began their graceful stepping to the tune, bathed from above in the warm glow of candlelight, refracted a hundred times over by the crystal chandeliers in which they nested. All around then, reflected perfectly by the polished wood floor, sat round tables draped in ebony silk covered in a grandose representation of food in the form of a platter tower where each course had its own tier. People sat around these tables, happily chatting and eating, heedless of the cold outside despite the majestic windows that fronted each end of the ballroom, flanked by gigantic conifers heavy laden with the snow that fell in near sheets.

Along a far wall beneath one of the windows there was a bar that ran from one wall to the next in a giant, swathing curve. Behind it, dressed in brilliant white livery were six bartenders ready at beck and call. Seated at this bar sat a man and a woman, he in a three-piece suit that looked as if it had been cut and tailored that very day and she in a gown of deep indigo cut to show a flattering amount of cleavage without insulting her dignity. White lace cloaked her arms from fingertip to mid-upper arm where bronzed skin showed up to the shoulder. She wore her auburn hair loose in waves that spilled halfway down her partially naked back.

"Tell me, Richard," she sang, "what brings you here? I thought you were specifically banned from this event."

"Yes," he conceded with a dip of his head. "Yet here I am, drawn inevitably by your beauty and this," he indicated the room with an all-encompassing gesture, "event."

He spoke the truth. She was indeed beautiful. Hazel eyes sparkled beneath heavy lashes in a face that was both exotic and homely. Her lips, wide apart in laughter, shone ruby and her fair skin was soft in the careful light. She brought a drink to her lips with dignity and returned the glass, wide bowl on narrow stem, to the glistening marble bartop.

"Besides," continued Richard. "What was I to do two nights shy of Christmas Eve without you to tease with my ever irritating presence?" He, too, lifted a glass to his lips with a clink of scotch-drowned ice against crystal and replaced it beside her cocktail with a grimace of satisfaction. "I am, however, surprised to not see your boyfriend here, Mizz Tuckett."

"Oh, Richard, he's not my boyfriend! You know that." She took another sip, face stark with affront. "And don't call me that. My name is Olyvia."

"Well, Olyvia," he ventured. "God knows the man would like to be. Thinks he is, even, I dare say." Another sip of scotch.

"That's ridiculous." But she clearly didn't think so. Her cheeks burned a complimentary rose and her gaze dropped to the black marble.

"You don't like him, do you?"

"Richard!"

Quickly, he backpedaled. "I'm sorry! I just don't trust him is all."

"He can be very nice when he likes to."

"Which is never. For God's sake, Olyvia, end it with him. There are plenty of men who'd die to shake your hand." This was true, and it made her blush all over again, but she didn't reply.

At last she spoke, eyes still averted. "There was never anything to begin with, Richard. He simply wants to believe there was."

This was accepted in silence but for the rattling of ice. The band began to play some fast-paced rendition of another Christmas carol much to the delight of various couples around them who quickly vanished to the dance floor. Richard turned to watch but a shadow soon passed over his face and he spoke.

"Ah. There he is."

Sure enough, Olyvia's unwelcome, overprotective companion was now striding toward them, heedless of those dancing around him. He looked to have come inside recently and had yet to remove his coat. He stopped before them, the smell of crisp leather and cold snow wafting from him slightly. His eyebrows were knit together in a fierce scowl outdone only by the tightness of his fists at his sides.

"Olyvia."

"Will."

"Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Richard." A beaming smile.

"Hi."

"Richard."

"Bill."

"That's Will to you."

"Will." Then, "Have a drink, Will."

"No, thanks, we're just leaving."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "You're here with somebody?"

"Come, Olyvia."

"She's not yours to beck, Will."

"She sure is. Aren't you, Olyvia?"

"Well, I..."

"Yes, I know you are. See?"

"Actually, I'm afraid I don't, Will. 'Fraid I don't at all."

Will fidgeted, obviously not expecting any resistance. "Well, who the hell are you then?"

The eyebrow raised again. "It's not nice to swear in front of the lady, Will."

"C'mon, Olyvia."

"Will, I--"

The first word came out in a bark, hastily replaced by a hushed tone after, "Just! Look, let's just go, back to my place. Then we can talk all this over. I have a Christmas present for you, Olyv."

"She's not with you, Will."

"Stay out of this, you!"

"I'll stay out of whatever I damn well please--sorry, Olyvia--and the lady isn't here with you, so back off."

"What, she's with you?" Will scoffed.

"Ah, no, not as such, but--"

"Hah! See? C'mon, Olyv."

"And she's not a prize to be won, you chauvinistic--"

"I'd like to stay with Richard, Will."

His next words came out in a shout. "It didn't have to come to this!" And he reached within his long, leather jacket and withdrew a handgun which he levelled between the eyes of Richard. "Everybody get down on the floor!"