Jillian Chantal

This week’s word is stutter and I feel like I’ve used it as a cliche. Oh well, you’ll just have to deal with it. LOL. I wanted to be clever but there really wasn’t a way to do that this time. So, here’s what I have. Be sure to check out the other tales here. 

“Nothing wrong with the clientele, Ian. This is the first issue we’ve ever had. Some of those blokes out there may look rough and scare you since you’re from the upper crust of British society, but most of them are hard workers who are only looking for a beer and a game of pool after a day earning wages. I think if you gave them a chance, you’d find they are a bit of all right.”

“So just the divorced women are an issue?” Ian glanced down at the ledger in front of him. A bit embarrassed by being called out for being a snob, he didn’t know how to apologize to Simon.

“It would appear so. I’m not familiar with the wounded woman. It must be her first time in. Two of the others at her table, I did recognize. I didn’t see the actual incident but if I had to bet, I’d bet on the one with the blonde hair. She’s a troublemaker.” Simon took the seat opposite Ian and ran his hands over the surface of the battered desk.

“Can’t you ban people like that? Is there a law here that lets you?”

“Sure I can decide to tell someone they aren’t welcome on the premises but why toss out a paying customer?”

“I thought you said she was trouble.”

“I didn’t stutter, mate, the woman has some problems but she’s in here a lot and always buys nice wines and champagnes—by the bottle at that—and you know the markup on those, right?”

“No, I’m afraid my knowledge doesn’t extend to wholesale wine prices.”

Simon stood, leaned over the desk and poked at a line on the ledger. “See that entry there?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“That’s for a case of Merlot. Twelve bottles in a case. Do the math and see how much per bottle. Not all that much, huh?”

“Okay. I see. And this shows me what?” Ian jotted some notes on his pad.

“Now check this out.” Simon shuffled his hand around on the desktop. Finding what he sought, he handed the paper to his brother. “This is what a glass costs and this is what the bottle sells for at retail.”

“Wow. That’s some kind of markup.” Ian looked across the desk at Simon. “How do you live with yourself?”

Today’s word is ruthless. I am still woking on the new story taking place in the bar where the heroine cut her hand. She is now being treated by the bar owner’s brother, a doctor. Be sure to read the other tales of the week here. 

“How does a champagne flute break in one’s hand?” The wrapping was off and Ian’s gentle touch on her hand sent a shiver up Lanett’s spine. He looked her in the eye. “Was it a flute or one of the round ones on a stem? If the stem snapped, it wouldn’t shatter glass like this so I’m thinking it was a flute?”

“Yes. It shattered in my hand.”

“I don’t see how that could happen without a lot of force.”

“Hey, mate, how it happened doesn’t matter to your medical care of this lady, it only matters for my report,” Simon said.

“It does matter. Despite what bar owners want, doctors always take a medical history of their patients.” He turned back to Lanett. “What happened? Was there great force?”

“It sure was. I was supposed to be drinking a toast to celebrate my friend’s divorce but—”

“You celebrate divorce?” Ian looked horrified.

“Well, no, not normally and that’s really where it went wrong.”

“What’s that, love?” Simon asked as he wrote on something on the desk that Lanett presumed was the incident report.

“I reminded my friend Amanda of how happy she was when she got married and how we bridesmaids saluted her with champagne then. It seems that didn’t sit well and she crashed her glass into mine.”

“She sounds like a charming lady,” Ian said.

“More like ruthless, you ask me,” Simon said.

Ian nodded over at his brother. “Hand me my medical bag.”

“Do you doctors still really carry those?” Lanett asked. He still held her hand and she realized she could sit there the rest of her life with her hand in his and be content. It was a shock since she’d just met the man and didn’t usually react that way to anyone.

This week we have a picture prompt and it has actually served as the inspiration for this new story that I posted the beginning of last week. This week’s snippet picks up where last week leaves off which I don’t do often as I like to leave a lot out- one particular reader will like that I didn’t skip anything (Iris- lol). These posts are limited to 300 words each. Here’s the picture and be sure not to miss the other stories here.

Lanett held her glass aloft anyway and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out, “I just can’t help but think about the night three years ago when we were toasting your wedding as your bridesmaids. You were so happy–“

Before she could finish the sentence, the other three woman clinked their glasses together. Amanda hit hers so hard against Lanett’s that the glass in Lanett’s hand shattered, spilling champagne on her suit and cutting her hand.

Flinging the remnants of the glass to the floor, Lanett jumped from her bar stool and grabbing her purse from where she’d set hung it on the back of the seat, shoved the strap over her shoulder and stalked toward the ladies room to tend to her hand.

Once she was in the empty restroom, Lanett took several paper towels and wiped the blood from her hand to see how bad the cut was. It was difficult to see it since the blood kept flowing. Turning on the warm water and bracing herself against the sting she knew would come as soon as she dunked her hand, Lanett took the plunge, sucking in a deep breath as she did so.

There was still some glass embedded in the flesh. Lanett gritted her teeth and leaned over to try to get it out. The big piece came easily but there were still splinters that hurt and seemed to go deeper the more she attempted to remove them. “Great. Now I have to spend the rest of this lousy night at the emergency room. Just peachy.”

“Are you okay?” Marcia came in and asked as the door shut behind her.