and so, we're nearly done with our four days of fiction and a return to normality of recipes and clothes and Pepper the Dog on Monday. Do check out the first two parts (from Monday and Tuesday) of this short story/prologue before reading this third part and wait for the finale on Thursday!
"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison KeillorTheir love was burning as brightly as it ever would, and the heightened emotions for each other led to heightened emotions regarding other things as well. Fellow musicians caught the eyes of both Ginny and WB, but only their eyes. Neither ever strayed, but both considered it too often for the other’s piece of mind. Flirtations with drink, with other forms of music, with various record deals that either Genevieve or WB backed out of made life together more difficult than apart. To say that there were not fights would be a misstatement, but the arguments were never so full of drama or expressed emotion that they became interesting to whoever inhabited the adjoining hotel rooms or restaurant booths.
Still, when they returned to the city, separate and alone, neither had a job or a place to stay. The emotion that had been invested in their relationship and then left without an outlet was not enough to inspire great music from either, and they quietly found work where possible. WB soon returned to their previous town, head held high, dozens of fascinating stories to tell, of which only a third were completely true, and a place in the community waiting for him. Genevieve, however, suffered from either an overabundance or surfeit of pride. She refused to return when WB suggested it. They had reclaimed a bit of their previous, nurturing relationship, though completely without the romance.
Instead, Ginny had taken work as a barmaid in one of their previous locales, singing backup for various groups when not all of their members showed up. She soon tired of music without that feeling of faith she associated with it. When she stopped singing, the bar job was gone as well. She turned to the Montgomery. The work at the hotel was tiring and soon took the rest of the bloom from her cheeks. Instead of the fresh girl, there was a tired woman, not eating enough, not resting, and emotionally unavailable. Facing the end of each day took a bit of that rye courage that got her onstage that first time.
She was a late-night chambermaid, in one of those run-down hotels that still clung to their faded grandeur in the midst of peeling paint, faded velvet, and the smell of old food. Subject to the occasionally unwanted advance from a worse-for-the-bourbon guest, but never from where she most wanted. There was the same air of former glory to her features as that of the hotel, though she was far too young for the sort of faded beauty that clung to her ever-shrinking curves.Still singing under her breath while she cleaned, though, was Ginny. Once of those times, she was outside the door of the only resident that actually paid his rent. Usually, he told her that he’d take care of his room himself, but that night he asked her to come in. Together, they made music. Genevieve’s old songs were exactly what he was looking for, but hadn’t known he needed. The roles were reversed. No longer the adjunct, only there because the crowds demanded a pretty woman, Ginny flourished. Never would she again be that fresh-faced, earnest young woman, but beauty returned. It was better this time, she felt, being wanted for herself, reason and less emotion tempering youthful exuberance and a headlong rush into beauty and independence.
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