Ten-Finger Exercises

It's keeping me writing

,,,continued

“So, after all the things I’ve done in the past year that you could have written about, it’s zucchini that gets me back into your blog?” Margot sounded exasperated, and Wren couldn’t tell if it was real or just another of Margot’s dramatic gestures. So she ignored it.

“You were asking about the carpenter?” she commented pleasantly.

Seeing that her snit was being ignored, Margot said, “Oh, yes, the carpenter. What is he supposed to be doing now?”

“He hasn’t finished with the baseboards, and we’ve been waiting for over a week.”

“Is that why all your furniture is crammed into the living room? I wondered if you were making some kind of statement.”

“I suppose you could call it the ‘Don’t Come In Because There’s No Place to Sit’ statement. But it would have been a great time for a dance with all this bare floor. Pity I don’t know any teenagers any more,” Wren said. “Or do they still do that?”

“If you want to know about teenagers, you’re asking the wrong person,” Margot replied. She sipped her coffee and then said, “Really, Wren, what did prompt you to put me back in your blog? “

“Nothing in particular,” Wren said. “Oh, wait. I did think of you when I was picking zucchini, and of all the fun I had last summer writing about it and about you. Separately, I mean. I don’t think the two subjects ever came up together before, but maybe I’m wrong. And another thing: I’ve been listening to audiobooks by Robert Parker. Did you ever see “Spencer for Hire”? I didn’t either, but his books are so much fun to listen to. The tag lines get annoying at first. Every sentence of dialog ends in ‘he said.’ After I got used to that and ignored it, I thought to myself, ‘Didn’t he have a lot of fun writing this?’ The characters have such attitudes, and vocabularies too. I wanted to try again.”

“You don’t really call this writing , though, do you? I mean, it’s not like a novel or anything. Or am I about to be murdered and I don’t know it?”

“No, “ Wren laughed. “At least I don’t think so. But I don’t have a plot, you see, so I thought I’d just start here with you. Have you got anything juicy I could write about? “

“Like making poisoned zucchini bread to give to Celia?”

“Heavens no!” Wren said, giggling. “Why would you want to do that? Why should you care if Fred used to be married to her? She seems perfectly happy with her husband, and Fred seems completely charmed with you.”

“I’m not so sure. Something doesn’t feel right about that relationship. “

“Which one? Ceilia and Charles? “

“Yes, her current husband, if that’s what he is. But also her ex. Ceilia and Frederick.”

“What do you mean, ‘if that’s what he is’?” asked Wren.

“He’s never home. Have you noticed that? “

Wren nodded. “And she doesn’t go by his name, of course; but then a lot of women don’t.”

“And she’s still wearing the engagement ring Frederick gave her,” Margot said, and gave Wren a sly smile. “What do you think about that?”

“How do you know? He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“No, but I saw a closeup of their hands in one of their wedding pictures, when he was slipping it on her finger. I asked him if he had any pictures of him when he was younger, when his sideburns were long. He wants to grow them out again for a part he has in a play, and I wanted to see what they looked like back in the 70’s.”

“Isn’t her ring just a plain solitaire? That wouldn’t be very significant,” Wren said.

“No, it’s a little different. It has a tapered baguette and two small brilliants on each side. Take a look next time you see her. It couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“Hmm,” said Wren. “I’m not sure I want to write a mystery story though.”

“Well, sometimes you’ve got to take what you’ve got. And you have to admit it’s more interesting than funerals and people dying.”