But it's all right now, I learned my lesson well.
You see, ya can't please everyone, so ya got to please yourself
~ Rick Nelson ‘Garden Party’ 1972
You see, ya can't please everyone, so ya got to please yourself
~ Rick Nelson ‘Garden Party’ 1972
 |
| Comediennes ~ Kenne Gregoire |
Ellie watches Peye thread her way through the crowd as if she’s one of them, performer and audience no longer separated by the 2-foot stage
She pushes away from the wall where she’s been watching the show, her chest filled with all the positive memories that only nostalgia can sustain.
Peye’s heart lifts when she spots Ellie; testament to the fact that the business of indebtedness does not exclude all else from a relationship.
“That a new Tale?” Ellie gives a grin, “crowd seemed to love it”
Peye laughs and wraps herself in Ellie’s hug, “I was wondering how long you’d stick it out there in the sticks”
Drawn back to arm’s length, each looks for the past in the face of the other.
“You know how it goes Peye, sooner or later they start taking you for granted” Ellie smiles and kisses Peye on the lips, face between her hands.
They move to one of the booths where, over a drink, Peye finds herself giving Ellie a blow by blow account of the Carny’s current politics and the fucked-up state of Bigmark while Ellie takes hits from the bottle of Djinn and sucks air in through her teeth to cool the burn; it’s almost like old times.
“Giles still a prick?”
“Yes Ellie, my brother is still a prick. Probably even bigger that when you last crossed paths”
“We never ‘crossed paths’, we agreed to disagree”
“You know you’ve got to be careful right now Ellie, they haven’t forgotten what you guys tried in ‘38”
“No shit, more careful than I was then you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I may be the black sheep of the family but they still have eyes and ears throughout the Carny”
“Well it is their club”
Peye affects a hurt look, “No need to be so blunt”
She watches as the ink on Ellie’s face glows phosphorescent green-yellow-blue in the Carny’s penumbral gloom - dots, curls and lines each a signifying a ritual endured and understood; a fetish map; a qualification of craft both in the hands of the tattooist and to the one being tattooed - she watches for the familiar gestures in a face she once knew so well.
Ellie watches back; watches Peye talks, in her element: ebullient, eloquent, entitled. And it is this last characteristic that’s always been the stumbling block for Ellie.
Eventually the conversation winds down, all caught up, up-to-date; nothing left to say; the chasm of the interceding years yawning.
Ellie breaks the silence.
“Are the Kulturati wives still obsessed with fetish?”
She pushes away from the wall where she’s been watching the show, her chest filled with all the positive memories that only nostalgia can sustain.
Peye’s heart lifts when she spots Ellie; testament to the fact that the business of indebtedness does not exclude all else from a relationship.
“That a new Tale?” Ellie gives a grin, “crowd seemed to love it”
Peye laughs and wraps herself in Ellie’s hug, “I was wondering how long you’d stick it out there in the sticks”
Drawn back to arm’s length, each looks for the past in the face of the other.
“You know how it goes Peye, sooner or later they start taking you for granted” Ellie smiles and kisses Peye on the lips, face between her hands.
They move to one of the booths where, over a drink, Peye finds herself giving Ellie a blow by blow account of the Carny’s current politics and the fucked-up state of Bigmark while Ellie takes hits from the bottle of Djinn and sucks air in through her teeth to cool the burn; it’s almost like old times.
“Giles still a prick?”
“Yes Ellie, my brother is still a prick. Probably even bigger that when you last crossed paths”
“We never ‘crossed paths’, we agreed to disagree”
“You know you’ve got to be careful right now Ellie, they haven’t forgotten what you guys tried in ‘38”
“No shit, more careful than I was then you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I may be the black sheep of the family but they still have eyes and ears throughout the Carny”
“Well it is their club”
Peye affects a hurt look, “No need to be so blunt”
She watches as the ink on Ellie’s face glows phosphorescent green-yellow-blue in the Carny’s penumbral gloom - dots, curls and lines each a signifying a ritual endured and understood; a fetish map; a qualification of craft both in the hands of the tattooist and to the one being tattooed - she watches for the familiar gestures in a face she once knew so well.
Ellie watches back; watches Peye talks, in her element: ebullient, eloquent, entitled. And it is this last characteristic that’s always been the stumbling block for Ellie.
Eventually the conversation winds down, all caught up, up-to-date; nothing left to say; the chasm of the interceding years yawning.
Ellie breaks the silence.
“Are the Kulturati wives still obsessed with fetish?”
| Rick Nelson | ||
| Garden Party | ||
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