Author Topic: A Hopeful Prospect  (Read 313 times)

Gabrielle Bradford

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A Hopeful Prospect
« on: May 22, 2013, 12:51:02 PM »
Maybes, always maybes. Gabi never asked for anything outright, never gave out a question that would have a simple yes or no. Yet, since leaving the hospital with her newborn twins in hand, she had done just that. Just a simple little missive, sent with the hope that it would find a stray cousin soon.


Would you come and see me at Beecham House? I?m not going to be going out much over the next few weeks, I don?t think, and there?s something I really want your opinion on. If you like, I can make sure everyone?s out but me. It would be good to see you.


Just that one simple missive, one simple request, and one very nervous new mother to show for it. Back on her even keel after the near disaster of her grieving process, Gabi had returned to her sweeter persona with just enough new confidence to be able to face the world head on. But even that wasn?t quite enough to keep her from growing uncertain about Gigi?s possible reaction to what she had to ask. She was just hoping that if the answer was no, it would be kindly done.
[size=9:a43c343296][color=darkred:a43c343296][i:a43c343296]We live in a web of ideas, a fabric of our own making.[/color:a43c343296][/i:a43c343296][/size:a43c343296]

Dr Greenthumb Granger

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Re: A Hopeful Prospect
« Reply #1 on: May 22, 2013, 01:35:19 PM »
People left Gigi all kinds of messages.

Some came as cryptic orders to the florist shop, The Lotus Eaters, which she used as both a drop point and a cover story for how she legitimately made money:

Ma, need you to hook me up, three bushels and a peck, hot date at the B-side.

Some came as threats to be handled in their own time and place:

You arrogant b*tch. High Street is my turf. Don?t come here again unless you want me to slit that pretty throat of yours.

Some she found scrawled in graffiti on lowly street corners:

Violet Lady Save Me

Death in Deep Grease Dreams


She even heard one in a song on the radio once, performed by a recovering yola addict she knew:

Called up my pusha-lady / Greased disgrace / just one more taste / she slipped me that slick oil / ?cause I wanted to forget this earthly toil

These messages, often encased in code and slang, Gigi knew perfectly well how to interpret and prepare for.  But when she received Gabi?s, with its allusion to something keeping her cousin from going out and its even more difficult request to call a black sheep back to the family farm, Gigi did not know what to make of it.  

The only thing she knew for sure was that no weapon in her arsenal ever stood up to the emotional landmines that always laid in wait for her when it came to returning to the Granger fold, if only for a visit.  She braced herself and started in the direction of Beecham House.