Romantic Friday GLITZ & GLAMOR_REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED WITH DIAMONDS

WE INTERRUPT THIS ROMANTIC MOMENT TO TELL YOU OF ANOTHER GOOD FRIEND :

RAQUEL BYRNES ... who has done a post on FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE and moi :

http://nitewriter6.blogspot.com/2011/05/french-quarter-nocturne-dark-urban.html

Denise Covey and Francine Howarth

have devised a Glitz & Glamor Romantic Challenge for us :

http://fridaynightwriters.blogspot.com/

My 399 word entry is again from LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOU :

Luke Winters has spent his whole life straddling two worlds,

Lakota and White, belonging in neither.

The woman he has loved all his life has become the feared donna of the crime family which controls the state.

Join Luke as he enters a party where revenge is the main course :

The driver dropped me off, disappearing into the night. A disapproving waiter led me into a modest drawing room the size of Missouri.

Rubies and diamonds sparkled on ivory throats and wrists like drippings from the sea.

The low rumble of the music was muffled by the rise and fall of empty conversation and brittle laughter.

I looked at the ebb and tide of desire upon wealth, greed upon opportunity.

The social elite milling through the room seemed to be talking against a darkness that pressed in on them or fought to escape them.

I was caught up in a sense of unreality as if the world of sun, mountain, and desert had slipped out of reach somehow.

It wasn’t the first time. In fact I had lived most of my years in Boston in that twilight world.

My years. A long trail of disconnected moments that had failed to add up to a life. A deep voice suddenly sneered beside me.

“It is only the superficial qualities that entice. Man’s deeper nature always is rancid in some fashion. Isn’t that right, Dr. Winters? Oh, I forgot. You lost your license, didn’t you?”

I turned. Dr. Winwood, the city’s leading psychologist.

His block chin jutted out at me like a blunt instrument.

His smile was a mask, behind which his calculating mind peered out, weighing the blush here, the furtive glance there.

His smug face said he knew the bills in my mailbox and the sins of my past. He had too much free time.

“Still his success rate is higher than yours, Winwood.”

I turned to my left.

Victoria, elegant in a retro-Titanic gown that was suddenly all the rage, one arm tucked behind her back. As always the sight of her hit me like a physical blow.

Her body was as slim and slight as the branch of a birch. Her shoulders were the white of mountain peaks.

Her long, sparkling gown blazed under the bright lights as if spun from fresh-shed blood. And her face? Her face.

It was beautiful and terrible beyond any singing of it. I found myself holding my breath as I lost myself in her green eyes.

Most found those eyes frighteningly cold. But that was just a polished front to hide the fact that they’d lost their way a long time ago.

Perhaps my own eyes looked the same.
***