Checkmate

Just because I have a slight twist to the macabre, I have my definite genre ... not to emulate the Stephen King style. I will include some "family" stories (my son and I have a whole slew of them), but this type/style will be my mainstay. Enjoy!


CHECKMATE
By
B.D. Adams
© 2005

How does one describe … indescribable? A body to die for?!

Jesse could tell what her figure was like … even though she wore one of those long, shapeless dresses. She was warmed against the evening breeze with a lace shawl looped over her smooth arms. Her soft waves of long, dark brown hair played with the cool breeze, without hiding her gorgeous face. He figured she wore damned little make-up … if any. The twilight accentuated her skin … so beautifully. Her facial structure was near perfect … European with a hint of Mediterranean. He could see all of this from across the street.

Jesse shook his head absent mindedly. It was like he was drunk, but his mind was clearer than it had ever been. He was just not used to seeing a woman with such casual beauty like hers.

Let’s face it, he was the unkempt type of guy … mussed hair, needed a shave … you know, the sexy look. He wasn’t a paparazzi photographer, but the photos he got were enough to keep him going. He knew he had to photograph this gorgeous woman!!

All of this transpired in a matter of milli-seconds, even though it seemed to be in dreamy, slow-motion.

Jesse sat outside at one of the million coffee shops in New York’s Greenwich Village … or, near the Village. He was getting his usual evening caffeine kick before going to the office to get his assignments for this night. It was like early autumn and the air was touched with an invigorating coolness. A perfect evening to meet someone new!

Dazed, but alert, he watched as she crossed the street at the corner to-wards him. His heart seemed to do laps around his chest. Jesse could tell that she was a comfortable height to him, once she was on his side of the street.

Very relaxed, she walked near to him. As she neared, she calmly glanced at him with a warm smile that would melt any block of ice! Then, she continued her journey away from him.

Jesse knew, that she knew, that he stared at her. Man … his mind was playing a chess game of what to do next

He watched her enter a bookstore a few doors from where he sat. He mentally jumped for joy and gulped the last of his coffee, as if for courage.

“Checkmate time,” Jesse mumbled. He spoke quietly to himself and no one else.

The lights were glowing outside all of the stores now. Jesse managed to remember to eat a breath-mint, as he ran his fingers through his hair … like that would help. He strolled to the bookstore.

He climbed the two steps and entered the store. It was obviously a vin-tage bookstore, clean and neat, but vintage, all the same. There was another woman sitting behind the counter near the door. Jesse ignored this woman.

His quest stood towards the back of the store without her shawl. It ap-peared that she was stacking books. Jesse decided that she must work there. He approached his beauty. Her skin seemed to have the texture of satin … soft and glowing.

She raised her dark green eyes to meet his … almost like she expected him. She smiled that fantastic smile. Jesse smiled, but he knew that his would never equal her sweet smiles.

“What’s your name?” Jesse asked with a dry throat.

Her eyes seemed to glitter with fireworks, as she gently replied, “Antoinette.”

He couldn’t help himself … he gently touched her cheek. He melted again!

Antoinette placed her small, soft hand on his, and then guided him toward a curtain that said “Private” above it. Jesse smiled knowingly and went without any more guiding. He disappeared through the curtain.

Once he was out of sight, Antoinette lost her sweet smile. She looked at the other woman, who merely nodded her understanding. Antoinette smiled again, but this time … she showed her very long, sharp canine teeth.

“Checkmate,” Antoinette hissed. She was ready for her breakfast!

Aardvark Manners

“Aardvark Manners”
By B.D. Adams
c 2008


When my son, Jacob, was just a small child (6 or 7), he was a ring-tailed-tooter (very active and strong-willed)! Even after he had just been given a nice haircut, he always looked like he needed one. His sweet face always seemed to need a wet washcloth passed over his always smiling lips. Definitely, “snips and snails and puppy dog tails!” … a little boy with all the trimm-ings!

However, he was in the first grade and began to show rebellion toward “rules,” at that young age. At school, he had to behave, but his thinking at home was … no way! Manners?! That was not in his little boy vocabulary! His main desires, his only credos, were his big-wheel trike and ice cream and only getting what he wanted … now!!

What a disaster!!!! I dearly loved my son, but needed strength to persevere.

I had confronted him several times about the noise of his big-wheel, most every early morning on weekends. His reaction was like I was torturing him! Like I was the wicked queen mother denying his joy and reason to live!

“…. Oh, Mother Dearest … why do you torture your loving son in such a way? Why do you deny my fun?
…. Because, Son o’ Mine, you have no manners and I demand you have
manners!!”

At his age, all manners were only things you heard about … like in England; e.g. dining at the table, speaking out of turn, using the magic words … please and thank you. This was a strain on my convictions to raise my son not to become an Aardvark!

“….. Uh, what’s that sitting at the dining table?
….. Oh, that’s my son, the Aardvark.”

Now, please understand … my reason was not meant to ridicule, but to teach. I couldn’t teach him the theory of “cold fission,” but I could teach manners and consideration. Ambitious, I know … but I needed to try.

I didn’t worry about the ideas of the hardcore “Right and Wrong” issues. He was kind to his friends, and even to me. He didn’t hit or yell in a hateful way. And, as far as I ever knew, he never stole from me or his father. These traits were so welcomed and showed me that his heart was where it should be.

Now, if only I could get the “manner” business kicked into gear! Therefore, I began to formulate the “lessons.”

Lesson #1 – Polite Manners
Mom will not hand over any ice cream money, when I’m yelling like a banshee because

the Ice Cream Truck is downstairs and won’t wait. Also, she’ll ignore me when she’s in conversation with another person, and I haven’t excused myself.

Jacob was yelling for me to have ice cream money “ready for pick up!” I heard him from the first floor and his yelling got louder as he approached the 3rd floor, where we resided. He bounded up the stairs, loudly calling “Mom,” with every other breath.

During his tirade, I was in the hall speaking with my neighbor about her possibly kid-sitting for him. Like an idiot, I had just mentioned that he was really a well behaved little boy. Imagine my chagrin!

Jacob was aghast, as he watched from the window at the landing before our floor … as the ice cream truck pulled away. This was my first indication that Jacob wouldn’t curse at me. Oh, his little face, streaked with sweat and dirt, was so red, and not from climbing the stairs. His brown eyes said to me, “How could you?!” Anger … pure unadulterated anger!! Tears were joining the globules of sweat, now. He stomped away leaving the echo of one angry kid. His chagrin was much more audible than mine!

Any parent will attest that tears of disappointment from a young child are bitter tears to kiss away. I had to make a good point, however, to keep the Aardvark’s tail from forming too well.

“..... Do Aardvarks have tails?
….. Yes. Long ones.”

A little while later, after rubbing a wet washcloth over his dirty face and hands, he approached me, while I was in the kitchen beginning supper. He stood with his little arms folded … aggressively … and demanded to know why I ignored him!

With that, I ignored him, yet again, because his tone was disrespectful.

After a few moments with no response from me, he exhaled a heavy, frustrated sigh, and asked again, but differently. “Mom, why didn’t you give me any ice cream money?” he asked more calmly, but maintained his take-no-prisoners stance.

I looked at him, briefly, but returned my attention to chopping some potatoes.
I said calmly, “You were being rude. You were yelling at me and interrupting while I was talking to Ann.”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could so feel his glaring stare at the back of my head.

“….. Wretched Queen! You deny me, yet again. You deny my fun, again!
….. You must learn good manners, my son!”

It was time for the “talk.” It was one more torture that he hated, as much as rules.

I finished the chopping and placed the potatoes in the pot, ready for cooking. After I picked up a dishrag to dry my hands, I chose to sit at the table. Whether or not he sat was his choice, but with me sitting, we would be eye to eye.

“You know how to ask for things, but lately, you’ve been very … rude,” I stated. “If you choose to be rude to me, then you’ll get the same treatment from me.” I was calm, but direct, hoping he would really get the message.

Jacob stayed his stance. His eyes weren’t as angry, but he wanted to remain firm. He knew he wouldn’t win, but he wanted to make his point.

“But, you ignored me! I was right beside you and you ignored me!” he said defiantly.

I nodded my head, as I agreed, “Yes. I ignored you.”

“….. Aha!! You wretched woman!! Vindication!!
….. Not ever, my Prince.”

He nodded his dark-haired head with a small, smirky grin, because he had to be right.

“….. Now, Mother … where’s my apology?
….. Uh … in thy dreams.”

I decided the other school kids were the instigators of his new upsetting attitude, of which I hadn’t planned, or would approve.

“But, didn’t I tell you that I would start ignoring you if you continued to be rude?” I pointed out.

The look in his eyes was priceless!

“….. Egad!! Foiled, again! Yes, Queen Mother … you are correct.”

“Yes,” he said, almost in a whisper. He almost couldn’t get the word out. With the change in his demeanor, he dropped his arms, but kept his hands together … more defensive, now. His head bowed, as his Aardvark tail began to retract.

Someday, he’d learn we were not adversaries. At least, that’s what I hoped.



This was a major learning event with my son. After our “talk,” … after some trial and error … he almost became the epitome of good manners and politeness. I have been so proud of him. We are both adults now, so we share in “debatable” versions of manners, but he is never rude or crude toward me, or any other women! Even with his adult friends (men and women), he has instructed them to be polite and respectful toward me … or incur my wrath … so I have imagined.

“….. Hey … who’s that guy at your table?”
….. My son … the non-Aardvark!”