RichEisbrouch
-
Posts
1,894 -
Joined
-
Last visited
Content Type
Forums
Stories
- Stories
- Story Series
- Story Worlds
- Story Collections
- Story Chapters
- Chapter Comments
- Story Reviews
- Story Comments
- Stories Edited
- Stories Beta'd
Blogs
Store
Gallery
Help
Articles
Events
Everything posted by RichEisbrouch
-
Greg Stratton’s assistant, Donna Pindar, greeted us as though our coming into her office was one of the nicest things that could happen. She offered us coffee, maybe three kinds of tea, and assorted sodas. After settling us in a pair of chrome-and-leather director’s chairs, she went to tell Greg we’d arrived. “He’ll just be a minute,” she said shortly. “Sorry you have to wait.” Now Greg was never on time, though he rarely delayed anyone more than a few minutes. His staff got used to th
-
If I’d learned to be disappointed by Rebecca Varner, after giving her what I felt were more than enough chances, I’d never really taken to Patricia McCune. Middle-aged and “kind of emotionally stingy,” as Pete put it, she seemed to guard her boss as though a great treasure. Often she wouldn’t relay possibly important messages – like this e-mail – fearful of wasting Rebecca’s time. Now there were those who swore Rebecca spent most of her office hours playing online Hearts, and others who argued s
- 2 comments
-
- 14
-
-
On Monday, shortly before noon, Don unexpectedly came up the stairs and stood at the back of the theater. I was up on stage, taping out a ground plan with two of my students. Don had just gotten a call from Greg Stratton. “What about?” I asked, waving the students off to lunch and thanking them with a grin. “He forwarded an e-mail he wanted me to look at.” “What’d it say?” Don brought it up on his phone. The message read, Ask Larry Marsden where he was when President Catlin d
-
No one was in our house when I came in, though there was music playing. It turned out that Pete had the backyard speakers on and was lying on a lounge chair reading Henry James. Beside him, Josh was sitting in his wading pool, sloshing. “Longer than you thought,” he said. “Sorry.” “Interesting?” “Kind of.” “Well?” I pretty much told him what had happened, condensing where I could, but giving him the detail stuff I knew he’d like. He listened without interrupting, th
- 2 comments
-
- 13
-
-
After Abby Rodelle opened the apparently locked double doors to the office she shared with Steve Catlin, she closed them behind us and then locked them again. “I need to make sure we’re not interrupted,” she said. “I’m not even supposed to be here today.” Considering the past week and the fact this was Saturday, that was understood. Don quickly introduced himself, adding, “I hope you don’t mind my bringing Gil. He’s kind of my connection to the college.” “I understand.” “And I und
-
When we got home, Nollie told me to call Don. He’d stopped by maybe forty minutes earlier and had seemed disappointed not to find us. “Did you remind him where we were?” I asked. She nodded. “He could’ve met us there,” I told Pete. “Maybe he didn’t want to.” “Why not?” “Not everyone’s use to having cops around.” I shrugged, thinking that somewhat narrow. “That’s their problem.” Then I thanked Nollie for the message and phoned Don. “Where are you?” he asked. “H
-
The funeral was simple. The church – white, outside and in – was dominated by slender columns, with clear, bright light washing in through Georgian windows, highlighting the crowded pews, and a large brass cross up front, seemingly suspended in the air. Prayers were read, tributes made, and there were songs. Afterwards, most of the people walked the few blocks to the town’s three-hundred-year-old cemetery, where prayers were again dedicated to saving Steven Jeffrey Catlin’s eternal soul. “I
- 2 comments
-
- 15
-
-
Ted Catlin was sitting on the porch of his mother’s house when Pete and I arrived, close to ten-thirty. He wasn’t alone. Beside him on the hanging swing was a girl I’d seen at the funeral home but wouldn’t have thought would interest Ted. Not that I knew that he was “interested,” though they sat close enough together. A can of something in Ted’s hand might have been beer. His jacket and tie hung over the porch rail. His shirt was open maybe a button more than necessary, and he was barefoot.
-
Thanks. The thing about these things is I never know if other people will find them as funny as I think they are. Always nice to get conformation.
-
Michelangelo was an awful intern. After all, it’s called media for a reason and is rarely 100% veracity. The economic erupt in American is some kind of depending on if citizens become more and more fourish, but only with the more benefict foctors considerated. Nonetheless, over underlying the importance of the well-being of citizens may lead to a shortlight of leaders. Nowadays, the teenager psychological issue is pretty horny. Forcing students to learn knowledge they sometim
-
Friday evening, as I was stir-frying an assortment of non-Asian vegetables in our wok, Pete read me Catlin’s obituary from the Times. He read while feeding Josh, so it came down to him listing some of Catlin’s achievements, then saying, “Good, Josh,” or “No, Josh,” or just “Josh!” We were cramming to have something borderline original to say when we saw Sandra at the funeral home. That seemed perverse, but it was life as we knew it. Sandra was behaving as though Catlin had still unquestiona
-
Elise Pelletiers wasn’t quite what Don expected. When she followed Pete into the costume shop, she was dressed as casually as she’d been on the first day I saw her – though this time in jeans, boots, and a floppy top that seemed to be silk. Her hair was again loose, and though its curliness seemed natural, it also seemed carefully arranged. She didn’t seem to be wearing make-up, but was. If Don was surprised, he covered it well. His main reactions were a glance at me and a tiny grin. Quickl
- 2 comments
-
- 16
-
-
Wednesday, just before one, I was in the costume shop with Pete and Josh. It was my day to watch him, taking him to my morning class, then keeping him in the playpen in my office. Normally, I would have gone to the theater after lunch, to start in the scene shop. But the first week of school, kids haven’t quite set their schedules. So I don’t follow mine. I needed to see something in the costume shop anyway. Pete wanted to use a certain fabric – which I still dumbly called “material” – in t
- 2 comments
-
- 19
-
-
-
This one went through a slow period after the mills finally shut down in the 1950s but was fortunately helped by its proximity to all the colleges in the area and the need for reasonably priced housing for students, faculty, and staff. Also, it's a really pretty area to live.
-
That evening, Pete and I were quiet. We concentrated on Josh at dinner, maybe fussing with him more than usual. After we ate, I got him ready for bed while Pete finished in the kitchen. Then Josh crawled around the house, the two of us chasing after him. He was in his curious stage – not yet walking, though he could pull himself to his feet. When he finally got tired, Pete took him upstairs. I looked online for local news. But there was no more than had been there earlier – mainly a mention
- 4 comments
-
- 18
-
-
-
Thanks. Sometimes lucky with words.
-
The next morning I was drafting in my office when Pete called. I’d just come from class, on that first day when kids will do anything but listen. My lumber order was stacked in the hallway, but my work-study students hadn’t arrived, and I no longer hauled wood by myself. So I sat with the set model for the year’s first show propped in front of me, adding details to my elevations. “Have you heard?” Pete asked. He sounded like he’d run up the steps to his office. “No, you’d’ve phoned.” H
-
Interesting. I never even thought about it. But I like it. Thanks for pointing it out.
-
One of the more endearing things about Waldron College is it feeds its faculty lunch free, and at lunch that afternoon in the cafeteria, I saw something curious. The woman who’d been with Steve Catlin that morning – she’d been introduced at the faculty meeting as Elise Pelletiers – was still with him. After moving through the food line together, they’d chosen a small table away from the rows of larger ones. Then Tanya Huertas, one of the younger Admissions people, loaded with her own tray, unexp
- 2 comments
-
- 23
-
-
Events on a small New England college campus, following an exceptional one. Gil Andrus and his husband, Pete Sordan, follow through the usual faculty politics and the unexpected mystery. And Don Burris, the detective from The Pendleton Omens, reappears. Note: this book shares roots and occasionally overlaps with my other book, Quabbin, which is also set in Waldron, Massachusetts, though in a national clothing company. But they're different books with different sensibilities.
-
“Do you believe Catlin?” Keith Zawaski asked. We were waiting for the faculty meeting to start. Steve Catlin was standing in the hallway outside the lounge. Keith and I watched through the open double doors. Catlin was leaning down and talking intently with a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was maybe twenty-two and looked like she belonged on the cover of one of my husband Pete’s fashion magazines. Only this woman didn’t need to be photoshopped. “Who is she?” I asked. Keith s
- 4 comments
-
- 24
-
-
-
Josh was thinking about leaving his husband. They were relatively happy, in fact they were probably very happy. And though Glen had a strong national reputation as a minor contemporary Impressionist, there was no denying he was increasingly a wack case. Wack job? Wacko? Pick a number. Maybe that had always been there, and Josh had only more recently started to notice. When they met in school, years ago, they’d been part of a fairly large group of creative people – artists, actors, musicians
-
A Story I Was Told Last Christmas
RichEisbrouch commented on RichEisbrouch's story chapter in A Story I Was Told Last Christmas
Thanks. Every time I think I may have a favorite story, someone points out something about one of them, and I reconsider. I guess that's the reason we share thoughts. -
One of the last things Shawn told me, wrote me, was, “You’ll never get over me, Vic.” The last thing I wrote him was, “Don’t marry him. It won’t work.” “Him” was Duke Mattingly – Eugene Norris Mattingly. “Duke” was a childhood name. Technically, I never met him, though he once grunted at me on the phone. Another time, he sent what I’m sure he thought was a letter. I’ve seen pictures of him: black-and-white college shots; a grey newspaper photo from his wedding. You can’t tell much. He was ta
-
Posted by: Washout A photo, naked, front, full-length against a blank wall, head bowed, face shadowed, arms down to the sides palms out, feet about a foot apart. Title: Twice Divorced at 40 Ethnic Origins: White Role: 100% Passive Height: 6'-0" Weight: 175 Hair: Brown Body Type: Average Body Hair: Some Location: New York City Country: USA, NY Age: 40 Message: Women don't seem to want me anymore. Do with me what you will.
