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Rigby Taylor

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Everything posted by Rigby Taylor

  1. Jon was computer-friendly, checked mail, kept the accounts up to date, polished floors, cleaned windows, dusted, mowed lawns, weeded flowerbeds, and spruced up what was already a tidy ship. As a reward, I added his name to the letterhead: Maximillian’s Gallery of Fine Art. Director: Peter Corringe: Manager: Jon Moore. He laughed, unimpressed by the title, merely hoping his salary would be commensurate. I kept the ship afloat with five sales. After work on Friday we pushed a supermarket troll
  2. At the moment it's three disreputables to about nine reputables - give or take a few unreputables. A fair balance I reckon.
  3. Perhaps Frances is not as clever as she thinks? Birds of a feather flock together and all that... she just might have met her match.
  4. When I returned from signing for the inheritance and transferring ownership of the Mercedes, Jon was out the front watering the lawn and shrubs. I’d scarcely taken off my jacket when the main gallery door slammed open to admit a short, deeply tanned, thickset, shaven headed, broad shouldered pugilist of about forty, in a silver-grey suit stretched so tightly over the muscle-stacked body I feared for the seams. Orange and purple trainers on small feet forced apart by massive thighs didn’t match t
  5. Well, Dear Readers, living is a fairly complicated activity for many people. Without a 'good'/sensible/ thoughtful/ loving/ forgiving parents/guardians who provide their charges with a relatively carefree childhood, they have little chance of a satisfying life. Apparently 80% of Australian adults feel disappointed with their lives. Jon's lucky to have Peter to sort him out - I think.
  6. Frances crawled in around mid-afternoon and went straight to her room. At six o’clock Jon poked his head into the office and announced he was feeling much better and ready for the opening. The caterers were setting up downstairs, so we celebrated with cold chicken, bread rolls and a beer on the roof. My new-look body brought out the exhibitionist and I tried for a bit of Max’s sartorial panache in an embroidered waistcoat over naked chest, a gold chain round my throat, black trousers and shiny b
  7. Rigby Taylor

    Chapter 5 Jon

    Thanks, skyacer. You couldn't have written nicer words. I'm pretty sure you are on the right track with your suspicions - There's certainly something very sus about Frances.
  8. Rigby Taylor

    Chapter 5 Jon

    You have good taste, Wesley.
  9. Mad’s inclusion of me as one of the family lay warm in my head and heart all the way back to the coast. I’ve never had a real family. Mother’s too busy with ‘good works’ and Dad’s sole claim to fame is an endless supply of home-brew in the basement where he spends every free minute watching TV sport. I don’t recall having a conversation with either of them, nor spending more than half a dozen evenings together. We almost never ate as a family, either Mum was out, or Dad had an important game to
  10. That's the fun of writing fiction, the writer lives with great people for a while.
  11. Yes, they're thoroughly decent.
  12. The Fierneys had retired to ten acres of dry eucalypt forest in hilly country about fifty minutes from the coast. Designed by Max, the house had been built by both of us, under the supervision of a retired builder, during weekends and holidays when we were at Uni. Jobs for students were as scarce as hen’s teeth and my parents had no desire to waste hard-earned cash on my frivolous aspirations, so the wages paid for my degree. I spent more happy hours at the Fierney’s during and after constructio
  13. Nude isn't rude, Jeffrey - you'd soon get used to it and feel so liberated you'd never want to wear another stitch -
  14. Rigby Taylor

    Chapter 10

    It doesn't get really violent, I think you will be pleased at how things turn out. Robert and Bart are strong young men, able to cope. So hang in there, I don't let my heroes suffer for long or too badly.
  15. Thank you both - My sort of people too.
  16. I agree.
  17. Friday morning dawned cool, windy and grey. Scattered coastal showers, the forecast had predicted, with the chance of an unseasonable cyclone heading our way in the next few weeks. The cyclone was hard to take seriously, it was at least three months too early and they never came this far south. With a curious lightness of heart, probably related to the fact that Frances had still not returned from her frolicking, I decided to close the gallery for the next five days, reopening for Mad’s show.
  18. Now that is a real compliment...
  19. He's mixed up inside... spoiled his relationship, blames himself, is lonely... we do silly things sometimes...
  20. Not really, it's his fault for refusing to listen - he's a bit pig headed I reckon. Thanks for the comment.
  21. Having seen little point in giving Max’s parents a sleepless night, I telephoned them immediately after breakfast. Hank and Celia were my best, just about my only friends, although I’d seen little of them over the preceding four years. At the sound of Hank’s voice my throat dried and the awful news had to be flushed out with tears. And then it was Hank consoling me. By eight o’clock a covey of policemen were swarming over the roof, peering at the dome, admiring its construction, shouting to
  22. He was exhausted and desperate for a conviction by then and unable to conceal his true nature. I'm pleased you enjoyed the story.
  23. Thanks, Carlos. The first chapter is always a worry - I'm always wondering if I have made it interesting enough, given too much information or too little... At least I've pleased you so far.
  24. Thanks Wesley - I'm pleased you're with me again. I hope I don't disappoint.
  25. Exposing oneself in public is not for the faint hearted. En masse and expertly illuminated, the paintings gave viewers rather more insight into the private spaces of my mind than I’d bargained for. The fact that the gallery’s patrons were also baring their souls with every critical utterance and every painting bought was scant consolation – especially as no one was buying! After an hour of eavesdropping among the usual crush of wine-sipping social scramblers, I wished I hadn’t. Stepping bac
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