Fiction Short Story
The Position of Mona and Vi
Mona has been lying naked for quite some time now.
Mona has been lying naked for quite some time now. Neck arched over the end of an overstuffed green couch, she stares out at the room’s picture window.
“Are you looking at the window, Vi?” she asks the woman sitting next to her.
“Do I have a choice? I haven’t been able to move my neck in days.”
“Look at that sky. It looks kind of fake, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean, fake?”
“Well, not fake so much as abstract.”
Sitting cross-legged on a simple kitchen chair next to the couch, arms folded across her chest, Violet considers. “It’s very blue. Azure I guess.”
“It’s not the color that’s bothering me. It’s that thing that looks like a bird. See what I mean?”
Violet takes a long relaxed look. “Not really.”
“Look closer. See, I don’t think it’s moving.”
“Oh yeah, now I see it. Must be a weird little cloud or something.”
“Could be. Or a UFO, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hallucinating to break up the boredom. Damn, Vi, aren’t you hot?”
“No.”
“How can you not be hot? Look at me, I’m sweating. My belly button’s like a little reflective pond.”
“You should close the curtain.”
“I know, but I’m too vain. See how the sunlight plays off my skin?”
Mona’s body is young and athletic. In the light her skin takes on a saffron glow.
Violet is older but also attractive. Long bare legs–legs that look considerably younger than the rest of her–protrude gracefully from her black silk robe.
Violet looks at Mona out of the corner of her eye and smiles. “He should be here soon.”
“I hope so. Aren’t you bored?”
“No. I like mornings like this. Not doing a damn thing but enjoying the moment.”
“I guess. It’s funny though, I’m not tired, I don’t need to be lying on this couch all day. Why don’t I just get up and put some clothes on? I could do some vacuuming. This place needs some attention.”
“You know we don’t have to do any of that stuff.”
“Maybe I want to.”
“Well, he doesn’t want us working.”
Mona sighs. “All right. Then let’s dance. He never said anything about not dancing.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“I bet you danced. How ‘bout when you were my age?”
“Oh child, I was never your age.”
Mona giggles. “You’re funny, Vi. Think that’s why he put the two of us together, for laughs?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, think he’d be upset if I threw those flowers out? Can I at least do that?”
The algae-covered vase of flowers rest on the end table near Mona’s feet. Mostly wild sunflowers arranged with a few sprigs of blossoming purple aster. Against the backdrop of yellowing stucco walls, the dying weeds give the whole room an ambiance of wilting.
“Please Mona, you know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know. Everything has to be just so. In perfect harmony, as he says. So what do you think he has in store for us today?”
“Nothing for us. Just you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know. He used to pay attention to me the way he does with you now. He was so sweet. He’d use the smallest of excuses to brush up against me. Now he comes in, gives me a stupid little nod and goes straight to you. With me he chats, with you . . . he hovers.”
“That’s not true.”
“Mona, I just spent all day yesterday watching the man braid your hair.”
“I have a lot of hair.”
Mona’s braids erupt out of her head and pour over the couch onto the floor–a lava flow of tight red hair.
“Well I’m worried. It’s obvious he’s trying to create a mood. Sometimes I think he would like it better if I was out of the picture. Maybe you would too.”
“Don’t be silly, Vi. I didn’t come here to replace you, if that’s what you think. He loves us both.”
“Things change. You must understand Mona, I’ve been . . .”
“Jeez, Vi. What’s that?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Sorry Vi, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just never noticed that before.”
“Noticed what?”
“Well, don’t freak, but you got this thing on the back of your head.”
“What thing?”
“It’s like a blotch.”
“A blotch?
“Sort of purplish.”
“Oh Mona, you’re not even looking at me.”
“Yes, I am. I can see your reflection in the mirror. I’m telling you, whatever it is, it wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Dammit, Mona, I can’t see it. Are you telling me the truth? You sure it’s not a reflection?”
“Never mind, Vi. It doesn’t look so bad, it just caught me by surprise. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“A blotch. Great. Like I’m not already anxious about things. You have to admit, Mona, he likes to mix things up. And when he gets an idea in his head there’s no stopping him. Like the drapes. Remember he said they didn’t ‘work,’ so the next thing you know he’s changed them, without even asking us.”
“And that clown picture.”
“Exactly. I cringe every time I look at that thing.”
“But we’re powerless to stop him.”
“A man should not have this much control. What is it about him?”
“He’s hard to grasp.”
“It’s like he’s . . . he’s . . .”
“Bigger than life.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“It’s strange, Vi, but when he’s around my mind goes blank, I just mostly think of him. Could I be that ridiculously in love?”
“I think we both could.”
“Hey Vi, let’s get out of here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here and go do something. Just you and me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Mona continues to lie on the couch and Violet remains seated. The sun from the window streams in casting shadows and light on the two women along with the room’s other sparse possessions: flower vase, mirror, couch, chair, and clown painting.
Mona sighs. “Maybe we should talk to him first.”
“Yeah, maybe. He should be here pretty soon.”
“There’s a lot I want to say to him. I think he’s . . .”
“Shh.”
“What?”
“Do you hear that?”
A door is opening and closing.
“It’s him.”
He stands before them squinting and rubbing his scraggly beard. His stature dominates the two women completely. He does not speak. Now he musses his already mussed hair. The red of his beard sharply contrasts with his dark brown hair. Tilting his head he seems to be looking right at Mona. A smile breaks on his face revealing paper white teeth. It’s the kind of smile that directly precedes sex–or a killing.
He pulls something from his jacket pocket and leans over Mona.
“What’s he doing?” whispers Violet.
“I can’t tell. It’s too dark.”
The light returns to Mona’s view. “Oh my god! Vi, look what he’s done! I can’t see my legs!”
“It’s okay, Mona. He just put a blanket over them.”
“I love my legs. I want my legs back!”
“Calm down, Mona.”
“Hey! Why’d you do that? I thought you liked my legs.”
He says nothing. He taps a pack of cigarettes on the palm of his hand and then unfolds a book of matches.
“Oh my god,” whispers Violet. “He’s going to smoke. He told me he only allows himself a cigarette when he’s finished.”
“Finished? What are you talking about, Vi?”
“Jesus, Mona, I don’t think you’re going to like this. I know I don’t like it.”
“What? I never heard him say anything about smoking or finishing.”
“It was a long time ago. I guess I never understood what he meant.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think he’s done. The bastard’s going to leave me with this blotch on my head. A goddamned purple blotch on my head!”
Mona turns her attention to him. “Tell me what’s going on. Please tell me what’s going on! What does she mean you’re done?”
“It’s no use, Mona, he can’t hear you anymore.”
“Of course he can hear me. He’s standing right in front of us.”
“Can’t you feel it, Mona?”
“Feel what?”
“It’s getting hard to swallow. And your lips–aren’t your lips becoming parched?”
Mona pushes her tongue around her mouth. It’s true. A horrendous realization fills her like lead.
“Oh no! Look at me! This is not right. I never got to dance. Please! I have to get off this couch.”
Violet stares out the window at the azure sky.
Mona screams until her voice is gone.
He rests his chin in his hands and grunts, “Perfect.” He sets his paintbrush down on the easel and lights his cigarette. He takes a drag and exhales a funnel of smoke, turns to the door and leaves them alone.
Mona and Violet are drying, slowly drying into what they will always be.
The End
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