---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 96 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “a Bad Influence” Down in the Dirt (v129) (the May/June 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Adrift (issues edition) the Down in the Dirt Jan. - June 2015 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Adrift (issues / chapbooks edition) - the Down in the Dirt Jan. - June 2015 collection book		get the 378 page Jan. - June 2015 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Face

Jon Brunette

    Wearing anything or nothing at all, Leslie could make the gayest of men yearn for the loveliness of her thighs, her crimson lips, or, even, the wax in her ears. She could turn heads quicker than almost any movie star could; she could make anyone’s knees wobble like a bowl full of jelly; and, she could show more passion in bed than Marilyn Monroe could.
    She could do it all, until the day she died.
    A friend named Abe Stetson had stared at Leslie so many times that his eyes had become as noticeable around her as our entire state’s had; it had never mattered to Leslie if their eyes had been male or female—she had enjoyed both equally. Like everyone else could, I could understand their lust. After all, Leslie had made the Good Humor Man throw ice down his ice-cream suit, and, then, shiver with delight, and everyone had known that the Good Humor Man hadn’t been the only one.
    One day, I found Leslie behind my studio, lying as stiffly as the mannequins that always stand around Marshall Fields. The cops had to snap their steely handcuffs onto someone, of course, so that someone had become me.
    With a million dollars in bail paid, I took Abe around to my studio, where Leslie had modeled as often as she had for Playboy, though, at first, he would only sit there—until Leslie stared down at him with a look that could put heat in his blood and not just his pants. It might have taken a few minutes, but, finally, Abe saw my collection of face plates modeled by Leslie, nailed to the yellow stucco ceiling. And, as I had hoped that he would, he jumped like a rabbit chased by a German shepherd.
    I knew that Abe would talk. Unlike Playboy, I had loved Leslie’s face and her lovely face alone; she had offered it willingly, unlike the way that Abe had offered his arm on the legal injection table, which had made me, the jaded reporters, and Leslie’s infant son turn red. Maybe Abe should have loved her face the same way that I had loved it. Maybe, then, he could have died happily.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...