“Perverse”
By Larry Rodness
Blurb -
19 year old Emylene Stipe is
a 2nd generation Goth who, like every teenage girl, is trying to find
her place in the world. One night she comes upon an old painting in
an antique store and is compelled to
purchase it. When she brings it home an image of a
young woman appears in the sketch and then magically materializes in her
apartment. Emylene nick-names her 'Poinsettia' and they soon become fast
friends. But Poinsettia has an ulterior motive for her sudden and strange
intrusion into her host's life which causes Emylene to question
her whole belief system.
LARRY RODNESS BIO
Larry Rodness began his entertainment career as a professional singer at the age of 19 and has been performing in Toronto for over 35 years with his wife and singing partner, Jodi, at venues such as The Old Mill, Royal York Hotel, Skyline and Bristol Place Hotel as well as countless corporate and private functions.
In the 80's Larry studied musical theatre writing with PRO under Broadway conductor Layman Engel, which led him to write for dinner theater. He then moved into the screenplay arena where he has written over a dozen screenplays and has had 3 scripts optioned to date. In the past 2 years he has also become a published novelist.
Information on other writings is available on www.larryrodness.com
“Perverse” buy links –
The novel can be purchased in both print and/or electronic
form at:
Amazon – UK / Barnes and Noble
Excerpt
The
next day during her lunch break, Emylene returned
to
the antique shop to find the sketch sitting there on the
dusty
floor, leaning against the grimy picture window. She
looked
at it more closely this time. The artist had framed the
winter
scene by drawing a weathered old wooden fence that
zigzagged
from the foreground all the way to a line of trees
that
met the horizon. In the center of the sketch stood the
subject
of the picture, a great cypress tree surrounded by a
blanket
of pristine snow. Aside from that there was nothing
distinctive
about the picture at all except that Stelio seemed
captivated
by it. And yet the more she looked, the more
Emylene
felt a strange emotional tug. The sketch was serene
and
unsettling at the same time, evocative but distant—just the
right
mix of perversity for the heartsick Goth.
Her
mind firmly made up, Emylene pushed open the
paint-peeled
door that creaked as if it objected to the intrusion.
The
air inside hung heavy with the smell of melancholia.
The
items on display, not so much antiques as other people’s
castaways,
were piled haphazardly onto shelves and tables
in
no particular order. This was not so much a store as a
graveyard,
a tomb for forgotten relics and memories. And
if
that wasn’t bad enough, Emylene sensed an air of gloom
emanating
from the shopkeeper himself who was behind
his
counter, staring sour-faced at her. He was a tall, gaunt
man
in his late sixties with wispy grey hair who had lived
in
the district for over thirty years and suffered them all—
the
druggies, the hookers, and the hustlers. He took one
look
at Emylene and made up his mind about her before
she
said a single word: Goths. If they were so in love
with
death, why didn’t they just slit their wrists and let
the rest
of us get on with our own miserable lives? Nevertheless,
Emylene
greeted him with a cheery hello.
“Hey
there. The picture in the window, the one with the
tree?
How much?” she asked.
“It’s
not for you,” he replied with a trace of a European
accent.
“Maybe
it is.”
“Why?
Why would you want it?”
“I
dunno exactly,” replied Emylene. “It just kinda
speaks
to me.”
“Really.
And what does it say?”
“It
says… ‘I’m lonely, I need a friend, a nice place to
live.’
So, how much you want for it?”
The
storeowner stared at Emylene at first with curiosity,
and
then with disdain. “A million dollars,” he replied. “You
got
a million dollars? If not, don’t waste my time.”
Emylene
offered her prettiest smile while she lifted the
picture
from the floor and eyeballed it like an appraiser from
Sotheby’s.
There was nothing particularly artsy about it. The
dust
covering the frame and glass told her it had probably been
lying
around for months, if not years. Artistically, the scale
was tipping more
towards ‘garbage’ than ‘antique.’
“I
don’t have that much, but I’ll give you a hundred,”
she
offered.
“You
really want it? Tell you what. You come back
here
tomorrow…”
Emylene
knew what was coming next.
“…dressed
from head to toe in white. You wipe all that
black
polish off your nails and the paint off your face, and you
come
here dressed like…”
“…like
a little lady?” asked Emylene.
“Yes,
like that, and she’s yours.”
Emylene
put the picture down where she found it.
“See
you tomorrow then,” she sang as she left the shop.
Although
she had never met this man before Emylene
knew
him all too well. Her parents had taught her early on
that
whenever people were confronted with something odd
or
strange, they generally went into “fear mode.” This man
was
afraid of something and desperate to keep control of
his
domain. To do that, he needed to demystify Emylene by
degrading
and shaming her into showing that beneath all the
make-up
and the gear, she was as dull and ordinary as he was.
Emylene
needed to show him that she was a grown-up, and no
one
was going to push her around. Both were in for a shock.
The
next day Emylene returned to the store as requested,
wearing
the only white dress she owned and treasured—an
exact
replica of the bridal gown Miss Lucy was buried in,
after
Dracula turned her into a vampyre. When Emylene
stepped
across the threshold of the store, she looked more
frightening
than she did in anything she had worn in black,
and
the look on the store owner’s face instantly faded to the
same
pallor of white as the dress. As Emylene approached him
she
slowly opened her hand.
The
owner drew back, fully expecting to find a beating
heart
pumping away in her little palm. Instead there were
five
twenties. He hesitated a moment, wondering whether
to
deny her the purchase and shoo her out, but instead,
he
scooped up the bills. Emylene took the picture and
exited
the store. Not a word was said between the two.
After
she left, the owner crossed himself, and then oddly,
tears
began to roll down from his eyes.
When
Emylene returned to her apartment, she hoped to
find
another note tied to a black Bacarra rose, which signified
that
Stelio was back in town. She was anxious to surprise him
with
the sketch, but there was nothing waiting for her.
The
next morning she looked again. Still no rose or
note.
A week went by without any contact from Stelio, which
frustrated
Emylene to no end. Whenever she dropped by his
shop,
she was told he was away on business. Was he avoiding
her?
Had he grown tired of her? Never, she told herself, how
could
he? Perhaps his wife found out about them.
In
the meantime Emylene looked around for just the
right
place to hang the sketch. There really was only one place
for
it. A nail went into the plaster with two bangs of a hammer
and
the picture was hung upon the wall opposite the main door
of
the apartment so that it would be the first thing she’d see
upon
entering, and the last thing upon leaving.
That
done, Emylene took a moment to appreciate her
new
acquisition. Ignoring the slap-dash method with which
the
simple brush strokes were applied, she concentrated on
the
basic elements of the scene—a rickety wooden fence
that
zigzagged all the way back to a line of trees in the
distant
horizon. A few wavy strokes indicating a blanket
of
unblemished snow, and of course, the lone Cyprus that
commanded
center stage. So simpatico did she feel to the tree
that,
for a moment, Emylene fancied the artist must have had
her
in mind when he drew it—two lone entities against the
world.
That was all and yet, there seemed more although she
couldn’t
put her finger on what, exactly. Perhaps it was in the
hastily
drawn strokes that she had all but ignored until now.
What
was the artist’s intention? Was it just plain laziness or
was
there a sense of urgency? But then, because even Goths
get
hungry, Emylene stripped off Miss Lucy’s bridal gown and
bounced
downstairs to grab a sub.
It
was 8:15 when she returned. When her world changed.
When
the glorious mystery of the picture began to reveal
itself.
When she gazed upon her new treasure and noticed for
the
first time footprints in the snow that were not there before.
My 5 Star Review
I received the book from the author for an honest review.
Interesting and well executed plot that keeps you glued to the book till the last page. Or as Emelyne would have said "Perverse".
We meet Emelyne at the age of nineteen leaving her parents home to stand on her own feet like any ordinary young person that seeks independence. Her natural ability to rebel against everything in life did not prepare her for the life changes she would experience when meeting Stelio. A second generation Goth, this young lady new much about the darker side of life but nothing could prepare her when a framed picture came to life and altered her own drastically. As a Goth, she was trained by her parents to question everything, especially the very important one about Death. Soon death became a reality when her neighborhood, family, friends and neighbors acted strangely, and it was up to her to save the day.
Meeting Laszlo with an outrageous tale but yet so believable that she had to trust him to save everything dear to her. Her cunningness, strong will and wit stood out the most making her character believable and likable.
Taken back in time as you learn more about the evil Stelio and the connections between him and Laszlo. Giving you a glimpse in the world of revenge and Vampyres. The Mira character a good villain that kept the plot alive and entertaining.
Every scene a building block in the plot keeps the book filled with twists and intrigue. Well written as good and evil embark on capturing the soul of the human being.
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