Love and Loyalty (and Other Tales)

By Maria Savva

Love and Loyalty (and other tales), is Maria Savva's second collection of short stories. This is a diverse collection of stories, written over a period of ten years. Many of the stories were short-listed in various short story competitions. These are thought-provoking, memorable tales of life and love, luck and loss, deceit and lies, the unexpected and the true to life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Savva
• Release date: Mar 6, 2012

Maria Savva

Maria Savva is Associate Professor and Director of the International Studies Program at the City University of New York’s LaGuardia campus. She has published widely on the intercultural development of international educators, with additional research interests in cross-cultural identity formation and the internationalisation of higher education. She holds an MA in Comparative and International Education from Columbia University and a Doctor of Philosophy degree in Education from UCL, Institute of Education. Prior to joining academia, Maria taught in both primary and secondary schools in the United States and abroad. She is a New York State certified teacher and also holds Qualified Teacher Status (QTS) in England.

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LOVE and LOYALTY (and OTHER TALES)

by Maria Savva

Copyright © Maria Savva 2010

Smashwords Edition:

All rights reserved: No part of this ebook may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser

The moral rights of Maria Savva as author have been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Cover design by Maria Savva, from an original photo by Ladyheart (www.morguefile.com)

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental

Contents:

The Artist

One Thing Leads to Another

I’m Only Doing My Job

Mannequin

My Darkest Day

Atychiphobia

The Course of True Love

The Perfect Life

Playing to Lose

Ordinary Lives

You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone

Love and Loyalty

Speed King

Out of the cauldron, into the fire

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank the following people for their help with this collection:

Jerry Travis, for reading the first draft and your excellent editing tips, and for all your encouragement.

Carol Perry for reading the collection, and for your comments. I’m glad you didn’t like the original ending of, ‘One thing leads to another.’ I agree that the new ending is much nicer!

Julie Elizabeth Powell, for reading the final version and your valuable editing tips. I’m glad the stories made you smile.

Andrea Church - Ladyheart @ Morguefile.com - for the free photo (used for the book cover)

Finally, last but not least, all the friends I have made on Goodreads.com, Twitter and other such sites, who have provided much needed encouragement and support.

The Artist

‘You’ve come to see Joe? The street artist? He’s very popular all of a sudden. Everyone wants to know about Joe now,’ said the security guard, sarcastically. He was trying to stop her entering the building.

‘Get out of my way,’ said Jane, feeling frustrated, painfully aware that every second counted. The security guard was nothing but an obstacle in her way to be thrown aside; she didn’t have time to listen to what he was saying.

‘You’re too late, Miss,’ he tried to warn her, ‘Franco’s dead.’

She couldn’t believe that. She had wasted no time in getting to the flats, and they were only a stone’s throw from her office. There was no ambulance outside, and no commotion as she’d approached the building; surely there would have been if he’d already jumped? She did feel a bit concerned that her back-up hadn’t arrived yet. Where are the rest of the team? she thought, feeling nervous. Maybe they’re already upstairs?

She showed the security guard her police identity card. ‘If you don’t let me in, you’ll be in big trouble,’ she said.

‘Okay, lady, you go, but Joe was my friend, he was a real person. He did this portrait of me, look, it’s good.’ He pointed to a framed sketch hanging in the lobby.

She was amazed at the likeness.

‘All this intrusion isn’t right, why can’t you just let him be?’ she heard the security guard shouting behind her, as the elevator doors closed.

The door to the flat was wide open when she arrived. Out of breath, after her run from the elevator, she walked into the room, hesitantly, and saw that the window was open. She could see the back of a man’s head. She felt relieved to have got there in time, but where were the others?

He turned towards her: ‘Who are you?’ he asked, gruffly. It was too late for her to call for back-up now, she would have to do her best until they came.

‘Are you Mr. Franco?’ she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’ve come to see you, Mr. Franco...’ She tried to remember what she should do first. Her mind was blank. She had a checklist of procedures in her bag, but he was staring at her—she could not reach for it now. She felt self-conscious, feeling certain her inexperience showed on her face. Get him away from the window, she thought, get him inside, off the ledge.

She’d rushed to the apartment when she found the post-it note on her desk saying that Joe Franco was about to jump from the 28th storey. She’d expected to see police cars outside, but she was all alone.

‘How did you get into my flat? Are you from the police?’ he asked.

‘Your door was wide open,’ she said.

‘How did you get past security? He had no right to let you in!’

She smiled at him, in an attempt to placate him. ‘Mr. Franco, please come inside so we can talk,’ she said, softly.

‘I’m fine here, thanks.’

So far, she only seemed to be making things worse. She would have to try harder to engage him. Without her back-up team here, she had no information about him—nothing about his background, or his motivation for wanting to kill himself. She felt lost, as if she were adrift on an ocean.

She looked at the floor, and noticed some of his artwork lying there. ‘These are very impressive,’ she said, picking up a water-colour landscape painting, and admiring his other paintings.

‘Get out of my apartment,’ he said.

‘Er... how much do you want for them? I’ll pay...’ She could not just leave... It was her job to stop him from jumping.

He turned around and continued to stare out at the street below, just as he had been doing before she walked in.

She put the painting back on the floor, and walked over to the window. ‘Oh, I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I? So rude! I am sorry. I’m Jane.’ She held out her hand to shake his. He nodded towards her, but did not shake her hand. She felt stupid, realising that in his precarious position on the window ledge it may have been dangerous for him to reach out to her.

‘So... Mr. Franco...’

‘The name’s Joe.’

‘Okay, Joe; please come inside and tell me how you learnt to draw and paint so well?’

‘I’ve always been able to draw.’

‘Yes, but when did you realise you had such an extraordinary talent?’

‘What extraordinary talent? I’m just a street artist, that’s all.’

‘Okay, well, when did you decide to take up art for a living?’

‘What is this? Who asked you to come here? Why don’t you just go away?’

‘Please, Mr. Franco, it would be easier to talk if you were indoors, there’s a bit of a chilly wind here, don’t you think?’

‘I told you my name’s Joe. And I asked you a question! Why are you here?’

‘Um... I’m interested in your work.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ he shouted.

‘I’m here to help you. Please come inside.’

‘For the last time, I’m not coming inside, okay?’ His eyes burned through her, forcing her to look away. She felt like a failure. She’d not been able to get him to a safe place. He could fall off that ledge at any moment.

She tried to keep the conversation going. ‘Tell me, how did you become a street artist?’

‘A street artist is not a job, like a dentist or a lawyer. It’s something I do. You might as well ask someone how they ended up homeless,’ he said. ‘Anyway, how did you know I’m an artist?’

‘A street artist is hardly the same thing as being homeless...’ she commented.

‘Look, all I’m saying is I never planned to end up on the streets, just like most of those homeless people never planned it... but that’s the way life goes. Anyway, you keep ignoring my questions, and it’s starting to annoy me. I asked you how you knew I’m an artist.’

‘The security man mentioned it,’ she said.

‘Oh, so you didn’t really come here to buy my paintings then?’

‘You know why I’m here, Mr. Franco.’

‘It’s Joe!’

‘Okay, Joe. I’m here to help you.’

‘Who sent you?’

‘I came...’

‘You work as a do-gooder, busybody; that’s why you’re here. I’m just another sad loser who you’ll laugh about tomorrow.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘How long have you been doing your job?’

‘A long time,’ she lied. This was her first month on the