Athena

By R. Cane

Speculative location-driven chick lit (should maybe be peoplelit)? In this novella a bright, beautiful woman visiting Provincetown, MA feels attracted to a local artist, despite being at odds with one another. Paths continually crossing, they are compelled to puzzle through their confusing sense of familiarity with a few unusual supporters. Their truth could lead them a bit outside the norm, wandering toward speculative story telling not at all out of place for intriguing Provincetown, MA. Flirting with romance, a little fantasy, even a bit of gender wonderment, the story of these women threatens the very fabric of genre! If one enjoys a good yarn, easily tires of cultural status quo, is fascinated by the many facets of connection – these are the underpinnings of Athena.

Sample from Athena:

She nods, mild smile. “Variety is good,” glancing my way.

How do some women put so much meaning, or intention into even an instant of eye contact, or the arch or an eyebrow? Fascinating. In this case I am probably imagining it, but I have seen this thing many times, it’s a true phenomenon. Do they teach that in girl school? Yes, I am a woman, but I did not grow up around a lot of girls or girlie things, I am hopelessly tomboyish as best. Though I do have style, and am not masculine. Androgynous, maybe? Or tomgirl, my friend Aisha insists. ‘You have the best of both!’ she often reminds me, ‘and you’re lucky! It’s way better to be a handsome woman, than a pretty man in this world!’ Truth, sadly.

While the woman talks about her trip here I am running my finger down the stem of the glass, admiring the curve of it. I do these things. I am an artist, I can’t help it. Half the time, like now, I don’t even notice. Until I see her watching. Shit. Putting my hands flat on the cool stone bar I let out a breath. I feel almost nervous though there is no reason why.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Cane
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463725955

R. Cane

Finding the human condition and our antics endlessly fascinating, I tend to write ‘slice of life’ pieces about moments, situations, interactions, personalities – most often with some amount of humor or irony, always with wonder. The subject or subjects are frequently lgbtq, w/w, to the degree it matters, since people are people, stories are stories.

Book preview

Athena

by R. Cane

Published by R. Cane

Copyright 2019 R. Cane, including art, images

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Athena

As I make my way down Commercial Street I pop in on, or wave to folks here or there. Today I also stop at a favorite antique jewelry store to check on a watch I have my eye on. This is a seasonal kinda town, though that is beginning to change, stretch out a bit. Still, even as a resident, if you see a trinket, it’s top dollar in season. I can sometimes work a deal if whatever I’ve been coveting is still there before they close up for their two month winter vacation. For the things I am serious about, I make a point to visit it once in a while, also an excuse to say hey to whoever is working. Just shit I do to keep in touch, stay social. Aware I can get lost in my work and forget to be human, I make myself take time to do things like this.

Bev is working today. I wave as I step in, but she is looking rather harried. Not that many bodies are in the small store, but three of them are kids, all under thirteen, the youngest is maybe four or five. Polite as they may appear, she is trying to keep an eye everywhere at once. A lot of their goods are expensive and kids ratchet up the nerves. I am trying to catch a glimpse, see if my very cute rose gold quarry is still in the case when I realize the woman at the counter is pointing at it. What? Tall, blonde, attractive, from what I can see, flowy blue dress, her arms also appear toned when she leans down for a closer look. Probably not American - too comfortable, at ease in her body, movements.

Oh well, maybe it’s not meant to be. After a few minutes stalling near the silver bracelets, I turn for the door only to be nearly flattened by a whir in blue. Pardon, she says in French, touches my arm on the way by, then points at the tiny patio area just outside, saying, mon enfant – . Ah, the littlest child is about to step off and away outside the door. I feel a mild jolt at her touch, but it must be the surprise of nearly being knocked on my ass. The woman, who is sure enough very beautiful, looks back at me as she reaches for her child’s hand. We look at one another in one of those weird, stray moments. For a second she seems familiar, but before I have enough time to decide whether I have met her, she smiles, is gone – obviously no recognition on her end. Huh.

She has her eye on your watch, looking over from the counter, you ok letting it go? The game we play, if I really want something I might buy it on the spot or try to negotiate for a later deal. We have had long discussions, especially on rainy days, or over a drink, Bev and I, about how I like to watch things I want, wait. It can be trying sometimes, but the feeling if I get them is amazing. I have said many times that the best litmus test is when I feel in danger of losing an object, whether I feel, ‘meh, maybe next time’, or something akin to panic over the very thought of it. I’m a little shaky about the watch, apparently rather attached. Shit. And it will end up on some blonde straight guy with kids. Double ugh.

No, shaking her multicolor hair, she said she loves the moon, wants it for herself, and to give it to her child one day.

Hm. The moon phase complication is what I love about it too. And the term ‘complication’ - for anything extra on a time piece beyond the basic functions, such an interesting use of the word. Anyway, the watch is really expensive, way too much to plunk down now just to keep it from going to someone else. We’ll see, I sigh, feeling very grown up. I’ll go with kismet on this one. If it’s meant to be –

- it will find its way to you! she finishes my customary phrase with a laugh. You know I’ll take that commission if I get the chance!

Whatever, traitor! I joke back and finally leave.

Standing a moment in the sunshine I feel a strong urge to paint. It happens sometimes. I never know how to describe it, but I will suddenly feel full of ideas and the need to get them out of me. Odd, I know. The best part of my life is that I can do it. I can take my ass home, go into the studio and answer the call. I owe no one, no thing. Foot loose and fancy free am I! A little lonely on the rare occasion, but I have a few friends, a lot of acquaintances, and enough hookups or short-term situations to feel ok about my life. I’m not sure artists should be with anyone long term anyway. We are strange and moody, can be a lot to deal with.

Instead of the bar I was headed to, I end up back at the studio. The minute I walk in, the canvases in progress, nearly all yellows, reds, oranges – recalling sunrises, sunsets, gardens - seem out of place. I move them to face the other way against the back wall. I am consumed by blue, maybe a little green. Recalling the sensation when the stunning woman touched my arm, I feel compelled to commit art, almost forced to rid myself of a burden, or a memory - wrestle it out, slap it onto something where it can live instead of inside me!

As I squeeze out paint, draw a deep breath of oily goodness, I start the first piece. It’s one of those days where my hands do their own thing and I just wait to see what appears – it happens like that sometimes. Watching it shape up, the colors in particular, it begins to feel familiar. I go and dig out a kind of locket I have. Behind the metal cover on the tiniest little hinges is a rough piece of glass, probably Roman glass, shimmering in blues, greens, a bit of purple. For the life of me I can never remember where I got it. Maybe someone gave it to me? Or maybe it fell into a bag at an antique store? Or – who knows! My