1929: A Zimbell House Anthology

By Ben Fine, E W Farnsworth and Matt McGee

1929 was the end of a golden age. Six aspiring writers spin tales set in a time in history when changes were afoot. While some sought the American Dream, others had to deal with vampiric siblings. Facing lost loves and gaining new freedoms define the beginning of a new age. Of course, the government was going through some changes itself in The B

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zimbell House Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643900278

Ben Fine

Ben Fine is Professor of Economics at SOAS, University of London. He is the author of the critical texts, Macroeconomics and Microeconomics (Pluto, 2016), co-author of Marx's 'Capital' (Pluto, 2016) and co-editor of Beyond the Developmental State (Pluto, 2013). He was awarded both the Deutscher and Myrdal Prizes in 2009.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are the product of the individual author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the publisher.

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© 2019 Zimbell House Publishing

Published in the United States by Zimbell House Publishing

All Rights Reserved

Trade Paper ISBN: 978-1-64390-025-4

.mobi ISBN: 978-1-64390-026-1

ePub ISBN: 978-1-64390-027-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902308

First Edition: March 2019

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Acknowledgments

ZIMBELL HOUSE PUBLISHING would like to thank all those that contributed to this anthology. We chose to showcase six new voices that best represented our vision for this work.

We would also like to thank our Zimbell House team for all their hard work and dedication to these projects.

From Bakersfield

A. Farrier

Manhattan 1929

A re you sure that your wife won’t walk in on us?

Dorothy went to visit her brother in Chicago. He looked at Luther with lusty, espresso eyes. She won’t be back until Sunday.

The two men laughed as they stumbled into Miles’ back door and into the kitchen—a little drunk on giggle water and hooch. As soon as the door swung closed behind them, they pulled each other in for messy kisses in the dark.

I’ve been after that cash all night. Miles slid his fingers down the front of Luther’s button up shirt—nipping just beneath his jaw.

Shut up and kiss me. Luther hissed, fisting the lapels of Miles’ blazer.

Miles did, tangling his fingers in Luther’s hair. Their skin hummed with excitement beneath rushed touches. There was no one to walk in on them, no one to interrupt. They didn’t even have to be quiet like they would if they’d gone to a hotel.

They took a step back, Luther leading Miles by his tie, and nearly knocked over the vase on the dining table. They both laughed again as Miles scrambled to catch the vase.

Perhaps the kitchen isn’t the best place for this.

Luther threaded his fingers through Miles’ hair. Anywhere with you is the best place.

You must be screwy. Miles chuckled, biting Luther’s ear. You’re hopeless.

Their mouths met again. They maneuvered themselves away from the kitchen table. Miles backed Luther up against the doorframe. Luther whined and pushed Miles’ blazer off his shoulders as Miles began to run his fingers across the buttons of Luther’s shirt. He closed his eyes as Miles moved to kiss his neck. The buttons slid from their holes expertly beneath Miles’ fingers before he pushed the shirt from Luther’s shoulders and onto the kitchen floor.

Then he stopped.

What the hell is that?

Luther opened his eyes, but Miles was staring at his neck, chest, and arms.

It’s nothing, really. Luther blushed, looking away. I should have warned him.

Nothing? Miles took a step back, gesturing to the Cheshire-smile scars varying from faded white to silvery pink that littered his arms, chest, and shoulders. It looks like you’re sick—with pox or something worse.

It’s not catching, I promise. They’re just scars.

Scars? From what?

My sister. An animal.

They were silent for a moment before Luther bent to get his shirt. I should go.

Miles caught hold of his wrist before running his fingers along one of the scars that lingered there. I’m sorry.

What for? You didn’t do this to me.

That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.

Miles traced his fingers along Luther’s jaw. Luther closed his eyes and leaned into Miles’ touch.

Please, stay.

He opened his eyes back up before half smiling and tugging on Miles’ tie. Lead the way.

WHEN LUTHER OPENED the door to his apartment, the smell hit him like a thousand street pennies.

I’m turning on the lights, he called. And if there’s a body on my sitting room floor, I’m going to be rather angry with you.

Rosetta turned on the lamp by the chair. There wasn’t a body. Just her.

I already moved it. She turned to look at him, sucking blood from her fingers like strawberry sundae syrup, her smoky grey eyes glinting in the low light. I didn’t get any on the carpet this time.

Good. The cleaners were suspicious the last time. I’m running out of lies to tell them.

She shrugged and lapped off the snack left on her fingers. You’re back awfully late. The sun is about to come up.

He shut the blinds. I was with Miles.

You’ve been spending an awful lot time with him lately.

Rosetta got up, coming behind Luther to wrap her arms around him. She slid her fingers across his shoulders and tugged at the collar of his coat.

He pulled away, shrugging off his coat. I thought you already ate. Why are you pawing at me like a cat in heat? I’m not feeding you tonight.

I can smell him on you. She pulled his shirt collar down. Besides, I’m not hungry. I’m checking for hickies.

He rolled his eyes and pushed her away again. What did you do with the body?

Dumpster; a few blocks away.

Did you burn it first?

No, she looked at him, confused. Should I have?

He groaned. Are you trying to get yourself caught? This city is crawling with cops, and they’re bound to notice a body in a dumpster.

Jesus, sorry, I’ll go take care of it.

No. You go to sleep. He walked into the kitchen. You’re supposed to sing at the juice joint tomorrow night, and the sun is about to come up anyways.

She smiled. Thanks, Luther. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek before walking back toward the apartment’s only bedroom.

Just get some shut-eye.

She nodded before swinging the bedroom door closed.

He turned on the sink to get himself a glass of water before plucking a book of matches from the drawer and slipping them into his pocket.

Bakersfield 1909

THE WINTERS WERE ALWAYS too cold, and the house had always been too small. Luther lay curled up by the fireplace on the living room floor, blankets tucked around him. He listened to the wind outside, and the branches scratch against the roof. Rosetta was nestled behind him. He could hear his parents snoring in the other room. But Luther was wide awake.

Are you awake, Luther?

He nodded and rolled over to look at his sister. Her red hair fell over her shoulders, and flames reflected in her eyes.

I was thinking about moving to a city, when the winter ends, after my birthday. She trailed her fingers through his hair. Would you want to come with me?

His nose crinkled. But I’m ’sposed to start school in the fall, Rosie.

She smiled. You could always start school in the city.

Which city? Mont ... peal ... ee ... er? He struggled to sound the word out.

No. She smiled. Bigger than Montpelier.

There are places bigger?

So many, Luther ... She ran her fingers through his hair. Plenty of places for you and me. Because we’re always together.

Never apart. He nuzzled into her neck. She hugged him to her.

Sometimes he thought of Rosetta as his real mom. She’d always spent more time with him than their mother ever had. His parents had been too busy for him, but Rosetta hadn’t. She’d always made time.

Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?

Luther nodded and twirled one of her stray curls in his finger.

Rosetta started to hum. She rubbed Luther’s back gently with one hand and stroked his hair with the other.

He was almost asleep when there was a crash. He jumped.

What was that?

Shh ... Rosetta covered his mouth and craned her neck to try and see into their parents’ room.

What is it?

Shh, Luther, she whispered.

Their mother screamed, and Luther’s eyes went wide. Rosie, I’m scared.

She looked at him. Hide under the couch.

But—

She pushed him. I’ll come and get you when I know it’s safe.

He didn’t have it in him to argue. Rosetta picked up a fire iron and held it tight in her hands as she made her way to the back room. He curled tight under the couch and started to count.

He heard a wet crunch. Luther ran out of numbers and started back at one. He curled up tighter when he heard his sister scream.

His hands shook. He heard his sister hit the floor and the sound of something else hitting the floor with her. He could see her pale legs, slippery with gore as she tried to fend her attacker off.

"Stop! Please, stop!" She was shrieking, struggling.

The voice of the shadow said something that he couldn’t quite make out. His sister started to scream again, but it died in her throat. Luther heard a sound like wet paper tearing, but louder.

He cinched his eyes shut; he couldn’t watch anymore. Everything smelled sharp and coppery. He moved his hands from his ears to cover his mouth and nose. He could hear his sister gasping. He heard someone slurping. He didn’t know what was happening, but his hands shook.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the shadow walk toward the front door. Wind howled into the room, and the fireplace went out. Then the shadow was gone. Everything was black.

Luther shivered, but he didn’t dare move. At some point, he fell asleep. He didn’t wake until his sister shook his shoulder with a freezing, gore-covered hand.

He came crawling from beneath the couch on shaky limbs. Dawn hadn’t broken yet, so he could barely see her. He cried into her chest, and all she could do was hold him.

Manhattan 1929

LUTHER TENDED THE BAR while Rosetta stood on stage at the front,