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Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx

break. She swallowed. “I’ll let you have it for 10 bucks. It needs a good home.” ❊❊❊ Now she ran clean water for Lucille’s wine glasses, swabbed each bowl, brushed each diamond of the cut-glass pattern, until the knock of the swinging door against the wall roused her. Prosper appeared with a tray stacked with cups and saucers. He set it on the counter beside her. “I shouldn’t have told Lucille I used to bus tables. That woman has some powerful mojo.” Marti tossed him a dishtowel. “It’s always good to keep a hand in. You never know when you’ll need a trade.” She washed and he dried. She was brisk, machine-like. He dallied, absorbed with buffing each piece. “It felt good,” he murmured finally, “having a real audience again, not just people wandering by. I owe you one, Marti. Another one.” She wrung the dishcloth and smoothed it over the edge of the sink. “Let me do your portrait, when you hit the big time. Maybe at the New Orleans Jazz Festival.” “They have that at the fairgrounds, you know. We can go to the races in the afternoon and you can hear me play at night.”


Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx
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