Morning all. I hope you are having a fantastic morning. Mine is rolling along nicely actually. Let’s kick off the day with a writing prompt, the same thing we do every day Pinky. Timers set for fifteen and off we go to conquer the world.
Not sure where this is going but I think it is going to lead to Grace breaking with the group.
Thursday, April 9th: The spray soaked all of them.
The spray soaked all of them. Grace stood there dripping on the sidewalk while Tracy screeched at the injustice of it all. Tracy got the least of the spray, the water arc having descended to waist height by the time it hit her, while many of them, Grace included were dripping from head to toe. Still she was the loudest.
‘And the prettiest,’ Grace thought as everyone rushed to her aide. Grace was swept along in the group as they all headed to some place drier. Much was made of Tracy as she sobbed about her skirt being ruined. Grace looked down at her own clothing. The coat took the brunt of it but the edge sof her dress was soaked and splattered. She sniffed and realized the artfully curled tendrils of her hair were dripping with muddy water.
And no longer artfully curled.
She sighed. He worked hard on those. Her hair did not like taking a curl unless it had an inordinate amount of product in it. By the time it had enough product it often looked crispy fried and shellacked in place. She found a fine balance between the two and today she managed things perfectly.
‘All that time wasted,’ Grace sniffed.
As towels were produced to dry everyone off the sniff felt more self-pitying than anything else. Tracy got the lion’s share of the towels along with several people to help with the dabbing process so nothing would be rubbed in. Grace was tossed a towel in an offhanded manner, and she was certain that it was mostly because she was creating a puddle.
‘And because my father doesn’t own the bank,’ she added as she began to pat her hair dry. The curls were a loss, but if she patted she may keep it from being an out-of-control mess and at least contain it in place instead of encouraging the frizz.
‘Technically he doesn’t own the bank,’ Grace reminded herself. ‘Even if he sometimes acts as though he does.’
Tracy’s father was the senior bank manager. Grace wasn’t certain that was his official title as he oversaw all the branches in the region and had their individual managers report to him. He was powerful and the family was wealthy. Tracy’s mother had once been an actress with minor success. She retired when she met Tracy’s father and passed her camera ready looks on to Tracy.
Which meant anyone in Tracy’s orbit was always in the shadows. Usually, it didn’t bother Grace. As one of the entourage she attended events and went to places where she might not have gone on her own. She tended to be quiet as Tracy tended towards drama so overlooking her was natural.
One usually paid attention to the person screaming.
Ten til Midnight 