A Kept Man

This is my latest Friday Fictioneerssubmission. This week, I’ve ignored the word limit because I needed context. Generally speaking, I always try to stick to 100 words and I’ll be a good boy next week, I promise. Thanks to Bjorn Rudberg for the photograph and, as always, to Rochelle for the inspiration.

NB Apologies for my low commenting rate last week. Had a busy Easter so had little or no time for blogging

Ed pushed the terrine around his plate with the fork. It was cruel, really, stringing her along like this but everyone said it was best to pick a neutral venue to end a relationship. The most expensive restaurant in town was a neutral as they came, though it had perhaps been a little crass to order the tasting menu when she was paying. He let Fennella pay for everything. A kept man, his friends called him, though in truth he was little more than a gigolo with an MBA.

The lights dimmed and a brace of pinnafored musicians came to the table.

“Song for the lovers?” Asked the talker of the two in an accent that was pure Deptford. Ed had been about to decline when Fennella nodded.

The guitarist began to pick out a childlike melody. Ed had heard it before, though he couldn’t place it. As the music washed over him, he drifted to sleep. The room darkened; he felt his limbs grow heavy. He looked over at Fennella, saw her features had settled into a strange smile. For the first time, he realised how beautiful she was, for a wealthy older woman, at least.

The next morning, he woke up in Fennella’s bed, an engagement ring on his finger and no recollection how it had come to be there.