Owner: The Star Islanders URL:http://starislanders.blogspot.com Join Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2006 12:10:40 -0600 Rating:0 Site Description: The Star Islanders is part Miami noir, anti-chick lit, a story with its own soundtrack and more than a touch of the unexpected... Site statistics:Click here
The Yellow Dress 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Things happen. If today had gone differently, I might be backstage at the Queen's show with Betty and Eva. Instead, I'm sitting in flannel PJs, typing in my journal and eating cereal for dinner. Cream of buckwheat, to be exact. I like cereal for dinner when it's a choice, not a state of mind. So, the dress. It's in the window of a store called Bottlebrush Tree, and it's the most luminous shade of pale yellow, with a fitted bodice and flowy sleeves. I know you're thinking "too cutesy," but trust me, I don't usually fall for dresses like this. I visit the window every day on my way to work. Bottlebrush Tree is one of those stores where I'd have to ring the bell to be let in, and then I'd have to talk to the saleswoman and pretend I had $5000 to spend on a yellow dress, and an occasion to wear a yellow dress, and I'm not very good at pretending.I know I said this journal wasn't going to be about bags or clothes, but the dress is an exception.I'm about to say goodbye to my dres Read more:Yellow
The Star Islanders 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I'm not a Star Islander. In fact, it's been ten years since I last visited. It was the night of my senior prom. I stepped out of the limo and into a house built like a Moroccan temple, a maze of soft white walls and no corners. The house belonged to a girl named Sea. I sat, curled up on the couch next to my boyfriend (the valedictorian, later the professor) and the other almost-adults. I think we watched T.V., then fell asleep in separate beds.The boyfriend: first in a line of boyfriends to become Important. Now, when I flip open the Sunday Times, I half-expect to find a section: Francie's Great and Not-so-great Loves. Reviews of minor celebrities. I've only recently moved back to Miami, so I feel a bit like a native tourist. This isn't a journal so much as a tourist guide. Point A to Point B and places off the map. If you were expecting a soap opera about botoxed housewives and Prada bags, you might want to stop reading.I'm not sure anymore what it takes to be a star, or even Read more:Islanders
Red and Yellow, Kill a Fellow 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I miss my friends up north and I know they're going to be worried when they read this post. So I'm sorry for not writing sooner about what happened to Maribel.Monday had the potential for being such a good day. I slept ten extra minutes, the air was a little less humid...I even made a mix for the car (Wake-up Mix #1):(1) The New Pornographers, "High Art, Local News" (a favorite band),(2) Arden Kaywin, "Me With Me" (inspiration from a Miami girl),(3) Beirut, "The Canals of Our City" (strange and wonderful).The Beirut song is the last song in my head before I see the police cars, sirens blazing, in front of the wedding dress shop. Now, this is Miami, so at first I'm not too concerned. But as I get closer, I see an officer trying to calm a very shaken-looking Betty. He sits her down on the sidewalk and hands her a Diet Coke. Before Betty sees me, I duck past the yellow police tape and into the shop. It still smells faintly of gardenia, and of another less pleasant odor.Right away, I se Read more:Yellow
Morning Rituals 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Monday. I hit play on my iPod and drag myself to the shower. Jellyfish's "Joining a Fanclub" is the first song out of the speakers. Perfect.I grab my grey jean miniskirt and a green floral button-down, figuring it's just going to be Betty and me in the office today. I mix my gels, cremes, and serums and run them through my curls in a losing battle against the humidity. Tote bag. Sunglasses. Phoenix CD (for the car). Evian. For my brief commute, I'm more than a third assistant: singing along to "Rally" in a French accent, dodging Miami drivers -- I'm a rock star. I imagine a conversation between the Queen and Eva, her first assistant.Q. C.: Eva, I can't believe this extraordinary talent is my third assistant. Did you know she could sing?Eva: No...I...I'm as surprised as you are. Her name's Francie.Q. C. (clapping): Second assistant--Betty: --It's Betty--Q. C.: --You. Finish the press kits. I need one hundred sent out within the hour and make sure they all have the photo of me as Read more:Morning
, Rituals
The Queen Conch 1970-01-01 00:59:59 On Miracle Mile in Coral Gables, there is a certain wedding dress shop that looks like it has been there forever. If you keep walking past the excited hum of bride-filled dressing rooms to an old service elevator, and take this elevator up to the second floor, you'll find my office.I've been working as an assistant to a pop star, a diva, you'd know her. Let's call her the "QueenConch
." I'd say she was about ten years older than me, but her true age is a well-kept secret.You'd think my life was pretty glamorous, all concerts and bling, if it weren't for the fact that I'm actually the third assistant to the Queen. This means I've mostly been working for Betty, the second assistant. So far as Betty and I can tell, Eva, the first assistant, is the only one of us who has seen or spoken to the Q. C. since we started. The Queen's got her hands in everything, so Betty and I help organize her various projects (like last week's benefit and this week's fashion show) and field phone c
The Red Coral Society 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Tuesday was mostly uneventful. I passed by Bottlebrush Tree, as I always had. The yellow dress was still in the window, its mannequin holding a silver beaded purse shaped like an owl in its outstretched plastic hand.I arrive at work at eight a.m. It is as if the crime scene never existed. Our dress shop is empty, except for a few unclaimed wedding dresses. Betty and I spend the morning packing up the office: books, press kits, supplies. Before we pack the CD player, we listen to my Goodbye Dress Shop Mix:(1) Broadcast, "Tears in the Typing Pool,"(2) Juana Molina, "Micael,"(3) Snow Patrol, "Shut Your Eyes."Betty doesn't want to talk about Maribel or our jobs, so I pass her the packing tape and she seals boxes. Finally, I have to ask. "You met the Queen Conch. Do you think we'll ever hear from her again?""I didn't meet her," says Betty. "You mean at the show? Eva rushed her off stage as soon as the lights went down. I didn't even get my mom's t-shirt signed."Betty throws a framed ph Read more:Coral
, Society
Lost and Found 1970-01-01 00:59:59 For a few days, I checked my cell phone, flipped through job listings, and ate a lot of Chinese take-out. Still no message from Eva.Then last night, I started to feel like something wasn't right. I reached under my bed for my journal and felt empty space. Now, I know it's old-fashioned to keep a leather-bound journal when I have you. But you know I can't tell you everything. I'm sure I left my journal on the office windowsill. My heart races as I think about someone thowing it out, or worse, knowing my entire mind. Miracle Mile is mostly deserted this time of night. I reach into the potted palm outside for the key and luckily, it's still there. As I step into the darkness of the wedding dress shop, Maribel's death finally hits me. I pull my grey hoodie tighter.I push the button for the service elevator and wait as it noisily lurches to a halt. I step inside and plan in my head how I'm going to grab the journal and get out of there when the elevator reaches the second floor. I hi
The Wreckers 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Last night I slept restlessly. I was listening to Joanna Newsom's "Monkey & Bear" before I fell asleep and had a fitful dream of a dinner table of monkeys smashing plates and crawling all over the place. In another, I was running through a house built like a Moroccan temple. I turned a corner and saw Rafe's face in a hanging mirror. He raised his hand. Burnt into his palm was a heart-shaped shell. It's almost eight. I dial Betty's number on my cell, but no answer. I've been trying to reach Betty all day. I'd like to talk to her. She was the last one to see the owl purse before it disappeared. I'm afraid to tell Grandma that I lost the purse. There are some things I need to figure out first. If Betty was right and the bottle inside was the same one stolen from the Historical Museum, then what was Grandma doing with it? And why did she need me to deliver it to the Queen Conch? I pull out Officer Khost's card and start to dial his number, then change my mind. Maybe I shouldn' Read more:Wreckers
Salt Island (and the Man Who Lived There) 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I'm sorry it's taken me a while to catch up. Sometimes my story gets ahead of me. In my last post, I was carried on a ferry steered by an unknown captain to Salt Island
. Of course, I didn't know we were headed toward Salt Island until the ferry reached the dark shore. I had never been to Salt Island, but I knew it immediately by the briny smell - the result of centuries of ocean salt deposits. No one knows exactly why Salt Island accumulates more than its share of bitter salt - but because the salt-smell is so pungeant, plans to develop the island for a power plant, luxury condos, and other uses were finally abandoned in the late 1970's and the island fell into decline.I struggle to lift the blanket off of me - this was the smell I was trying to place (before the chloroform took effect). I'm still a little groggy, but I can see the pale moon shining over the sparkling piles of salt. The third passenger is leaning over the deck, smoking. I remember when Rafe used to light up, usual
Found and Lost 1970-01-01 00:59:59 If you're into the club scene then you already know about Havana. To get to the swank poolside bar, you first need to find the Havana Botanica downtown. It's easy to miss, sandwiched between a run-down parking garage and a souvenir shop selling shot glasses and coconut patties. Once you weave past a few late-night customers looking for remedies for their various urban ailments, the owner points you to the velvet rope at the back exit. The bouncer opens the door and I step out into the cool Miami night. The crowd flows seamlessly between the outdoor bar, large silk cushions by the pool, and more secluded tents. I am usually a bit intimidated by the leggy South American model set, but tonight I have the yellow dress. I'm feeling okay until I remember I'm still holding my decidedly unglamorous grey hoodie. At least I won't be cold.An unseen DJ is spinning an upbeat remix of "Yours to Keep" by the Teddybears.I clutch the owl purse tightly. Grandma gave me specific instructions: "I nee
Betty's Invitation 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Rain begins to fall outside the former wedding dress shop. Max flies over, handing me the silver owl purse in his beak. He shakes water off his feathers and takes off into the night. "Max!" I call, but he keeps flying. I don't know why I assumed Max was coming with me, but now that he's gone, the emptiness of Miracle Mile seems palpable. The columns of the new building seem to loom like guards in the rain. Maybe this is the Red Coral Society's meeting place. It's possible.There is a light on in an upstairs window. As I pass by, I can barely make out the outline of someone on the phone before he (or she) swiftly turns the light off.I put my hand in my pocket for warmth and pull out Officer Khost's card. A drop of rain hits his name, dissolving it, so the entire card is now blank. Great.Back at home, I take the elevator up to the 23rd floor. My apartment looks as it did this morning, no hint of a break-in or other disaster. Finally relaxing, I drop the dress box and purse on the cou Read more:Betty
, Invitation
Inflammation of the Mind 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "It's good to see you, Francesca," says Grandma."I don't..." My eyes are still adjusting to the light. "Dad said you died when he was ten. He kept that picture of you on the loveseat, with the parrot." Grandma strokes Max's feathers. "Max and I are both very old," she says, "but we're hardly dead." She smiles and pats a pink velvet chair. "Come sit next to me, Francesca. There is much to talk about and little time.""Okay." I sit down next to Grandma. She lifts a silver tray with a steady hand."Would you care for some flan?" asks Grandma. "Or a cup of mango green tea?""No thanks," I say, "and everyone calls me Francie. Francesca makes me sound--""Old?" Grandma finishes, raising her eyebrows."Dad named me after you, didn't he?" I ask. "He never talked about you. I asked, and all he would say was "a fire." So I stopped asking.""Are you sure you wouldn't like some flan? Forgive me if I try to feed you. I hear it's what grandmas do." I dip a spoon into the flan. "As you've probably Read more:Inflammation
The Historian's Proposal 1970-01-01 00:59:59 We're seated in a narrow dining room/library. In fact, every room in Juan's house seems to be inhabited by books. The sad, quiet air of the coral rock house makes me think of Elliott Smith's "Let's Get Lost." Juan's assistant pulls out a chair for me at one end of a long wooden table, then skulks away to eat his soup in the corner. He's still in his blue coat, which seems especially odd in unairconditioned Miami.Juan struggles to sit down at the other end, obviously in pain. He forces a smile."I knew your grandmother. Remarkable lady. She learned to thrive in this heat," Juan says, dipping into his bowl."How did you..." I start to ask, but Juan isn't listening. He's now rifling through a leather-bound journal."I've been keeping a journal since I started the Red Coral Society project. Take notes - or you'll forget everything. That's my advice," he says.Even though the chowder is excellent, I'm still feeling uneasy. Maybe it's Juan's jumpy manner (though I know he can't he Read more:Historian
, Proposal
Myth vs. Reality 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "Most of what I know about Ponce de Leon I read in your book," I say."Go on," Juan leans back as his assistant swoops in to clear the plates. He lights a candle in the center of the table. The strong floral smell reminds me of the night Maribel died. Could Juan's assistant be trying to tell me something? He avoids my gaze and skulks outside to smoke."Okay...well, you start out by stating the popular theory: Ponce de Leon wasn't searching for an actual Fountain of Youth when he discovered La Florida. He was seeking a sort of spiritual awakening, the birth of a new era for Spain - power, riches, glory, and all that...rather than physical rebirth." The candle flickers."Now where your theories diverge from more...established thought is in regards to the Red Coral Society. Most scholars dismiss the idea of a secret society as part of the myth - a society bound by blood tracing back to the conquistadors, established with the sole purpose of picking up where Ponce de Leon left off in his se
The Peach-Faced Lovebirds 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I follow the Historian as he picks up the candle and leads us to the living room. The house is poorly lit, as if electricity hasn't entirely been adopted by the coral rock house. I'm not sure whether Juan is trying to make me uncomfortable, or if this is his natural way. He slowly places the candle on a small Moroccan table."So now that we know this isn't the real Bottle #3, we won't be needing it," he says, taking out Grandma's bottle and, in an instant, hurling it at the wall. It smashes into several unsalvageable pieces."Hey!" I say, so sharply that Juan turns around. "I was supposed to deliver that bottle to the Queen Conch.""No you weren't," says Juan. "Francie, you and I both know what the Queen really wants. She's looking for the real thing, just like you and me," he says, taking a large antique birdcage down from a shelf. He sets it down next to the large metal contraption I saw earlier."Let me show you something," he says, opening a tiny door in the cage. He reaches in Read more:Peach
Grandma Knows Best 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Officer Khost and I are both leaning over the railing of the ferry, breathing in the salty night air. Max is sleeping perched on a pile of life preservers."You're lucky," says Khost, as the wind blows his greying hair, "I had almost given up on the case of the murdered wedding dress shop owner. If I had, things might have been different for you and the birds.""So what led you to Salt Island?" I ask, still reeling from the night's events. "Call it a hunch," he says, swatting a mosquito. The mosquitos have discovered we're the only things edible in the middle of the Bay. Khost looks like he's done talking about Salt Island for now, so I let it go. We're safe. That's what matters."I didn't even have to call you," I mumble, thinking about the number on Officer Khost's card. "Not an option," says Officer Khost, looking at me closely. "I don't have a number. Or a phone." Suddenly, he slaps his arm, leaving a bloody mosquito-print. "Dammit. I hate blood.""Here," I say, searching my h Read more:Grandma
Officer Khost's Proposal 1970-01-01 00:59:59 The ferry docks at the quiet Old Port. It must be about five a.m. Officer Khost throws his coat over our heads, a second before the light rain turns into a furious thunderstorm. He makes room for Max, who ducks under to stay dry. It's a good thing no one's around to see us disembark - we're an odd team."Thanks," I say, wrapping Bottle #3 carefully in my hoodie. I'm shivering a little, thinking about how serious Juan seemed about his mission to find Ponce de Leon's three points. Obsessed, really. Khost notices my death-grip on the bottle."You gonna be okay with that?" he asks. "I could hold onto it. For safekeeping." "No," I say, a bit harshly. "It's just...I know you don't believe me, but I saw my Grandma...and she asked me to deliver this bottle to the Queen Conch. So I can't be part of some crazy mission to track down the other two points. I mean, this is assuming the three points exist and assuming they can be found." I turn out my pockets for emphasis. "I've got ten, no, f Read more:Proposal
The Missing Stairs 1970-01-01 00:59:59 Sunlight streams in through the windshield of my car. Disoriented after a three-hour attempt at sleep, I try to readjust to my surroundings. There's a coral rock sign and a fountain: Miracle Mile. The night's events start to come back to me. Juan. Salt Island. Officer Khost's rescue. I'm still clutching Bottle #3 tightly in my hands. Officer Khost is pacing down the street, smoking, as Max perches on a nearby parking meter."Do you think Bottle #3's okay under the seat? I mean, I don't think anyone would want to steal my old Camry, or a bottle, but someone could, or it could overheat, if water from the Fountain of Youth can overheat, so maybe I should bring it with me..." I'm overtired and rambling. Khost stares at me."I think we're okay. Come on," he says, walking briskly ahead. "Haw," says Max, flying alongside me. I give him a scathing look. It's about eight a.m. by the time we arrive at the former wedding dress shop. The shop window has now been boarded up, so I quickly che Read more:Missing
, Stairs
The Mayor of Battersea 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I'm balancing Khost's nonfat half-splenda dark roast coffee and my decaf (full-fat) caramel macchiato and trying to prop open the Cafe Mauricio's door. On my way out, an attractive middle-aged woman in a crisp white designer suit pushes past me. She looks really familiar. "Careful, mom, or she'll ruin your new suit," says Brad, appearing behind her. Of course...Brad's mother, the Mayor
of Battersea. Though I hate to admit it, Brad looks especially cute today, in a pale green shirt that almost matches his eyes and, of course, the glasses."Oh," I say. "Hey. How's work? Still saving the palm trees?" Trust me, it sounded just as dorky when I said it. The Mayor looks me up and down. I'm a mess - last night's wrinkled clothes, make-up smudged, hair unbrushed and ratty from the salt. It's official: no invitations to fancy Battersea dinners anytime soon."Do you know her?" asks the Mayor, addressing her son. "Yeah, Francie and I went to high school together. You remember, mom, she's t
Eva's Invitation 1970-01-01 00:59:59 "You okay back there?" I check my rear view mirror. Max is contentedly snacking on the bag of parrot seed Khost gave me. He lets out an affirmative squawk. "So how come you don't live in a cage like all the other parrots?" I ask. Max spits a sunflower seed in my direction. "Hey!" I say, laughing. I decide to create a new mix on the fly (no pun intended) in Max's honor. Parrot Mix #1:(1) Julieta Venegas, "Primer Dia,"(2) Iron & Wine, "Bird Stealing Bread," (3) The Killers, "When You Were Young."For some reason, I start to really miss my family. I haven't seen my parents in a long time, even though we live in the same city. They must think I'm busy slaving away for the Queen Conch. I dial my mom's cell and get a cheerful "Hi, I'm not here right now..." That's right, mom left me a message a few days ago saying she and my dad would be in Maine for a couple of weeks. I hang up before leaving a voicemail."Go," says Max, interrupting my thoughts. "Go? That's a nice way to talk to your Read more:Invitation
Night Parrot 1970-01-01 00:59:59 I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain hitting my windowsill. My eyes try to adjust to the light filtering in the open window from the cruise ships far across the Bay. I don't remember leaving my window open. I can hear a faint rustling near my desk. I pull the covers over my head, trying to dream the noise away. Rustle, rustle. Okay, I'm not a kid, and lots of things crawl and make noises in Miami, most of them benign. So this is silly, this being afraid of rustlings and rain.I push back the covers and slip into my sandals, shuffling over to investigate. I bend down to look under my desk. Two glowing eyes stare out at me from a pile of old plays and other things I've stuffed down there. It's Max. He drags out a doll, her hair and dress mussed from being buried alive. I have to tell you, it's a strange sight, this parrot nudging the doll's porcelain arm, as if he's trying to wake her. "Max," I say, "What on earth are you looking for?""Heart," says Max, almost Read more:Night
, Parrot
The Quiet Comfort of the Known 2007-03-05 03:45:00 In the morning, as the sun streams in, I find a safe hiding place for the Falcon Box. I can't tell you where, in case Juan or the Bentley guy find out about this journal, but it's in the safest place I know. Driving to the drycleaners with a silent Max perched on the seat, I think about how I'm actually looking forward to the Queen's book signing tonight. For some reason, the known strangeness of working for the Queen is far more comforting than the unknown of disappearing grandmas, red coral, and a life-giving broth. I plug in my iPod and listen to "Safe Travels" by Peter and the Wolf. Max doesn't sing. He keeps his parrot eyes square on the road."So, when Officer Khost says he'll find me, what exactly does he mean?" I ask Max, not expecting an answer.I hand the drycleaning lady the slip. She searches the racks and pulls about ten guayabera shirts in different colors. "You want scent?" She takes out a spray bottle filled with a cologne-like liquid."What is it?" I ask."Is lovely, Read more:Quiet
Never ask a Half-Blind Detective for Directions 2007-03-15 03:23:00 We're sitting in the back corner booth of Mariposa y Luna, an old-school Cuban restaurant in Little Havana. Even though it's mid-day, the corner is dimly lit, as Khost seems to like it. Though Khost skulked over to his usual table like he'd been coming here for years, the staff seems to know not to bother him. Everyone's polite, not unfriendly, but quick to leave us.Khost is devouring his arroz con pollo like he's never seen lunch before, while Max eyes the chicken with disdain. Our waitress, a slim teenager, brings Max a plate of cut up mango. "So, no trouble? Not from Juan or anyone?" Khost growls."No," I say, glancing nervously at Max. "Nothing."Khost tosses a photo on the table. It's of the guy in the Bentley brandishing his shotgun. His face is obscured by the camera's glare. "Oh, yeah, maybe a little trouble," I say. Khost leans forward, his look serious."I know you're thinking you can outrun a guy in a fancy car. But Francie, this car chase, it wasn't real...it was more Read more:Blind
, Detective
, Directions
The Dying Opossum 2007-03-24 02:13:00 I'm driving slowly down a cobblestone street somewhere on the outskirts of Little Havana. It's been about a half hour since Max and I set out for The Great Library and I'm starting to doubt Khost's directions. The map I've unfolded onto my steering wheel isn't much help either. I could swear I've twisted and turned my way to this same cobblestone street a hundred times. The few houses I've seen are set back several feet from the road. Maybe we're nowhere near Little Havana, or The Great Library. It's hard to tell. Most of the road signs are either covered by sea grape leaves or completely gone. I'm trying to get my bearings, but the tropical foliage drapes itself over the road, shutting out all the light. If I'm reading Khost's map correctly, we may be on Tome Court, a few blocks east of the Library, or we may be lost.I turn down Broadcast's "Corporeal." It's not helping me feel any more at ease.My Camry makes a slight groaning noise and I instinctively pat the steering Read more:Dying
The Great Library 2007-03-31 22:55:00 I climb the stone steps to The GreatLibrary
, past the statue of python swallowing gator, and pull open the mosaic doors. Though I've never been to The Great Library, I'm starting to get why Khost sent me here: the towering structure tucked away from the city and surrounded by oak and gumbo limbo is large enough to house more than a few answers.Entering the foyer, the first thing you notice are the towers of books, stretching up towards the domed ceiling. The dome reminds me of a planetarium, except that instead of stars, the inside of the dome is dotted with letters of the alphabet that somehow swirl in silent motion, like ghostly projections. As I look closely at the towers of books, I can see that they also move slowly, in a mechanical motion, to make way for other rows behind them. There is one tower of books set apart from the others, locked behind a gnarled metal cage. There are few visitors to The Great Library, and the ones I see seem to appear between the rows of books, then
The Shelves of Unreachable Mysteries 2007-04-11 03:30:00 "Most people who come to The Great Library are looking for something," says the Librarian, "but they don't always know what it is."She takes out something glowing from her pocket. It looks like a round glow stick, like the ones you get at concerts. But the glow stick flutters its wings and falls to the marble floor with a quiet thud. It scurries ahead of us, leading the way."Glowing roaches," she says. "If you can't get rid of them, you might as well put them to use." We descend into the shadows, as rows of bookshelves turn mechanically to let us pass. I'm glad the Librarian seems to know where she's going; without her, I'd be completely lost."The Great Library doesn't follow the Dewey Decimal System. This is, in part, because of the predilections of its patron, Juan Rosado I," says the Librarian."Juan Rosado. Founder of the Red Coral Society?""The same. So, you already know Juan's story. But what you may not know is that after Ponce de Leon died, Juan Rosado returned to La Flor Read more:Mysteries
The Writing on the Wall 2007-04-23 01:19:00 The Librarian pulls a lever and one of the highest shelves begins to descend towards us. She floats up to meet it and runs her fingers across the dusty spines."No one's checked this book out in several years," she says, "so it should be here." She grabs a thin volume that looks more like a pamphlet than a book. She hands it to me delicately, as if the binding might unravel."Ponce de Leon and the Fountain: Tales for Children. By Luis Delgado," I read aloud. The Librarian clutches my arm earnestly, anticipating my skepticism."In his spare time, when he wasn't designing fortresses or mazes, the Architect published several volumes of children's stories. This is the only known copy of his conquistador tales. He was not especially popular as a children's writer, I'm afraid. Most of his characters came to a rather bad end. But his tales of Ponce de Leon are so vivid -- I think they might just point you in the right direction." Looking into the dark eyes of the Librarian, in whic
The Writing on the Wall 2007-05-09 03:56:00 "I'm lost," I say, simply. "I'm completely lost."Brad extracts the the Architect's book from my hand."Tales for Children," says Brad, holding a glowing roach close to the cover."I've been doing some research. For a new children's play. I thought, maybe The Great Library would give me some new...or old...material." I bend down to pick up the two books Brad dropped."Secrets of Florida Flora," I read aloud. I start to pick up the other book, but Brad beats me to it. He pulls a lever and in a second, the shelves move to reveal a small reading room, with a few wooden tables, chairs, and reading lights. He leads us to a table and the shelves close behind us and recede into the darkness.Brad thumbs through the plant book. "I've been doing some research myself. My client, he's been losing all his Bottlebrush trees to some sort of disease, thinks it's the city's fault, that the city caused his trees to turn grey. Work gets stranger and stranger..."Brad opens the book to a page displayi
El Segundo Punto 2007-05-21 04:48:00 Estoy como un búho del desierto(c) 2007 Francie Leighton. All rights reserved.
Intermezzo 2007-05-31 19:13:00 Dear Readers:Now that we've reached the second point, Starislanders is going to be on brief hiatus while I do a little housekeeping -- keeping the print draft up to date with this online swimming pool. Regular-scheduled programming will resume in a week or so. In the meantime, fellow adventurers, be encouraged to post comments and theories about el segundo punto. Besos,Francie(c) 2007 Francie Leighton. All rights reserved.
Recommend Site To A Friend
