partygirl43
Refugee
Well, here's more of Ansleigh and Bono. Picking up where The Endless Deep left off. I don't know how speedy I'll be with the chapters as I've been a bit blocked--but I hope you enjoy for now....
FICTION!!!! FICTION!!!!!
Twelve months later
The house was still and quite. I was alone, a newcomer to Dublin.
The shipment of items I had chosen from Uncle Paul's in Chicago had not arrived yet, and my decorator was running a few weeks behind with furniture rugs and lamps.
Bono was gone; poof, like that. Dissappearing into the studio for days at a time. I had him almost a whole year to myself, his exculsive audience and now he was like a ghost. I wasn't sure how to deal. I had gotten greedy. I had been around the world with him, mostly alone and anonymous. On occasion we'd pop up in a city in some country where U2 was know or popular, but mostly we traveled in the manor of the exclusively wealthy: quitely. Money can buy a great deal of privacy if you want.
On sunlit beaches touched by balmy breezes, we were alone. At first he was jittery, a bundle of energy that had never relaxed since he was sixteen. A week or to passed, the call slowed then stopped. I thought did the world wonder where Bono went? Before his trips were thinly veiled photo ops, in all the usual places. I challenged him; can you really dissapear? And if you did would you lose or find yourself?
We were in the Maldives, sitting in a nameless portside cafe. Everything was amplified, the colors, the sound of the waves, the rush of the wind. He looked at me, those eyes as blue as the water in the ocean next to me.
"What?" I smiled shyly. He could still do that to me.
He parsed his lips and held my gaze, "Ansleigh, I love looking into your eyes."
I glanced down self-conscientiously.
"They're so calming." He continued.
Here we were, probably in the most relaxing spot in the world, and he was looking at me, telling me my eyes were calming. All of my life I had looked to others for calm, to be my life raft in a storm, and now another person was telling me this. I must have looked perplexed.
"Really?" I puzzled and took off my sunglasses. He removed his and looked eye to eye with me. I did not blink. I did not flinch. I let him in. I did not know what he saw, but I was content that whatever it was, he found it.
So after a few weeks, I was spoiled being his exclusive audience. No phones, no computers, no manager, no assistants, petulant daughters, adoring public, presidents or prime ministers. I should have prepared myself for the reality that was to become my life.
I padded around the first floor; windows facing the ocean. The house was built new, but looked as though it had stood here for a hundred years. We named it Brays Head Manor. A new life, a new home. For now it was me. The stone floors cold. The fire lit, glowing but lonely. I wished to call Margot or Luke, but I glanced at the time and decided it was far to early to call the US.
I looked out the windows, it did not look terribly different than Lake Michegan.
And then the phone rang; loud and clattering in our nearly naked house, jolting me from my depressed thoughts. I ran to it sliding on the bare floor, excited for a call. I picked up, "Hello?" I said a bit breathless.
"Ms. Fisher?" the voice said deeply and full of concern. I had not changed my last name.
"Yes?" I questioned, searching my mind trying to put a name to the voice.
"There's been a terrible accident."
My heart stopped. I dropped the receiver.
FICTION!!!! FICTION!!!!!
Twelve months later
The house was still and quite. I was alone, a newcomer to Dublin.
The shipment of items I had chosen from Uncle Paul's in Chicago had not arrived yet, and my decorator was running a few weeks behind with furniture rugs and lamps.
Bono was gone; poof, like that. Dissappearing into the studio for days at a time. I had him almost a whole year to myself, his exculsive audience and now he was like a ghost. I wasn't sure how to deal. I had gotten greedy. I had been around the world with him, mostly alone and anonymous. On occasion we'd pop up in a city in some country where U2 was know or popular, but mostly we traveled in the manor of the exclusively wealthy: quitely. Money can buy a great deal of privacy if you want.
On sunlit beaches touched by balmy breezes, we were alone. At first he was jittery, a bundle of energy that had never relaxed since he was sixteen. A week or to passed, the call slowed then stopped. I thought did the world wonder where Bono went? Before his trips were thinly veiled photo ops, in all the usual places. I challenged him; can you really dissapear? And if you did would you lose or find yourself?
We were in the Maldives, sitting in a nameless portside cafe. Everything was amplified, the colors, the sound of the waves, the rush of the wind. He looked at me, those eyes as blue as the water in the ocean next to me.
"What?" I smiled shyly. He could still do that to me.
He parsed his lips and held my gaze, "Ansleigh, I love looking into your eyes."
I glanced down self-conscientiously.
"They're so calming." He continued.
Here we were, probably in the most relaxing spot in the world, and he was looking at me, telling me my eyes were calming. All of my life I had looked to others for calm, to be my life raft in a storm, and now another person was telling me this. I must have looked perplexed.
"Really?" I puzzled and took off my sunglasses. He removed his and looked eye to eye with me. I did not blink. I did not flinch. I let him in. I did not know what he saw, but I was content that whatever it was, he found it.
So after a few weeks, I was spoiled being his exclusive audience. No phones, no computers, no manager, no assistants, petulant daughters, adoring public, presidents or prime ministers. I should have prepared myself for the reality that was to become my life.
I padded around the first floor; windows facing the ocean. The house was built new, but looked as though it had stood here for a hundred years. We named it Brays Head Manor. A new life, a new home. For now it was me. The stone floors cold. The fire lit, glowing but lonely. I wished to call Margot or Luke, but I glanced at the time and decided it was far to early to call the US.
I looked out the windows, it did not look terribly different than Lake Michegan.
And then the phone rang; loud and clattering in our nearly naked house, jolting me from my depressed thoughts. I ran to it sliding on the bare floor, excited for a call. I picked up, "Hello?" I said a bit breathless.
"Ms. Fisher?" the voice said deeply and full of concern. I had not changed my last name.
"Yes?" I questioned, searching my mind trying to put a name to the voice.
"There's been a terrible accident."
My heart stopped. I dropped the receiver.
I loved the endless deep! so glad you decided to write a sequel 
it has me interested already 
Me too!!!
LOL! Because I already know I'm going to get hooked!
