A PUPPET ON A STRING

Chapter 7

"Amen." Frank mutters just as the meal arrives.

"I did not know you were religious." Said Marilyn catching the salutation.

"Maybe you could come to church this Sunday, clean your soul bad man."

"Too late for me I'm afraid... But at least you'll be saved."

"I'll say a prayer for you as I do every week."

"Thanks sweetie."

"Any word from the agencies?"

"Nah nothing... I called several today... All say the same thing... Too many people, not enough jobs... But they say it's slowly improving... Just takes time."

"I will ask God for a job for you." Marilyn explains.

As if God had a vacancy.

"Thank you sweetie... Put a good word in for me with the big guy."

"I will. You wait and see... God answers all my prayers..." She begins to exclaim.

"See how I come to America... And find work and money for my family back home... I ask God and He provides."

"Yes He did... Maybe He could help me too." Frank looks at Marilyn.Taking in her beauty. Her innocence. And her smile.

"Now eat bad man. You will need your strength tonight." Warns Marilyn.

Frank's eyes light up with surprise. As if the previous evening had not drained him enough. In his mid-forties and apparently at his sexual peak.Marilyn was a good ten years his junior and a sexual dynamo. She ignited his libido in a way that his ex-wife never could. In some ways it was a relief to visit the bar to escape her fleshly appetite. He wondered how her husband had handled her sexual demands.

Perhaps he had insisted she go to America? It would not have surprised him.10:00AM. Frank peels himself from bed. Marilyn had been up for hours and had left him sleeping. Exhausted by an evening of loving making, he drags himself to the shower hoping it would awaken him.

A cold cup of black coffee waited for him on the table. A welcome sight.Skimming the newspaper he searches the headlines for anything that would warn him of another world crisis. Nothing. The President had not upset anyone within the past twenty four hours. That was a good sign. But then. The day was just beginning.'Give him time', thought Frank.Flicking to the Classifies Frank pursues the job listing. Thin pickings. It was too early for his eyes to focus on the fine print. He had have a look at the bar.When he had time. Taking a gulp of the cold tar brew he stirs to life.

The bitterness strikes his senses and feels parts of his body returning to him.Jumping on line. Searches for opportunities that had appeared overnight.Like fishing, the more hooks he had out, the more nibbles he got. For every fifty jobs he applied for, he would get a couple of bites. Though mostly unsuccessful,nonetheless gave him hope. Knowing one company would eventually take the hook.

It was a percentage game. He just had to keep fishing. Keep throwing out the hooks.1:00PM. Jefferson's. The Buick parked itself in the vacant space outside the bar.And Frank strolls in. Seeing Tomo racking glasses and Grimm leaning on the far end of the bar. His eyes transfixed on the wall of bottles in front of him. Nothing changes thought Frank.

"Grimm," Franks acknowledges his presence.Grimm nods his head faintly to acknowledge Frank's arrival. Then resumed his thoughts. Not wanting to be disturbed.Frank drags himself onto his stool. Throwing the newspaper to one side for later.