About two miles southeast of Pemberton steps Travis Weatherford, a blond with stormy Nordic good looks, bent over and snorted the last line of cocaine from a mirror in his Bernal Heights flat. The feeling was dazzling, soothing. Things looked clearer even if he wasn’t sure how he was going pay all the rent without his lover's assistance since his job as a runner at Pacific Coast Stock Exchange was not sufficient to afford the flat alone. And now that his father had cut off his allowance after his refusal to marry Louvenia Langford back home in Waco, Texas, for his father's own gain, everything seemed bleak. His only hope was to appeal to, Laura, his baby sister for generous support until he could do better if his lover never came home from Georgia.
He relaxed listening to piano solo and gazing into the fire. In a little while he would add another log or two but for the moment, he settled back with thoughts of a young portrait painter he’d met in Macombe Alley when the telephone rang disrupting his thoughts of lust and passion.
TO BE CONTINUED