By Kathe Koja
Love: it’s a triangle. conflict: is coming. Betrayal: is inevitable. intercourse: beware of the naughty puppets.
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Extra info for Under the Poppy: a novel
Sample text
He stuffs his gloves into his pocket, rubs his forehead. In this brighter light, his overcoat looks scuffed and slightly shabby, his hat in need of brushing: the pauper prince. The whole lobby wears that same declining air, brave enough by candlelight, by day just a bedizened box smelling distantly of damp wool, cigars, and ancient sperm. ” She knows the truer source of his agitation; she bites her lip. “And what of you? ” “Vidor sent for me this morning. Apparently he must have Redgrave and that idiot Franz attending, as well as the colonel and his retinue.
At the head of the aisle, Decca, in a lemon yellow silk that in no way becomes her, jet combs like horns in her red hair, mutters instructions to Velma, herself an overseer tonight, the two hired hotel servers her domain so “Watch them every second,” Decca says. “Every fork that goes missing comes out of your pocket. ” “Fine for now,” says Velma, resplendent in unaccustomed bombazine. ” “Don’t give yourself airs, just do as I say…. ” “I’m not speaking to you,” though no one else stands with them, Decca distracted, gaze up and down the room, the four tables bright with wax candles, unthinkable expense, that and the champagne, will they notice how poor it really is?
He has three teeth missing, at times it makes him mumble, but his gaze is clear enough, his bearing stiff. Beside him Jürgen Vidor smiles a sketch of a smile, pours again for the three of them and “Commerce,” says Jürgen Vidor, “is at home in all locales. Much like the military, eh, Colonel? Did you try the elk, Mr. Redgrave? ” “Shot at dawn,” says Mr. Franz, the attaché; he giggles. No one acknowledges his remark. Champagne and elk and rye whiskey, cigars and cheroots, five seats filled at a table for six.