THE WORLD'S YOUR OYSTER! by HOTZ MENDEKOA

The Worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Your Oyster

A mini-romance. Written by Allan Jon Kretzmar, JD 2

LOVE ENTWINED Two lives that came together Lucky in love with a twist of fate From a chance meeting That we cannot forget The time had come Paths that intersect Mining destiny For topaz in your eyes I thought that all was lost Washed away in a dream Across the dimension You met my needs I want to see you Leave the past in shreds But nothing can tear apart A love so entwined Eclipse the sun with the moon The darkness will not last The brightness of your soul Cascading down to me Our connection is forever I feel you here now As we are ready To unravel mystery

by Chris Steven Young

The Long Drive The Swiss Alps The mountains were still crested in late-Spring snow, yet a warm breeze blew as Francesca Zerilli maneuvered the little sports car through the bends and twists on the alpine road. She was excited about her upcoming trip to Venice to attend as an exhibitor at the La Biennale di Venezia Film Festival. It was midday, and the wind fluttered her white scarf like a flag, announcing her arrival. The convertible giddily snaked its way through a series of hairpin turns. Francesca snuggled deeper into the caramel leather seats and adjusted the music’s volume up. She was glad to get away. Peering out at the road ahead, surveying the sheer cliff side, her car’s tires hugged precariously. Occasionally, the sports car sent small rocks flying over the steep hillside to land somewhere in the ocean far below. No matter, she thought, I’m in a hurry, gripping the wheels more tightly. Overhead occasional birds flew determined to make their destination, the sun glinting off the lake below in a silvery pool of light. The iced coffee was warm now. The ice had all melted during the long drive. She flexed her shoulders, working out the tightness which had settled there. Francesca’s straight black hair, worn in a long ponytail to foil the whipping wind, accentuated her high cheekbones and angular features. With her startling green eyes and deep vermilion lips, she was one of those rare women who didn’t need makeup to accentuate her natural beauty. The lightest dusting of a golden purple shadow and a streak of eyeliner were all her eyes needed for evening, while a dab of clear lip-gloss and a quick whisk of

powder completed her look. Although possessing a stunning and rare beauty, Francesca also possessed remarkable street smarts. She was traveling from Switzerland through Monaco then onto Venice. The invitation to the Venice Film Festival was a yearly event, but this year it was even more special. Her father, famed director Anton Zerilli, was being honored by the Festival, which was showing a special retrospective of his work. He lacked the strength to attend, and his daughter was going in his place. American through her mother, Theresa, and Swiss through her father, she held both passports. Although born in New York, she grew up in Europe, imbuing her with a unique cosmopolitan flair. She did not see much of her father growing up because he was always travelling and working, amassing rave reviews and critical acclaim, while his family missed the simple pleasures of his presence at home. Now very sick, the expectation among his cadre of doctors was he would soon die. Francesca, an aspiring filmmaker herself, was now firmly following in her famous father’s footsteps. While primarily there to hand-deliver a copy of her father’s last film, Relentless, the bittersweet love story igniting rave reviews wherever it was privately screened, she was also on another mission. She had entering her short movie at the international film festival too, all the while secretly convinced it would not garner critical attention. She was startled at the positive response her short movie had garnered from Gustavo, her father’s director of photography. He encouraged her to enter the “short film category,” so, this year she was submitting this - her second short film. She had originally titled it “Balloon Boy,” later abandoning 5

this idea in favor of the more whimsical “The World is Your Oyster.” She was nervous about showing her work. This was only her second short film, and she knew she would be compared naturally alongside her father’s work. She had all her life had a frosty relationship with him, that only now was thawing. “You have to enter,” he said, “Your movie short is amazing! Your filmmaking talents are surely a gift from God.” “Oh, really – I’ve been getting guidance from you for a while now, you really think I can win?” she asked him, holding her hands up to her face and shaking them, “You must be crazy.” “My dear, look how far you have come along since your first short movie!” He responded animatedly, “Now it’s time for the world to see what I see -- your true talent – your filmmaking artistry!” “But Gustavo,” she blushed, “they will just compare me to my father, I cannot stand even close to him, with all his accomplishments.” “You don’t have to! You’re your own person. You have to enter. Your father is sick and ailing, and who else is there to carry on the family tradition? Your brother? No, never! He’s a playboy out every night at some other club or casino. You’re the one with the talent and abilities, so you must carry on where your father’s left off.” She remembered Gustavo running over to the computer and opening computer files containing her student portfolio, and they had pored 6

over the projects, “We have come a long way,” he smiled, “since these early days. This short is really about Life -- luck, success, destiny – all told in ten minute story, it truly is inspired. Besides, the little boy’s a gem – what a face! I know that people will be interested and will love this movie. Now’s your chance, what's more, I really do believe in you!” Gustavo clicked on another file folder, pointing with relish as images popped onto the oversized computer screen. “Just look at your framing! Amazing! I love your use of the whole screen to tell your story – look at the action in the background, and the foreground. No one has really done this since Hitchcock, and that was way before your time. What you are filming now is sheer genius! I love the idea of the balloons as a metaphor. I know that your visual storytelling skills are amazing, and having a story with a spiritual message gives your work just the right amount of seriousness that will entice the film judges to vote for you to win!” He rubbed his hand along his chin in contemplation, “You have the talent and ability – you just have to believe in yourself. You have to see yourself winning this competition, like I have already done in my mind’s eye!” “Gustavo,” she had exclaimed, “You’re a sweet man but a terrible liar!” “Au contraire my dear! I may be sweet, but I’m not lying to you. You have been in your father’s shadow for what, five years? How long has it really been since you first picked up a digital video camera? Your work’s

better than many of the new filmmakers now coming to the fore. When are you going to believe me, let alone in yourself?” he pleaded. “Oh, Gustavo!” she exclaimed, “You’re an Angel!” He had responded under his breath, which she just managed to catch, “Little do you know!” Francesca had shielded her short film ambitions from her father at first. She was sure that he would cast a negative eye on her work, and he was always so tense and abrupt with her. This year, with her father so gravely ill, and having no choice but to deliver his copy of his movie for the screening, she decided it would be opportune with Gustavo’s prodding, to enter her own short film, and paid the entrance. It seemed for her hard to believe at first, but Gustavo provided the impetus that she needed; this time she felt she had a message, and the more profound she felt her expression was, the more comfortable she felt going. Winning a prestigious international competition, now that was a tall order! But she decided to take the best ten minutes Gustavo had edited, and enter the work at the prestigious event held every year. Maybe, she thought, it was worth entering just for the experience, and a chance to get away from the doom and gloom at home with her father confined to bed, and now near death. No one really knew how much time he still had, and the doctors were not optimistic about his chances for a recovery. Venice was such an amazingly romantic and cultural icon in the world, there was no city quite like it - a lover’s city -- although love was the last thing on her mind right now. 8

There must be some reason that Gustavo is so insistent, she mused, so I will do this just to humor him! She laughed when she thought that if her short film did win, her father would have to begrudgingly admit that she inherited his cinematic genes and genius after all. It would be a nice honor for her storytelling abilities too. After all, that was what her film was fundamentally showcasing, and she thought she might as well try -- she was going to be there anyway. Her father’s cinematographer was Alberto, and she confided to him that she was going to enter three years ago, but lost heart. “I have finally entered the competition!” she told Alberto, who was incredulous. “Are you serious? You think you will win? You have your family name. Will it work against you?” “It won’t, but you know how self-conscious I am about my film. I love the message, but since I have to present his feature I will do both! Why not take in the sights, the weather at that time of year is perfect in the Mediterranean, I will enjoy the sunshine while you endure the rain. So that is that! It’s decided!” And with that, she packed her bags, three large suitcases in all, and with her yet indemonstrable masterpiece, was off to test her luck. Well, actually Gustavo’s sense of her luck. Of course, Gustavo had made sure that the camera angles and intricate editing were the best according to his strict parameters, and he made sure the short movie had the best titles, both at the 9

beginning, and at the end. The titles cost as much as the entire movie to make, giving the movie a very majestic and polished look. She shot her movie with bright colors that she felt gave expression to her generally sunny disposition, adding a “rock-umentary” style, which added expression to her mischievousness and playful side. It also meant that she did not take herself too seriously. She wasn’t sure she was going to bring back any victories and accolades for Switzerland at the end of the Venice show, but she felt that it was worth the adventure, and a little vacation never hurt. Leaving her father in his present condition was difficult, to say the least; but she decided that she had to be up for this challenge. As the archiver of her father’s biography, she had the best of both worlds, delving into his entire impressive portfolio of work, and studying his amazing storytelling abilities up close. She could pick and choose which clips to show, and did not realize what an amazing discipline this had been in helping her learn to tell her own story in motion. She had arranged a mini-series of twelve episodes of her father’s work, characterizing them into three distinct periods of three episodes each: the first period was westerns, the second dramas, and the third comedies, where he had found humor late in life. She organized the screenings of the documentary series at Anton’s screening room. The invitation-only events from the hand-selected guest list drew throngs of people. They came from far and wide to enjoy the showings held at the private address on St. Gallen in Zurich, a trendy part of the city where the nightlife was abuzz with revelers, outdoor cafes, live music, and the hustle and bustle normally associated with this vibrant city. 10

“You need to find yourself a man,” Alberto had teased her before she left, “How long has it been since you stopped seeing that married banker guy.” “Please don’t remind me! It has been ten months, and no, I don’t need to find anyone. Too late I discovered he was married.” “It happens! The good ones always are!” “I have enough things to do without worrying about a man in my life, I really don’t need that right now!” “So that does not mean that you can’t have an open mind. You need to find a man who is a professional, with promise, and a future. Enough with the married bankers. You need to find someone who is creative, like you!” Francesca had given Alberto a friendly slap on the shoulder, “Yeah, right! Go make yourself useful somewhere, and stop worrying about my love life.” Alberto had gone back to checking the movie cameras, and Francesca had gone into her office. As she leaned back in her leather chair, she turned on her huge flat-screen computer. It was the latest in design and applications, and was her pride. Her father had edited his movies the oldfashioned way, splicing film to sound in tedious monotony. 11

Digital was a dream for her, and she made sure that literally every frame had the right hue and color saturation that was now emerging as a very distinctive style for her. It had been a slow evolution, but finally she was hungry to tell her story. She always walked around with a moleskin notebook in her purse, noting down important snippets of information, her reflections, or just something that caught her eye. She did not know this, but she was exactly like her father at the same age, having an insatiable curiosity for life and its messages. Life was so complex, yet some itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most important lessons were so simple in their translation. Such is the storytellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s power, and film is a moving medium. She loved to tilt the camera in a pan, moving away from her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rigid interpretations of space and motion. He would never allow the camera to tilt, and would never pan out to take in the entire scene. Nor would he draw the camera in so close that the subjects nose hairs could be counted. She was bold and unafraid in her actions, knowing that that stylistic boundaries in filmmaking existed, but her father had imposed almost all of those upon her. She liked the fact that when she gave expression, it was specifically to draw a distinction away from his cinematic style. Behind her hung a huge eighteen-foot painting that her friend Barron had painted of her, for her production office. This magnificent painting was her pride and joy, so much so that she used this painting as the postcard image for the announcements that she mailed out for future screenings.

The painting showed her on a horse surrounded by a dark forest, dressed in a suit of armor wearing a silver chest-plate upon which was emblazoned a red heart. Under the armor, she wore a chain-mail armored vest, and strapped to her left side was a sword. She loved the bold imagery of the painting, it reminded her of medieval times, and that she was riding on her horse about to embark on some amazing journey fraught with danger, as well as rich rewards. If she was painted riding off to some event, it had to be an important destination, and the mission significant enough to have this huge painting devour the hours that it did to complete. Francesca glanced back at the painting, feeling a twinge of exasperation that the artist had made her nose appear a little too bony, and her chin a little too long. She wished secretly that she could paint. This painting encapsulated the spirit of wonder that made her want to see the world. She was tired of the strict discipline of her father, his incessant lecturing and their constant fighting and arguing. It was as if her father first got angry with her, then already in a rage looked for a reason to pin on her why he was this way. Her mother had died when she was young, so she never really knew her. There was nothing that she could do, believing after a while, a large part of her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s anger was directed at himself for losing his wife. She was bulimic, and had literally starved herself to death. Maybe she wanted to get love and attention from her husband, but he was too busy making movies to notice that she had shrunk down to a rail before their eyes. Finally, she just faded away, and through dying, completely disappeared. She had had enough, leaving the remaining family members to fend for themselves.

Anton took the loss badly, his rages becoming angrier and more frequent. Whenever he was home, which was infrequent, she noted him drinking more, and it was not a good family life by any stretch of the imagination, in fact, she hated it profoundly. She promised that she would grin and bear it now with him sick, that she had no choice but to stay at his side. Friends who knew her history said that her attitude took pluck and courage. She thought it was the only rational thing that she could do under the circumstances. She had always toyed with the idea of leaving, but never had the opportunity, although having motive and reason. She was always sorry they never had a better relationship, that a mellowing on his part never happened. Now too sick to travel, and with her emotional sanity at stake here too, she was surprised at the change in him. She sacrificed so much just being around him and his controlling of her every move all through the years, that it was a dichotomy that it was his stroke, which forced him to suddenly mellow. She told her friends that her relationship with him dramatically improved that day, and how saddened she was that it took this devastating event to soften his heart. What she did not know, because her father never told her, was the stroke felled him, slashed his ego, and humbled his monumental pride. Suddenly, he could no longer yell and scream, because he needed assistance with walking, eating, and dressing, and he came to realize that he had lost all his independence. His wife had faded away, his children barely tolerated him. His eldest, Tom, was a lay-about, taking his inheritance money and moving out of the house, selling the Ferrari he gave him for a birthday

present, and became a tour guide for a while. He lived on a houseboat in Monaco, spending his days asleep, and the nights awake at the local hotspots. Francesca was loyal, but cold towards him. He knew he had done much to cause this, although she made a decision to stick things out at home, agreeing to employment with her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s production company given the task of making a video memoir for the miniseries on his lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work. She tried early through this activity to find a means to understand him better. There were two men inhabiting her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s body - the genius that made the movies, shared with the tyrant that ruled over everyone with whom he came into contact. While his temper was notorious, so was his genius legendary, but as his acclaim grew, so did his tantrums. He made great movies that were box-office successes around the world, making studio executives leery of crossing him in any way, or not letting him get his way. With the stroke, he became all too human, all too frail and decrepit, in a single day his magical kingdom was robbed and taken away from him. The documentary allowed Francesca to hone her craft and evolve into a potentially formidable storyteller and filmmaker, which was the latent genius that Gustavo recognized in her early on. By beginning to make her own short stories, she found in the two she had already made that she was able to abandon the strict constraints of representational filmmaking. She could shoot and in a few bold seconds convey the message in her film that could touch everyone who saw her undertakings -- a much different style from anything her father did. Such was the power of her storytelling on her digital canvas. She was also a little ruthless, a trait she did not admire in herself, but which 15

she knew she inherited from her father. Once she made up her mind, that was it. No force of nature could change the steel-trap doors of her mind. It was her greatest asset, and her greatest weakness for it prevented her from allowing herself to explore a fuller range of emotion in her storytelling. It also stopped any man from wanting to get close to her. Just as in the office painting of her in armor, her sharp wit was her metaphorical sword, and she wielded it with deft precision. Men were unaccustomed to so tough and strong a woman and they ran away in droves. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Merde,â&#x20AC;? she said under her breath, as she spilled her coffee cup over her papers on the desk, over the VIP tickets to the Venice Film Festival invitation, and onto her Prada designer shoes - a singular fashion disaster! She was clearly a little nervous about her trip, the upcoming publicity her visit would engender, and Alberto was just not helping things. While she was just twenty-eight and still relatively young enough to marry and contemplate children, her friends were beginning to worry about her chances of finding a suitable mate. The Film Festival had garnered international attention and world renown. Getting a showing, let alone a win, would bring her much publicity. Having a successful father did open doors for her, and as she worked on his documentary, she developed an interest in filmmaking, finding that it was becoming a calling. What a strange turn of events, it was nothing she neither anticipated nor expected when she decided on a possible career.

While Francesca fought her demons, Justin Castelain, a young painter of some note and distinction, was struggling with his own challenges. Their paths were, unbeknownst to them both, about to entwine. A Yacht on the Mediterranean Sea Majorca, Spain Justinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s paintings were sought after by collectors in galleries across the world. Today he was sketching in a notepad some future designs that he intended to introduce in a new opening of his work in an exclusive gallery in the fall. These days he had fewer days to paint, as most days found him overseeing the family furniture manufacturing plant, which made custom leather sofas in Rome. He was an only child and had to take over when his father became too sick to manage the factory with itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pressures. Sure, the sofas were hand-made eight-way hand-tied fine furniture, but the work was tough and the hours long. The factory was world-renowned, and he was a great supervisor. But he found the work boring, tedious and routine. He just loved to paint â&#x20AC;&#x201C; huge whimsical canvasses where the paint could fly and dance - where on these giant canvases his creative visions could be given vibrant artistic expression. Justin was always flecked somewhere with paint - in his salt and pepper hair, in the stubble of his beard, on his pants, or even under his fingernails. Paint somewhere and everywhere. For he was the consummate artist who lived and breathed paint, the smell of turpentine ever-present, mixed in almost as an after-shave. It was just a part of his scent, he could not help it,

and he just loved to paint – and the power of creation that allowed him to bring it to life. “Wow!” he thought, “I am truly blessed!” Deep in his heart Justin knew that he had the ability to make paint on canvas walk, talk, and fly! The mustical ability of paint to come alive under his brushes never failed to awe and amaze him. A Twist of Fate: Madrid, Spain Justin was just doodling in his large oversized sketchbook during a factory production break and was sitting at a small café nearby. In front of him was a glass of beer, a half a loaf of bread, sausage, cheese, cucumbers and tomatoes. He sketched and drew as he munched and sipped. He was about to take another sip of coffee, lost in thought, when a woman brushed past him and bumped his arm. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” he growled, as the coffee sloshed over his notepad. The woman was tall, and had strange dark amber eyes, which when she looked at him seemed to flash in anger, only to dissipate when she smiled. “No,” she said, “sweetie, you watch where you’re going.” She sauntered off, and some papers she was carrying in her leather file folder fluttered to the ground behind her. How strange, he thought.

Justin looked at the woman, then at the papers, but when he looked up again, she was gone from view and only the papers remained. He stubbed out his cigarette into the saucer, and walked over to the papers, which were being blown by the wind in every direction. “What the hell?” he thought, scrambling after them, retrieving them now, his interest peaked. Once gathered, he sat down, tugged at a cigarette from the pack with his teeth to remove it, lit it with a Zippo lighter, drew in the satisfying smoke slowly, and brushed off the dust from the papers in front of him. He pulled out a pair of small horn-rimmed glasses from his white shirt pocket, and read the papers with increasing amazement. Among them was an open VIP Invitation to the Venice Art Festival, two weeks from Sunday. This woman had dropped a VIP invitation where it stated that Exhibitors had to be there at eight o’clock in the morning the day of the event to set up their canvases. The exhibition attendance was already all set up, with the fees pre-paid. The badge allowed entry to the Festival, with a designated exhibition space. All it seemed Justin had to do was show up. His first inclination was to find her immediately and return the papers with the entry badge. He looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. In fact she was watching him with interest while standing in a doorway across the road. She could read his thoughts, and then she smiled a half-smile and walked away. Justin’s second instinct formed. Why not go there and exhibit his paintings? His mind made up. He punched the air with his fist. 19

What luck, he thought. Artists from around the world travel to this festival! It offered meetings with curators, other artists, gallery owners, and the like. A win there could make him even better known, even more famous. Why not, he thought, this might be that chance to exhibit his work to a truly international audience. The richness of the frames provided a beautiful added dimension in addition to the freewheeling paint and exuberant saturated colors of his work, which had evolved over the years -- very accurate, representational, and meticulous in the beginning, a style he more or less abandoned as he gained confidence in his intrinsic artistic expression. He loved to splash color, even over the wooden frames, allowing for much more powerful and bold expressions and dynamics. Gone was the trepidation in his application of paint, he reveled in making broad-brush strokes. Painting in oils is an oldworld art form. Why not have the brush strokes show the creative pain and exuberance, he thought. He ran back to his studio behind the factory, and in a frenzy selected three of his best works, which were all stretched over sturdy wooden frames. He set about detaching the frames and unfurling the large canvasses carefully, so that he could roll them up to transport them in the sturdy metal carry cases he pulled from under his bed. He would re-stretch them when he got to the exhibitorsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; hall. What a lucky break, years of work, now opportunity struck with an unexpected twist -- a new chance where he could display his best work. How fortuitous, he thought, how could I ever thank her?

Was it destiny? He wondered. This was a crazy moment for him, to at a whim decide to get up and go at a second’s notice? He realized there was something that compelled him to go, something inside that drove him to throw caution to the wind. This is the most ready that I have even been, he thought, so why not take a chance? What are the chances of someone dropping an invitation in my lap like this again? He had heard of the Art Biennale in Venice, and it had always been his desire to submit his best abstract work. Not only do painters participate, but also they represent their countries at well. It was a stroke of fate to get the invitation. What would happen if he actually won for Spain, and himself? He had a friend who was a well-known young movie director, and he called him up. Not only was his friend going along with two other friends they had rented a luxury yacht to sail them to the competition at a cost of Euros 30,000 for the week – another invitation followed. “You come along,” his friend offered, “There is a free bedroom for you! We are sailing to the film festival, pack your bags and join us, we sail this weekend! Can you take the time off?” “But of course,” Justin nodded, “I just have a few loose ends to finish up here, and I will pack in a day and see you. Tell me where we should meet. I am so excited this is all fitting into place!” “Me too,” Barry De Franco his friend since High School said, “me too. It will be a fun trip. How often do you have the chance to sail into a Film Festival?” 21

“I have decided to enter my paintings as well in the Art Festival,” Justin added, “Just to be different, I guess. I am doing this on a whim.” “No matter how you come to do it, just the fact that you are going at all is amazing! We will have fun. I am glad.” Sailing is fun at the best of times, but sailing in the Mediterranean is a special treat for Justin. The waters are crisp and blue, the weather sunny, the winds warm, and for Justin it was amazing fun to have the chance to relax with friends. He realized he had been working so hard that he forgot what fun was anymore. He thought about Venice, the waterways, the canals, and the upcoming Festival.

The Screening Room at the Film Festival Venice, Italy The evening for the show was at hand, and Francesca was nervous. The guests were milling around at the wine tables when they announced the next short was about to be shown. There was a general hub-hub of conversation and hand shaking as the crowd moved its way slowly into the screening room. Once the audience filled the seats, the master of ceremonies made the announcements and introductions. Finally the monotonic voice stopped droning on, and the rich red velvet curtains closed. This was it -- her moment! There was complete silence in the packed hall. No-one moved in their seats. Not a cough. Just silence. The curtains cranked slowly open, and there 22

emblazoned onscreen was the title - “The World’s Your Oyster,” then “Francesca Zerilli -- Director.” There was applause when her name was recognized. The audience knew her father, of course. There audience drew in a collective breath of anticipation. Could she follow his example? The short’s cinematic story premise was a simple one. A grandmother appears on screen, and began telling the story of the day when her favorite grandson won a balloon-blowing competition. It was a silly competition, but when he won, it taught him a valuable lesson that he carried for the rest of his life, even though he was only eight-years old at the time when this incident took place. What happened next, she recounted animatedly with hand gestures, was that all the children were lined up and each given a very long balloons that they had to blow air into. The first balloon that popped, that child would win the prize, the audience was informed. Every color imaginable - orange, blue, red, pink, green, lavender – and the competition was underway! Francesca showed through flashbacks of the children blowing their balloons as their competition started, her young star at the end of the long line. Grandma was yelling encouragement to him as all the children huffed and puffed, as did he. In fact, it appeared some of the children’s balloons were already halfway. At that point, her grandson lost his finger-hold on the green balloon, air propelled from it as it fluttered away and disappeared behind him, but all witnessed in agonizing slow motion. His grandmother saw this and held her 23

hands to her face, started crying, and was yelling for him to get the balloon and try again. Dazed and bewildered, the youngster went to search for it, while the other children’ balloons were getting bigger and bigger, ready to burst. Eventually, with just seconds to spare, he found his balloon, and rejoined the group. The others balloons were now almost three quarters done, the whole line ahead of him looked as if they had only a little slack left in their balloons to blow into. Somehow or other the grandson found the strength in his lungs, and sufficient air to breathe, and he huffed and puffed, and much to his own surprise and to the rest of those children alongside him, he was startled by a loud “Pop!” It was his balloon, which had burst! He had won the competition. The prize was his! As they walked away from the competition, his grandmother turned to him and asked, “What do you think your lesson was from what happened here today?” “I don’t know,” said the boy. “Never question in life where you are, and never question even if it seems like everyone in front of you is ahead of you. You are special, and you can come from behind everyone and wind up ahead of all of them, and win, in whatever you choose to do!”

The final scene showed them walking away eating ice cream, her grandson with a huge stuffed animal, the competitionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first prize. The film had been shot in dreamy colors, and was a spectacle to behold. When the short ended, there was deafening silence. Then the screening room erupted in thunderous audience appreciative applause, and a standing ovation followed. Gustavo had done a brilliant job with the editing, as had Alberto with the cinematography. But judging from the audienceâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s enthusiastic reaction, the night belonged to Francesca. The master of ceremonies called her down to the front of the hall. She looked resplendent in her red evening gown as she made her way lovingly through the audience. Hands reached out to touch her. She was embraced over and again by appreciative new fans. Columnists later oozed lyrically that she looked the best she ever had. She watched her figure, worked out regularly, and the results showed. She was radiant. Still, she did not think that she could have won the competition, as there were still days to go and more screenings to still compete against, but in her heart she knew she had done well enough to at least be placed among the top five. Throngs of people surged forward, among them a shy but very handsome man that she noticed out of the corner of her eye who was making his way through the crowd of well-wishers. When he got to her, he held out a paint-specked hand, and smiled.

“Your story touched my heart. You will not believe me, but when I was a child, those things happened to me. I was that boy in so many situations in my life!” “I am glad that you can see yourself in so short a film. Ten minutes is not a long time to convey a story,” she answered as she took his hand. “No way, you are just kidding, right?” “No, I am not, but that was a nice compliment, thank you.” “Where did you get such inspiration?” he asked. “Well, I too like you had one such experience with my grandmother. I won a competition she encouraged me to enter, and that lesson stayed with me all the years of my life. My short is a tribute to her. That is my nephew, that’s why there is a little boy in it and not a little girl!” she laughed. “Truly amazing work. I have a story I want to tell you,” he intimated. “I am so sorry,” she said, “but a line is forming behind you. I so want to know what your surprise is, can we meet afterwards where we can talk?”

“Sure we can, I am in the next hall over. I am exhibiting in there too, for my competition.” “What are you exhibiting?” “My paintings. A couple of large abstracts, big canvases. You should come over and see them when you are done here. It’s right next door.” There was something in that moment, when they looked into each other’s eyes. It was a strange sensation. It was powerful, simple, yet profound. She held out her hand, “So nice meeting you. I will.” “Same, until I see you again.” “Yes, I promise. I am looking forward to continuing our conversation.” The Venice Art Show’s Exhibitors Hall It was not until much later in the evening that Francesca could make her way to the building alongside the screening room. The lights were already out, and she was worried that she had missed him. Then she spotted him sitting on a chair, his bowtie loose, smoking a cigarette in deep contemplation. She walked hurriedly over to him, “I am sorry, they kept me there shaking hands forever. I’m glad they liked my movie.” 27

“So did I, I hope you win. I was beginning to wonder if you would show up,” he looked up at her, “But I am glad to see you did.” “I promised, didn’t I? You don’t know me, but I never go back on a promise. In fact, I don’t even care about winning, presenting was the challenge! Winning would be the icing on the cake.” He held out a cigarette pack, “Smoke?” “No, thanks, I don’t smoke,” she hesitated, “But I will take a drag of yours if you let me.” “Sure,” he handed her the cigarette, “Here. They are pretty mild.” She took a puff, let the smoke draw in, and let it out slowly, handing him back the cigarette. “That was great, one puff is all I wanted. I am sure it will make me giddy.” Justin looked at his cigarette with a mixture of both joy and disgust. He had been trying to quit. But there was always something very satisfying in the bittersweet taste of the smoke on his tongue, in his lungs. It reminded him of cream and hazelnuts.

“Where are you from?” “I was born in New York, but then we moved to Rome when I was little, then Zurich where we live now. And you?” “Madrid, born and raised, I have run the family business since my father got sick. I am always painting though, as you can see!” He pointed to paint spots on his pants, “But look, these are my three paintings! Let me see if I can get some lights turned on for you to see them!” He found a switch, and the room became brightly bathed in museum-quality white-light illumination. “Wow,” she said, “your paintings are bold, magnificent, and empowering. The colors bounce off your canvasses in such an exuberance of movement and texture. Can I touch it?” “Sure, no one has asked me that before, but I won’t stop you, go ahead.” She walked over to the one she liked the best, and stood in contemplation, examining the paint surface closely for a long time in silence, before running her delicately manicured hand and long fingernails over the bubbled paint. She thought how strange. It was as if she could really feel his emotions running through every brushstroke. She shuddered, suddenly cold.

Quizzically Justin watched her all the while finishing his cigarette. He took a last drag, vowed that he would quit, and joined her in front of his monumental painting. “I like this one the best, and I wanted to feel it, the texture. I think you paint exactly how I would if I could!” “Same, you shoot movies as I would if I could use a camera instead of a brush!” “This is my favorite one too. It took me six months to finally complete it, or should I say to feel that it was done. You ever get that feeling with your film work?” She touched the painting again, “Sure, all the time. It never feels complete to me, even now. But I love your paintings - how you take such rich colors, and move the paint around too, giving it such a rich texture. That you are so unafraid to do this.” “Yes, it takes some courage to paint with emotion! I build layer upon layer of paint, until it can be a quarter inch think in places. I want to make the painting feel like you are watching running water, like the paint can actually move!” “Wow, I want to do the same with the camera,” she nodded, “I want the camera to move, like we the audience are the camera, and we are moving to catch the action. You don’t think mine was a silly story?” 30

“No, not at all, it was poignant, and funny,” he flicked out the lights, “Come, it’s getting late and I’m sure they will be locking up the place up soon with us in it. You want to grab a Pernod? Did you know this drink was created by a French physician in 1792 as a medicinal recipe for his patients?” “I did not know,” she laughed, “But a Pernod, now?” “Yes, it will be fun! There must be someplace still open, we can catch a water taxi to get there!” “Can we walk instead?” she held up her shoes in her hand, “my feet cannot handle these heels anymore. My hotel is about three blocks from here.” “Sure we can. That would be wonderful.” A Midnight Walk along the Canals Venice, Italy As they stepped outside, he felt her slender body shiver in the chill air. He took off his black cashmere jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled the jacket close, still feeling the warmth of his body trapped inside the coat. “Thanks, that’s sweet of you. Won’t you be cold?”

“It’s okay, I’m getting hot in it. I can do with some cool night air.” It was quiet along the waterfront as they walked over the canals. Boats bumped up against each other in the waterways as the seawater lapped against them lazily, the moon above basked them in a magical silvery-blue light. They walked side by side, her shoes draped by the straps over one shoulder, his heels on the cobblestones making the only sounds. She liked the feeling of freedom walking barefoot, she had not done this since she was a child, and the stones felt smooth and cold with every footstep. She looked almost waiflike, drowning in his jacket. She put her hands in his jacket pocket for warmth, and felt a large round ball in the right pocket. She pulled it out and held it up. It looked milky, but was smooth to the touch. “What’s this? You forget it in your pocket?” “Oh, no, that’s for good luck! It’s a pearl from a large oyster. It takes a lot of grit for the oyster to form, a lot of trails and tribulations, until something so beautiful emerges. Life experiences are like that too, you know. I keep it as a reminder that I can do and achieve anything I set out to do in life, because I have the ability, opportunity and freedom. Many people just try, and then give up. They are always working on this one project, whatever it might be – a book, a screenplay, a painting, maybe even a short film.” He gave her a gentle

nudge, and looked at her smiling, “But they never finish it, you know what I mean? We have finished projects, that’s why we’re here!” “Wow, ‘The World’s Your Oyster’ is the name of my movie, as you know,” she rolled the pearl in her fingers, then dropped it back into his jacket pocket, “I never thought about life like that.” “Coincidence, huh? What are the chances? I believe that each day we can begin anew, the slate wiped clean, the past left behind, and only the future lies ahead of us.” “Believe me, I can tell you it has not been an easy journey for me to get here. But now that I am here, with you, the road ahead does seem a little less harrowing?” “Which road is that?” “Oh, there is a lot of stuff going on at my home, a real family drama. My father is very sick, possibly dying, and this really has been a lot to deal with. First off, I wanted to win the prize for him, to show him. Then I just wanted to win it for me,” she held back a tear. “I read about your father, and I am very sorry.” “What can I do? I always want what is best for him. I don’t want him to die, but I realize he is suffering. I know that his destiny will unfold and that I cannot alter it no matter how hard I try,” she sobbed. 33

“Well, I empathize. Life will go the way it will. I hope you win for you, it’s a great short film and people will see this as your work, not your father’s! I hope he gets to see you win it!” He put his arm reassuringly around her shoulders, just for an instant. “That’s sweet of you to say,” she leaned against him, ever so slightly. “I was not expecting to win, but I was told today that my one painting, as it so happens the one you like the best, is among the top five in my category! I came here on a whim, now I might win.” “Well, I really don’t care about winning anymore.” “No?” “No, I really don’t. In a funny way, I feel I have already won!” she laughed. “How so?” “Because I met you!”

Allan Jon Kretzmar ÂŠ 2011. All rights reserved. All characters in this mini-book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this mini-book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal. First printing.

Image by Kane! Poetry by Chris Steven Young. Follow further stories and adventures at www.loventwined.com. Check out the other Mini-books in the series.

Forbidden/unexpected Angel The Series: Luck, Love . . . and a Twist of Fate! Other book titles

1. unexpected Angel The novella. A modern-urban love story with a supernatural twist. Angels show up in our lives when we least expect them. Jake Morrison is a bright, young and ambitious attorney hell-bent on achieving his vision of success. But his vision is about to become a nightmare. Zara Jane is a real-live Angel, sent from Heaven above to guide Jake through these pivotal changes in Jake’s life. She ends up working at Jake’s firm and dating him, so that she can watch over him. They fall in love. But Jake rejects the message and her love and his life spirals out of control. As an Angel Zara Jane imparts wisdom and insight for his life and world, and expresses her insight on the road that lies ahead, not only for Jake, but also for humankind as a whole. When Jake takes her words to heart his life goes through a metamorphosis, and he finds himself living his life in a manner that he could not have dreamed of before. KINDLE: unexpected ANGEL. Luck, love . . . and a Twist of Fate! (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EET3M8 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/unexpected-ANGEL/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013028821

2. CUPID’S ARROWS A mini-romance mythological fable, where Zara Jane, Angel, creates a love connection between Mahmoud and Genevieve-Marie at the Palace of Versailles. This is part of her job as an Angel, and one of the more satisfying of her tasks. She takes special care and attention in the pursuit of these activities, and explains in a hilarious interchange with the Love Cherubs the state of affairs connected with helping humans find True Love. This caper involves a tinge of Cupid’s Love Potion #5, 2 cherubs, one Angel, and 2 Cupid’s arrows. KINDLE: Cupid's Arrows (Forbiddem/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDIC1W NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Cupids-Arrows/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013095267

3. WILD HORSE TALE$ A mini-paranormal-action adventure set in Santa Barbara, California. Zara Jane, Angel, and Jake Morrison, erstwhile-lawyer, form Paradise Paranormal Investigations, Inc. This is the first case for their fledgling company, and they are called in to solve the mystery of racehorses that are dying, almost daily. What they uncover are some unexpected twists and turns. KINDLE: WILD HORSE TALE$ (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDICY4 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/WILD-HORSE-TALE/AllanJon-Kretzmar/e/2940013109575

4. WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD A mini-paranormal-action adventure, that takes Zara Jane, Angel, and Jake Morrison, erstwhile-lawyer, on their second caper under their company, Paradise Paranormal Investigations, Inc., on a worldwide dash to stop the Holy Grail and the Golden Calf falling into the wrong hands, in this case, Gustavo, who is not your ordinary villain. He is a fallen Angel himself, with superpowers too. The CIA and the US government call in the two sleuths to provide investigative help. KINDLE: Where Angels Fear To Tread (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EGQYJG NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/WHERE-ANGELS-FEAR-TOTREAD/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013122901

5. set the world on fire! (CONTINUATION OF “WHERE ANGEL’S FEAR TO TREAD!”) A mini-paranormal-action adventure, that takes Zara Jane, Angel, and Jake Morrison, erstwhile-lawyer, continue on their second caper under their company, Paradise Paranormal Investigations, Inc., on a worldwide dash to stop Gustavo in his tracks. Subject matter includes the Holy Grail, the Golden Calf, and the Knights Templar. KINDLE: Set The World On Fire! (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDKPE4

6. ying-yang love A mini-romance. Vickie Ying lives in New York, Christian Yang lives in Hong Kong. They are worlds apart, yes each night respectively in their dreams they connect on a deep soul level that is turning their lives upside down. Their dreams are becoming an obsession, and when they dream they begin to see the other with increasing clarity. The chemistry and tension builds as they wonder if they will ever meet in person. Enter an Angel (Zara Jane) who tries to guide them both, but her message is not immediately recognized or followed. Ying-Yang Love (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDMEBG NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Ying-Yang-Love/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013122598

7. ONLY LOVE MATTERS: INTERCEPTION A sweet mini-romance. Katherine Potter lives in London, for years entombed waiting for her husband to return after his military mission failed. She is invited by her nephew Drew to Hawaii. Enter an Angel that intercedes on behalf of Frederick, her husband to save her life, and allow her the chance to find love again. KINDLE: Only Love Matters (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNF28 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/ONLY-LOVEMATTERS/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013122734

8. what yA gonna do when the angel comes? A mini-travel-adventure-romance. Jake Morrison, erstwhile lawyer, is convinced by his friend Dr. Robert Powell to try regression analysis to isolate when and where he and Zara Jane, Angel, really met to better explain their attraction. As the regression continues, Jake discovers that the answers come not only from this lifetime, but to ones that took place well hidden in the past. Jake unlocks the doors to open up new vistas of adventure, and understanding. KINDLE: WHAT YA GONNA DO WHEN THE ANGEL COMES? (Forbidden/unexpected ANGEL) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EOTKOE NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/WHAT-YA-GONNA-DOWHEN-THE-ANGELS-COMES/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013122864

9. WHEN ANGELS COME HOME TO ROOST (Continuation of “What ya gonna do when the angel comes?” A mini-travel-adventure-romance. A continuation of the regression analysis that Jake is undergoing with his friend, Dr. Robert Powell. Jake finds himself married in this past life to Zara Jane, when a violent storm blows their spice ship off course. Will they survive, and what secrets will be revealed? Stranded on an as-yet-uncharted island they meet Hoppy, a genie, who promises them a way out, with a surprising twist.

10. DEVIL’S ADVOCATE (Continuation of “WHEN ANGELS COME HOME TO ROOST”) A mini-travel-adventure-romance. A continuation of the regression analysis that Jake is undergoing with his friend, Dr. Robert Powell. Jake finds himself married in this past life to Zara Jane, still stranded on an as-yet-uncharted island with Hoppy, the genie who has promised them a way off the island. But is this really what Jake wants? Find out the surprising twist as Jake’s mind plays the devil’s advocate. KINDLE: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005HB9URG NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/DEVILS-ADVOCATE/AllanJon-Kretzmar/e/2940013134041

11. ROBBER BARON (PART ONE) Jake is encouraged by his friend Baron to take up the practice of law again and head up the Loss Mitigation Department at the mighty Trust Bank, headquartered in San Francisco. Jake feels that his name and reputation are about to be misused to further some dark motive that he as yet is unaware of, and he has his misgivings. John Wiley is an attorney representing sympathetic clients as the battle-lines start to get drawn in this modern-day “David and Goliath” zero-sum contest. Jake trusts that whatever the motive behind Baron’s offer, it will somehow be revealed in time to him before damage can be done. Jake realizes this is all a puzzle -- this interplay between light and dark forces -- and that he would need almost a clairvoyant’s skill to separate them in time. KINDLE: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005IDOYQK NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/ROBBER-BARON/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013032323

12. FORBIDDEN ANGEL: THE POETRY COLLECTION Modern-urban poems. BLOG: http://ForbiddenAngelGirlz.blogspot.com KINDLE: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005HILH16 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/FORBIDDEN-ANGEL/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940012990969

LovEntwined The Series: Finders, Keepers, Losers, Weepers Other book titles 13. THE KINGMAKER An undocumented historical mini-romance fable set in 15th Century Great Britain. The throne of King Henry is about to be passed on to one of his three sons, but war with France looms. Enter Princess Isabella, an armor-clad messenger, who meets Prince Richard, and guides him in the greatest adventure of his life. THE KINGMAKER (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNGAO 14. GOING IN FOR THE KILL (CONTINUATION OF “THE KINGMAKER” PART ONE) A 15th Century mini-action-romance adventure fable, where Leopold, the French naval commander, seeks revenge and kidnaps Princess Isabella. Now King, Richard faces dark days as he struggles with the loss of his Queen, and decides to extract revenge of his own with unanticipated consequences. KINDLE: GOING IN FOR THE KILL! Part Deux of THE KINGMAKER (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNICK NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/GOING-IN-THE-THE-KILLPart-Deux-of-THE-KINGMAKER/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013109568

15. THE WORLD’S YOUR OYSTER A mini-romance set in Italy. Francesca is a filmmaker and the daughter of a famed director who decides to enter her short film at the Venice Biennial. Enter an Angel who encourages Justin to enter his paintings in the Biennial Art Festival. The bait has been set, and they are destined to meet. KINDLE: THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNL3Q NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Worlds-Your-Oyster/AllanJon-Kretzmar/e/2940013094802

16. MOMMY’S GONE! A bitter mini-romance. Brad and Mara have been married for fifteen years and have two children, Jamie and Mark. A poignant tale that explores keeping love alive in a marriage that goes through dramatic changes. Mara serves in the Navy, and completes a tour of duty in Iraq. Then Afghanistan follows. . . A story as current as our headlines. KINDLE: MOMMY'S GONE! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNM76 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/MOMMYS-GONE/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013109537

17. FOLLOW THE FIRE! (alternative ending to mommy’s gone!) A bitter-sweet mini-romance. Brad and Mara have been married for fifteen years and have two children, Jamie and Mark. A poignant tale that explores keeping love alive in a marriage that goes through dramatic changes. Mara serves in the Navy, and completes a tour of duty in Iraq. Then Afghanistan follows. . . A story as current as our headlines. This story is the alternative ending to “Mommy’s Gone!) KINDLE: Follow The Fire! (Alternative ending to "Mommy's Gone!) (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNM62 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/FOLLOW-THE-FIREAlternate-ending-to-Mommys-Gone/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013109544

18. (LOVE) ON THE WINGS OF ANGELS A mini-romance. Mary and Pete are destined to find each other, but their ability to meet gets stalled. Enter an eagle that brings about their chance meeting, that in that instant changes both of their lives from that point forward forever. Luck, love, and a twist of fate. KINDLE: (LOVE) ON THE WINGS OF EAGLES! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDNOGA NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/BookAllan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013094963

19. WHEN LIGHTENING STRIKES TWICE! A mini-romance set in Mumbai, India. Ramish is a lawyer who is travelling on a train and is struck by lightening. In that instant the most beautiful woman in the world, his world, gets revealed to him. Ghita Raj is a Bollywood film star, wondering if she will ever find true love. She seeks answers from her astrologer and palmist, Mister Choksy, who tells her that a chance meeting with a man may be soon. Very soon. KINDLE: WHEN LIGHTENING STRIKES TWICE! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EE61Q4 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/WHEN-LIGHTENINGSTRIKES-TWICE/Allan-Jon-Kretzmar/e/2940013109476

20. COWgirl KATE A mini-romance. Kate is a student in Texas who receives an unexplained and untraceable email and text message on her cellphone to make sure she goes to her grandmother’s funeral. She is told that she needs to make sure she attends, for there is a fated meeting that has to take place there. Kate is given control of the family cattle ranch after her grandmother’s passage, but the email and text message concern affairs of the heart. KINDLE: COWGIRL KATE! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EE621S NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/COWGILR-KATE/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013109438

21. HOLY LAND: BLOOD BROTHERS A mini-romance set in the Holy Land. A metaphorical bridge is being built between Rami, an Israeli soldier, and Ghita, a beautiful young Palestinian girl. They begin to steal moments together, knowing that on both sides such encounters are forbidden. The story moves with dynamic intensity to its conclusion as Rami and Ghita struggle to find freedom to live and love. As topical as today’s headlines. KINDLE: HOLY LAND: BLOOD BROTHERS! (ENTWINED lovENTWINED) | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EDQGB0 NOOK: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Holy-Land/Allan-JonKretzmar/e/2940013109513