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A review by liz1966
Black Wings Has My Angel by Elliott Chaze
4.0
I'm hooked. I feel like I'm following the main characters in this story like a documentarian.
Two people living on the edge. The reader is being teased into wanting to know more about this unlikeliest or likeliest duo. I'm hoping to finish this in the next day or so..I'll be back with a full report.
"In Dallas I got turned around somehow and drove out through a plush Home-and-Garden Club kind of neighborhood, where all the houses were of long thin wafers of Roman brick or blotchy fieldstone and were set far back from the road, their picture windows shining like gold foil in the late sun. We passed what must have been some kind of club, and there were limber-legged young kids on a strip of fine clay, stroking brand new white tennis balls with a beautiful laziness, their expensively coached strokes almost insolent. Then we came out of that part of town and there were some grubby youngsters battling an old gray ball around a gray asphalt court, a public one with ragged chicken wire backstops. These kids played aggressively, jumpy and fast, the movements ugly and determined. They beat the ball as f they were killing a snake.
"It's funny, " said said to me "they can be playing the same game and yet an altogether different one" "It's the money"
"Yes"
"Everything stinks without the money"
"Almost everything"
"Some day I'm going to wallow in it again. I'm going to strip down buck naked and bathe in cool green hundred-dollar bills"
"You said again"
Two people living on the edge. The reader is being teased into wanting to know more about this unlikeliest or likeliest duo. I'm hoping to finish this in the next day or so..I'll be back with a full report.
"In Dallas I got turned around somehow and drove out through a plush Home-and-Garden Club kind of neighborhood, where all the houses were of long thin wafers of Roman brick or blotchy fieldstone and were set far back from the road, their picture windows shining like gold foil in the late sun. We passed what must have been some kind of club, and there were limber-legged young kids on a strip of fine clay, stroking brand new white tennis balls with a beautiful laziness, their expensively coached strokes almost insolent. Then we came out of that part of town and there were some grubby youngsters battling an old gray ball around a gray asphalt court, a public one with ragged chicken wire backstops. These kids played aggressively, jumpy and fast, the movements ugly and determined. They beat the ball as f they were killing a snake.
"It's funny, " said said to me "they can be playing the same game and yet an altogether different one" "It's the money"
"Yes"
"Everything stinks without the money"
"Almost everything"
"Some day I'm going to wallow in it again. I'm going to strip down buck naked and bathe in cool green hundred-dollar bills"
"You said again"