Swan Dance

Dale wasted no time in finding Jennifer, once his wife was stolen from him by Susan Ritter with the excuse that she had to introduce her to some important people. He found Jennifer standing on the outskirts of a circle of people, like a red glowing star watching the planets rotate. He pretended to accidentally bump into her, causing her to spill a little of her wine on her hand.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I hope no wine spilled on your dress. It would be a crime if it was damaged in any way.”

At first, she was angry at the near disaster, but when she realized that Dale was the culprit, her angry changed into anticipation. “No, the dress is safe. But my hand isn’t.”

“You should wash the wine off. I’ve been told by our dear hostess that there is a bathroom upstairs in their oldest son’s room. The last door on the right. It’s private. Very few of the party guests are aware of its existence.”

“Thank you. I’ll go now. I don’t want to smell like wine all evening.” Jennifer walked to the doorway, pausing a moment to look over her shoulder at Dale. He didn’t hide his desire and lucky for him that a noise in the entry way of the house diverted attention from Jennifer, as she ran up the stairs.

Elijah Ritter’s voiced boomed as he greeted guests. Many people were in the hall, watching his antics and whispering to each other. Dale was three steps behind Jennifer and not one person noticed them escaping upstairs. He made a mental note to send Elijah a box of Cuban Corona cigars sometime next week.

The bathroom was small, but size didn’t matter to them. Dale knew how to work around small spaces. He embraced Jennifer, speaking guttural between kisses. “Damn, I’ve missed you. It’s been a crazy week. Susan Ritter’s taken every free moment with her excessive demands regarding their new house.”

“Forget her and kiss me.” Jennifer said. Their kisses led to intimate touching, which led to skin exposed, mainly on Jennifer.

“You’re driving me crazy in this red dress. Red is for wanton women. What’s underneath this dress, wanton woman?” Not waiting for a reply, he pushed the hem up to the tops of her thighs. “Oh my god, garters and stockings.”

“That’s all you’ll find. Nothing else but…me. Now, let’s see what you’ve got on under those finely tailor trousers.” A sound caused them to pause in mating ritual.

Elijah’s drunken voice raged, but they couldn’t make out the words. A masculine voiced answered in quieter tones. Dale put his finger against Jennifer’s lips. He whispered, “They’re in the master bedroom. We’ll still need to be quiet.”

“Then kiss me,” Jennifer commanded. They continued their clandestine carnal activity. The possibility of exposure fueled the intensity of their sex. The air was heavy with breathy moans and skin hitting skin. A moment before their mutual climax, Jennifer cried out “I love you.” Dale silenced her with a kiss, as they ended their reached mutual goal of satisfaction.

When Dale pulled away from her in unusual abruptness, Jennifer realized she had made a mistake in losing herself in the heat of passion and verbally exposing her heart. “Dale, I don’t know why I said that. I don’t love you. I...I love us together…like we just were.” She couldn’t think straight and felt like a fool for stumbling over words.

He didn’t say anything, as he stared in the mirror, looking to see if her lipstick was smeared anywhere. She wished she could take back her words. Jennifer read his body language and she didn’t like what it said.

“Dale, I…” She was interrupted by the bathroom door being rudely opened without so much as a knock, and then suddenly closed in a muffle of “so, sorry.”


```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Pink Champagne

Waiters with trays of hors d'oeuvres were everywhere. Georgette reported the stained carpet by the front door and asked that a cup of black coffee be sent upstairs. She went in search of Susan. The crowd was very thick. She wondered how Susan would be able to seat everyone for dinner. In the room that was once Elijah’s study, Georgette found Susan talking to a tall blonde woman dressed in pale pink.

“Georgette, you’re the one who bought the mermaid dress! I wanted it. But look at you. Why it’s perfect on you.” Susan made Georgette turn slowly in a circle. “Oh, it looks like a second skin. You could pass for a mermaid. I read somewhere that there really are mermaids in Scotland. The Loc Ness Monster breeds with lone women swimming in the loc.”

The pink lady laughed, “Susan, you’ve got to stop reading tabloids and listen to my show instead.”

“You’re right. Elijah loses patience with me. Oh, pardon my rudeness. Georgette do you know Theresa Champagne? She has her own show on the talk radio station. ‘Complain with Champagne.’”

“I don’t listen to talk radio very often. Sorry.” Georgette hated talk radio. It put her to sleep.

“You should listen. My show is the Oprah of radio.” Theresa Champagne flipped her long hair, like a mare tossing her mane.

Susan said, “Oh, Georgette is a busy lady. She owns the Bucket of Daisies—the garden center and nursery. Georgette, Congressman Redden told me that you were a part of the downtown renovation effort. How exciting! Isn’t he the greatest man you’ve ever met? He’s my new neighbor, by the way.”

“I thought I was the greatest man you’ve ever met?” Georgette’s mouth became dry and her heart beat rapidly. Trip put his arm around Theresa and said, “You ladies aren’t sharing secrets, are you?” He joked.

Susan said, “Not yet. Trip, do you know Georgette Wit? I got all the floral arrangements for the party from her. She has the best green thumb in the county.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Witt,” he said, mortally wounding her with is pretense and then his dismissal of her from the conversation as he formed a semi-circle with Susan and Theresa Champagne. “Susan, has Theresa told you about our vacation get-away plans for New Year? We’re going to the Bahamas.”

The mermaid skirt hampered Georgette from bolting away like a tearful creature from one of Jane Austen’s books. She stood in the hallway, trying to sort out her thoughts. The echoing sound of Elijah’s drunken voice drifted from upstairs. She followed it slowly, composing herself with each step she took up the stairs. If she didn’t get herself under control, Martin would be enraged and confront Trip. She didn’t want that.

Martin was one of the few people who knew that she and Trip were once in a secret relationship. To expose it to the eyes of Susan Ritter would be devastating to all parties. Georgette was used to bad gossip and finger-pointing. Trip wasn’t. Though they were no longer together, that didn’t mean she wanted bad things to happen to him.

She entered the master bedroom with fingers over her eyes. “Is he decent?” she asked.

“He’s clothed if that’s what you mean. He’ll be decent after two or more cups of coffee,” Martin said. Elijah sat on the only furniture in the room—a straight back chair.

“Where’s the furniture?” Georgette asked. The closet was barren, too.

“Probably at the new mansion. Georgette, can you find a large towel or something? Elijah’s spilling coffee and I don’t’ want him to get burned.”

She watched Elijah, sipping the coffee and saying, “Good stuff, Marty ole chap.”

“He’s calming down,” she said. She thought about how compliant he was to Martin’s stern demands. No one could refuse Martin when he was in court room mode. She looked in the adjourning bath and found one hand towel.

“That one’s too small. Go look in the bath in Chip’s room. The last one on the right.” Martin instructed. “Don’t worry about knocking. He’s away at college.”

Georgette was surprised to see the boy’s room was still intact with its bed, desk and beer posters that covered the walls. She didn’t bother to knock on the bathroom door and was shocked to find a man and woman in various stages of nudity. With her face as red as the woman’s dress, she shut the door and ran out of the room.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Locked Door

Dale’s face flushed red as he accused Jennifer of forgetting to lock the door. “I have everything to lose, if word of this little fiasco reaches my wife.”

“Fiasco? Let me point out that you followed me in and you shut the door. I assumed you locked it.” They spoke in terse whispers, so forceful they formed a mist over their heads.

“On this is certain. We’re done. No more meetings. I’ll have one of my agents finishing closing the deal on your townhouse. We can’t ever meet again, Jennifer. It’s too dangerous, now.” He smoothed down the ruffled edges of his hair.

“But, I don’t think the person saw much. You’re being paranoid.” Jennifer’s heart refused to go down without a fight.

“Ms. Swann, you’re not exactly invisible in your flaming red dress,” he said in his new voice of ice. Dale put up his hand as she began to reply. “Listen, I think they’re leaving.” They could hear voices, drifting away. “Let’s give them a minute to get lost in that mob downstairs. I’ll leave first and you can count to one hundred and then follow. Good-bye Jennifer.” He stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Jennifer wouldn’t let the tears fall. She had sworn years ago that she wouldn’t cry over another man. Dale Larkin wasn’t worth the breaking of her oath. Staring at her reflecting, she thought how the shade of her dress changed to a darker red under the bathroom lighting. Instead of being the hue of temptation, it was now a dramatic saturation of anger.

She wanted to run down the stairs behind Dale and slap him. Instead she walked quickly down the hall and stairs. It was easy to fall into the crowd gathering in the hallway downstairs, as Susan tried to assemble order. Dinner was ready and she wanted to make sure that her favorite dinner guests were in the main dining room. Jennifer was one of the lucky ones who dined there, so was Dale.

The table was long with about fifty settings. Jennifer breathed relief, when Dale was placed at a higher spot down the table with his wife on one side and the blonde lady with the annoying habit of flipping her hair over her shoulder. Congressman Redden was seated on Susan’s left and the handsome reporter from WXRZ.

Jennifer was seated beside a dark handsome man, Rod Hutchins. Susan confided to Jennifer, before she was seated. “I’m seating you beside the architect for the downtown renovation project. His name is Rod Hutchins. I think you’ll have a lot in common, darling. He draws house plans. You draw up home loans.” Susan’s laughter at her bad joke annoyed Jennifer, but she smiled politely and shook Mr. Hutchins hand when introduced.

She half-listened to the conversation around her. Jennifer could hear scraps of the topics from the head of the table, like the reporter asking Dale if he had sold the house across from his house on Cedar Drive and the sales pitch from the blonde girl around a radio station. If Jennifer could have come up with a reason to excuse herself without Susan’s boisterous concern, she would have left the dinner party promptly.

Rod cleared his throat in an effort to draw Jennifer’s attention. But she was staring at the centerpiece as she mindlessly forked food into her mouth. “What do you think of the flowers? I’m a big fan of chrysanthemums.”

She pulled herself back into the role of a dinner guest. “They’re nice. The cattails remind me of the lake downtown. I hear you’re on the renovation committee with Mr. Redden.” She decided to stop addressing Redden with a title he no longer possessed.

“Yes I am. We’re hoping the new look will draw business back to the heart of town,” said Rod. He pulled a card out of the flower arrangement. Jennifer watched his face, as he read it and smiled in a knowing way. In a voice that could part the town lake, he interrupted the general conversation. “Excuse me, Mrs. Ritter. Did you know that ‘Buckets and Daisies’ was the nursery chosen to perform the landscaping for our downtown project? I can’t help but admire the floral centerpieces that came from there, as well.”

“Oh yes. I’m aware of that. Georgette designed the centerpieces for me. She’s the green thumb of the county.” Susan turned to talk to Redden in a low voice, dismissing Rod.

He snorted and said quietly to Jennifer. “Yet she’s not important enough to join our little cozy group. It’s a shame.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jennifer asked, amazed that he would have nerve to boldly, yet indirectly point out the omission.

“No. It just caught my attention that Mr. Ritter isn’t here either.”

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Dinner Spoon

Georgette told Martin that she couldn’t find a towel. She didn’t mention the couple in the bathroom. It wasn’t her business and she preferred to keep it that way. Georgette suggested that they wet a cloth with cold and sponge Elijah’s forehead with it, in an attempt to break through his drunken stupor. After a few cold pats on the nape of his neck and his forehead, Elijah appeared more like himself. But word of his earlier behavior had gotten to Susan who sent a waiter upstairs with a message that Elijah was to dine in his study with the guests scheduled to eat in there and not to drink anything that contained a drop of alcohol in it—not even a glass of wine.

Elijah lost the last of his alcohol induced confidence when he heard the message Susan had sent to him. Martin, taking pity on him told Georgette that he would go down with Elijah, if she would see to the smoking jacket in the sink of the bathroom. She took the wet cloth and tried to blot off the stain but it was no use, only professional cleaning would get the stain out. She hung it on a clothes hanger in the closet and made a mental note to tell Susan about it later.

A tall man walked by the room. His long strides carried him away fast. It was Dale Larkin, whose wife tested Georgette’s patient often. She had the habit of returning dead house plants that were alive when purchased from the nursery. Once she brought back a fern she had purchased six months earlier. She failed to water it and tried to blame the nursery, saying the plant was diseased.

Next a striking blonde in a flutter by dress followed him down the stairs. She definitely wasn’t Mrs. Larkin. But that was none of her business. Georgette went down, too. Susan saw her and motioned her over. “Georgette, thanks for taking care of Elijah. He and Martin are in the study. Could you keep an eye on Elijah? Make sure he doesn’t drink anything else. I’m very upset with him.”

Georgette agreed and sat at the table beside Elijah. Martin and a girl named Celeste were seated a few chairs down and getting along splendidly. She didn’t experience jealousy, another proof that she wasn’t in love with Martin. But watching him with Elijah made her proud to call him a friend.

“This is a dinner spoon,” Elijah said, interrupting her thoughts. He stared at a silver spoon with gold roses embossed on the handle. “’He hath need of a long spoon that eateth with the devil.’”

“I haven’t heard that proverb in a long time. Makes me long for Shakespeare.” Georgette said, trying to keep the atmosphere frothy. She glanced down at the half eaten Cornish hen covered with a candied fig sauce on her plate and said, “’I love long life better than figs.’”

Elijah turned his stare on Georgette, “Anthony and Cleopatra.”

“I read too, Elijah, though I haven’t read any Shakespeare in years. My older brother used to act out some of the plays when he studied them in school. He made me watch.”

Elijah said, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a son until tonight.” She didn’t like to talk about her family, so Georgette turned the conversation to the Ritter son.

“Charles. We call him Chip. He’s in his sophomore year at UNC. He’ll be home over the holidays. My wife is planning a Christmas party at the new house. I’ll make sure you’re invited. You can meet him. He’s a talented artist.”

“I admire artist, even the starving stereotypes.” Now that it was clear that Elijah didn’t need a babysitter, Georgette helped herself to the wine. Maybe she could drown out the thoughts of Trip with his arms around another woman.

Mermaid Skirt

The image in the mirror stared sadly back at Georgette, as she tried to gauge what in her physical appearance kept her from being the heart of perfection. Could it be that her hair was too deep a shade of raven black? Or that it was too unruly and curly, swaying down to the small of her back? It was so long she could faultlessly re-enact the famous ride of Lady Godiva, wearing not one stitch of clothing, using her long hair to cover the delicate areas whose exposure society frowned upon. Her frame was petite and almost delicate like a calla lily, but she possessed the strength and determination of a mighty oak.

She knew she could stare at herself for hours and never find the perfection she so desperately sought. A swift shimmer of light flashing in the mirror reminded her that she needed to finish dressing, because Martin would be arriving soon. She had begged off, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He thought that the quicker she got out and mingled in the social world, the sooner the pain would ease. Like he was fond to point out—Trip wasn’t going to sit around and pine for her, so why should she give him that honor.

On her bed, spread out like funeral attire was the source of the shimmer of light that reflected briefly in the mirror. Staring down at it with regret, Georgette wished she hadn’t of been so easily persuaded by the vivacious saleslady at the dress boutique to purchase such a flamboyant gown. The source of the shimmering was a multitude of sequins in iridescent shades of blue and green covering the boned bodice of the gown. Even the thin spaghetti straps were encased in sequins. The skirt was made of black satin and embellished with deep green and blue sequins. But what made the dress so unique was the shape of the skirt. The hem was cut in a pointed shape at each side of the dress, giving it a fish tail—the illusion that it was tailored for a mermaid. A pair of black fishnet sleeves decorated with black pearls and sequins completed the dress. They were to be worn like gloves with a braided loop at the end for the middle finger to slip through.

After she dressed, Georgette had to admit that the saleslady was correct—the dress was a perfect fit. It looked spun directly onto her body by little sea horses. If she became overly bored at the party, she could slip into the pool and sing like a siren, luring men to their doom. She laughed at that thought. The one man she wanted was immune to her charms.

Georgette stared for a long time at her reflection, hypnotized by the glamour and wishing Trip could see her now with her hair loose and falling everywhere, reflecting the sparkle of the sequins. If she closed her eyes, she knew she would be able to feel his hands caressing her hair, wrapping strands of it around his fingers, and whispering how he adored the softness of it. With effort, she fought the urge to drift down memory lane, because time was ticking and Martin would be there soon to whisk her away to the ball.

The thought of letting her hair loose and free was too much painful to consider. Though she was determined to be free of Trip’s influence, she knew that baby steps were needed, so she braided her hair like usual and wound it around her head, pinning it up with rhinestone clips. A few curls escaped but on an impulse, she let them enjoy freedom. Georgette sprayed a cloud of perfume into the air and walked through it, just as the doorbell rang announcing Martin’s arrival. As she walked to the door to let him in, she prayed that she wouldn’t feel like a fish out of water at the party.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
The Swan

“Ms. Swann, you are far from an ugly duckling tonight, my lovely lady. What a vision you are in tempting red,” said the Susan Ritter proclaimed man of the hour, Congressman Redden, “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

“If you forget, I’ll remind you,” said Jennifer, giving him a pretentious smile. He was the first person she saw when she walked into Susan’s almost vacant home—vacant of furniture not people, which turned out to work for the best because there were so many guests.

She quickly untangled herself from Redden, who protested that if she left him alone the crowd would swallow him and he would never see her again. Jennifer pretended not to hear him. She went in search of Susan and found her talking to a platinum blonde with blondish white highlights in her long hair. Familiarity flushed over Jennifer, as she watched the blonde flip her hair over her shoulders, but she couldn’t place why the gesture seemed so familiar. She politely waited for the two ladies to part, before securing Susan’s attention.

“Lovely party, Susan but you are much lovelier,” said Jennifer. “You were born to wear blue.”

“Your curls are darling,” Susan said, touching Jennifer’s hair. “Please excuse the absence of furniture. Elijah moved most of the furniture to our new home to accommodate all our dinner guests. I never know when to stop inviting people. We’ve got tables and chairs set up in different rooms. Once dinner’s over, we’ll move them out to make room for dancing and mingling. Darling, wait until you taste the food. I found the most exquisite cater. Remind me to give you their number.” Susan linked her arm in the bend of Jennifer’s elbow, continuing to praise the catering company, as they walked through the rooms, but a tall man with graying hair at his temples stole Jennifer’s attention.

Dale raised his glass in salutation to Jennifer. His smile curled over the rim, before he took a long drink. She smiled, tipping her head slightly in an acknowledgement of his silent greeting. But the smile froze when a redheaded woman possessively removed invisible lint from his coat sleeve, the phantom Mrs. Dale Larkin, no doubt. Dale never talked about his wife, so it was easy to imagine she didn’t exist. Watching them together, it felt like a fist of ice hit Jennifer square in the abdomen, stealing her breath and leaving her cold.

With her senses running amok in circles, Jennifer barely heard Susan excuse herself so she could attend to other guests. Jennifer found a group of people with whom she was acquainted with and lost herself in their numbers. From her safe hollow, she studied Dale’s wife without being detected.

Much to her chagrin, Jennifer couldn’t find fault with her. She was of average height, fair of face with deep red hair that ended with a flip at her shoulders. A curvaceous woman dressed in hunter green, Mrs. Larkin wore boredom with gold and pretentious smiles. But for all her beauty, there was also an air of contempt inside the glances she gave every woman who passed by her.

His wife might have him penned against the wall, but Dale’s eyes roamed the room, seeking for means of escape. Jennifer in her temptation red dress had the key and she vowed she would use it, when the perfect change of opportunity arrived. In the meantime, she bided her time and joined in the surrounding conversation.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

The Riddle

Georgette’s beauty astounded Martin. He was speechless for a moment. His eyes swept her form and he slowly let out a low-pitched whistle. He said, “Excuse me, Miss, but what have you done with the flower child?”
She held up her sequined handbag. “I stuffed her in here. If you don’t get me to that party soon, I’ll let her out.”

“That won’t do.” He escorted her to his sports car and they sped off.

Martin believed in two things: speedy trials and speeding cars. Georgette was too nervous to chastise him for speeding. She hated parties where she felt like a flower out of a pot. She envied Martin’s calm.

“You look handsome in your black suit, Martin. Most men look like funeral home directors when they wear them, but not you.”

“It’s the bald head. Keeps the focus off the suit. You should try it sometime.” Martin’s jocular reply soothed her spirit a little. Everything would be fine. He would make sure of it. But she had something else on her mind. Knowing that he drove past Trip’s home on his way to her house, made her wonder if he was home. She feared he would be at the party and she didn’t know if she could handle it.

As if reading her mind, he said “Trip’s at home. So don’t get yourself worked up over the possibility that he’ll be there. He won’t. Susan and Elijah don’t know him.” His tone became very dry and extremely serious. “Promise me that you’ll have a good time and forget about Mr. Supercilious for a few hours or I’ll turn this car around and take you back home.”

“Martin, let’s not argue. I’ll do my best to enjoy the evening.” She knew she couldn’t make a promise.

“You’re in luck. We’re here. And what the hell is that?” Martin stopped his car, braking sharp enough to throw Georgette forward towards the dashboard and then back against the car seat. They gawked at an obscenely pink tinted Cadillac, which was parked at an angle in the drive, in an unveiled attempt to discourage other cars from parking beside it.

“Martin, I haven’t seen that shade of pink since the day glow days of the mid-eighties. Hey, the car could belong to the entertainment. Maybe a shock jock.”

“Or Bruce Springsteen,” laughed Martin.

“You may be right if it has plush velvet seats.”

Martin managed to squeeze his sports car into a space close to the Cadillac. As he helped Georgette out of the vehicle, she said, “I can’t believe you got into this small spot, Martin. For a moment, I thought we would have to stuff your car into my hand bag.”

“No way,” he countered. “Remember, we’re not letting the flower child out just yet.”

Elijah Ritter greeted them at the door, wearing a royal blue smoking jacket and holding a brandy glass. Georgette and Martin exchanged quick glances. Elijah was drunk, signifying a long evening ahead of them. His wife Susan didn’t need alcohol to give her courage to face a crowd, for she lived for the moment she could entertain, dominate or woo a crowd. Elijah was the opposite. He enjoyed being a quiet man who loved books and lived for the challenge that the daily newspaper cross-word puzzle offered.

“Martin! Georgia! Welcome to our most extravagant party ever!” Elijah clung to the doorknob for support, swaying a little with it. “Before you can enter, you must first guess the answer to this riddle: What has one mouth that speaks for one million?” He barred the entry way, forcing an answer out of them.

“Your wife,” Martin said in his abrupt way, “Elijah, you fool, you’re drunk. And it’s Georgette, not Georgia. Let us in. It’s cold out here.”

“You’re right Marty, ole chap. The answer is my wife.” Elijah swung the door open, losing his balance and falling against the wall. He splashed the contents of his brandy glass on his elegant royal blue smoking jacket, staining it with an ugly black mark. “Sorry, Georgette. Come inside. Oh dear, I’ve made a mess. Off with my head.”

Martin steadied him. Turning to Georgette, he said, “I’m going to help Elijah upstairs to change. Could you secure a cup of black coffee in the meantime?” She nodded and watched the two men stagger away, bouncing off walls and people.

Rose Red

A recent television commercial said that green signified the color of envy and red symbolized the color of defiance. Jennifer opposed that notion. To her the color of red embodied temptation and that’s what she planned to achieve tonight.

At their luncheon a few days ago, Susan Ritter, full of vim, talked excessively about her dinner party. When she mentioned Dale Larkin along with his miraculous house finding abilities and how her family was indebted to him, Susan procured Jennifer’s undivided attention. With Susan’s constant talking in circles, Jennifer was easily distracted by the wild tattoos displayed on the exposed flesh of the waitresses, especially the tattoo on the small of Zoë’s back of a huge green eye. Its unblinking stare was eerie, as if it could see into Jennifer’s soul.

Realizing that Dale would be at the party, too made Jennifer ache with anticipation. Their social circles never crossed, until now. She was interested in how he performed in a group setting, non-sexually of course. Would he be able to keep his eyes off her? She would make sure he couldn’t. Nothing speaks longer than a carefully tailored dress and the right amount of flesh exposed.

On cue, Zoë brought the check over to the table. “I’ll get this one, Susan. My treat,” said Jennifer smiling.

“Thank you. But only if you’re definitely coming to the party,” said Susan. Jennifer smiled and nodded, as she gave Zoë one of her credit cards. But Zoë’s attention was diverted to Jennifer’s empty teacup. She picked it up and said, “I must read your dregs. Something is compelling me to do this, Toots. I’ve learned not to ignore these warnings.”

Since it had been a day of surprises, Jennifer felt that she could withstand one more. “Dregs? Not my palm?” Jennifer was new to the art of divination.

“I’ve developed an alternative to tea leaf reading. Your dreg pattern is interesting. See the closed bud at the dip where the bottom of the teacup connects with the cup itself? I feel that it suggests that you handled something new with care, maybe a new life. The rest of your dreg pattern is in chaos. Look at this shape.” She pointed to a circle in the center of the cup’s bottom. The moon. It will bring deception but also new beginnings. There will be much change in all aspects of your life very soon, Toots. Prepare yourself.” Zoë’s cryptic forecast sent the women into a bevy of laughter.

Jennifer didn’t hide her disbelief and said to Zoë, “Of course there will be chaos. I’m moving soon.”

Zoë, tolerant as ever said, “Prepare yourself. These changes that are coming will be unavoidable.”

As Jennifer stood, looking at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled and said out loud, “Oh there will be changes tonight! I’ll have Dale Larkin on his knees begging me to be his forever.”

Her halter dress was deep ruby chiffon, the color of lust during a red moon. The cleavage dipped low and was adorned by a rhinestone broach pinned at the valley of her bosom. The skirl was pleated and stayed close to her body, until she turned suddenly, watching it swing around her legs and revealing black stockings. The matching shawl finished the outfit with a subtle touch of vogue.
Jennifer’s blonde hair, which was naturally straight, now exhibited curls and her lips were dewy red, like rose petals in rain. She demonstrated softness, a look she refused to let her professional world see. But tonight was the perfect time to expose it with deadly intent aimed full force at Dale Larkin. She knew that change was going, because she had “red” it somewhere.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sparrows Fly

As predicted by Georgette, Trip pouted for three days. But once Georgette sprinkled him with enough compliments, he blossomed back to his old self. A few days before the Ritter party, she asked him if he wanted to be her guest. They were at his house, watching television and eating popcorn. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. They hadn’t been out publicly in a long time.

Trip hemmed around the answer. “Well, that could be a problem. See. Hmmm…I’ve sort of committed myself to …er…a company related …hmm…date. All for the television station, only. I don’t want to go, but the head cheese is insisting I take one for the team.” The more he rambled and stuttered over his words, the more she realized he wasn’t telling the whole truth. But instead of calling him on it, she decided to let it go.

“I understand, Trip,” she said. It hurt her that he never wanted to take her out, but she tried not to complain too often. She knew from hearing stories from friends that once a girl starts complaining too much, there’s a chance she’ll be replaced permanently. But then a devil at her ear whispered and she heard herself say, “I guess I’ll accept Martin’s invitation. He’ll be ecstatic, you know. His dream will come finally true. Me on his arm at the social event of the month.” She shoved popcorn into her mouth, observing Trip’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.

“Martin! No. I forbid it. You’ll have to miss the party. That’s all there is, Georgette. Call the Ritter’s and tell them you’re catching a cold or something.” Trip’s nostrils flared, like a stallion catching another stud’s scent.

“No, Trip. I’m not canceling. I’ve already bought a dress. Just because you can’t take me doesn’t mean I have to stay home. Besides, you always say that we know the real deal and it doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks.”

Caught up in his anger at the mere thought of another man with Georgette, Trip stood up, causing the popcorn bowl to spill over onto the floor. “Georgette, I’m not joking. You are not to go to this party.”

She reacted to his anger with a rare flash of her own. “But you can go on a company date and I’m suppose to understand. Trip, either we’re a couple in public as well as in private or we aren’t one at all.” She may have sat frozen, but her eyes were moving with fire, studying his reaction, knowing she had went too far.

“So this is where we’ve come? At an impasse? I can’t proclaim to the world that you’re my girl, Georgette. You know this. You’ve always known it. I’m low-key. It helps my image to be mysterious.” He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Trip, I can’t do this anymore. Sneaking in and out of your house, as if I’m a dirty secret. I need more. I deserve more. Have you forgotten that I’ve been there since the beginning? I’m the one who encouraged you to follow your dream. I love you. Isn’t that worth something?” Tears fell down her cheeks.

He began a nervous pace. “Yes, it’s worth everything. I appreciate all these years that you’ve been here. But Georgette, you run a garden center. That’s not the type of career I want the future Mrs. Trevor to be involved in. She has to be breathtaking in all aspects of her life, if she’s to be my equal. You’re not her. I’m sorry Georgette.”

She stood up to face in, finally reaching a point of indignation that she needed to complete the severing of ties. “I knew you were ashamed of me, but my god Trip why have you led me on all these years? Has it failed to escape your attention that I own my business? I’m not going to sell it because you’re ashamed of it I can only be who I am. Imperfect Georgette with the wild curly hair and soiled fingers. A woman who has loved you for so long, she doesn’t know how to stop.” Georgette was so enraged that she couldn’t speak. She kicked the popcorn bowl, trying to let off steam instead of tears.

Georgette watched the bowl spin wildly as it flew into the wall, the remaining popcorn flying like sparrows from a tree in the park, startled into action. Both of them had said more than they meant too say, but words once spoken, no matter if they are for good or bad, couldn’t be taken back. She sniffed back tears and walked out the door, wanting to slam it but closing it quietly behind her instead. All the anger extinguished, as the pain ignited.

last section of Chapter 2 (finally)

Tattoo Priestess

Jennifer hated coffee houses, but a few days ago, she had made a luncheon date with Susan Ritter, one of her few female friends and couldn’t figure a way to get out of it. This was her first visit to Zapped. The aroma of sweet gourmet coffee thickly festered in the air. Jennifer wished she could smoke a cigarette, so the fumes of tobacco burning to ash could form a bubble around her head, protecting her from the caffeine infested environment. She mulled over the menu as Susan babbled on and on about her new house and her wonderful new neighbor, the infamous ex-congressman Redden, who made Jennifer’s skin crawl whenever he so much as glanced at her shadow.

According to the patrons, Zapped was appropriately named, due to the strength of the secretly formulated coffee beans, which embodies the essence of super hero volume caffeine. The atmosphere of the coffee house emitted a coziness that even Jennifer couldn’t deny. Burgundy walls held an array of neon lights, some shaped like steaming coffee mugs and some shaped like faces in various states of emotion with hair resembling the stream from the neon mugs. The wrought iron tables were black with glass tops, contrasting with white porcelain vases, each cradling a single daisy with its head bowing over with shyness.

But what really classified Zapped as a unique or off the wall place to hangout was the wait staff—all girls brandishing multitudes of tattoos all over their bodies. Zoë, the waitress who served Jennifer and Susan’s table looked like a big city alley plastered with graffiti spray painted with expertise by members of gangs, marking their territory. Her black hair was streaked blue around her face, a framework, which drew attention to the numerous piercing on her eyebrows, lips and ears.

She smiled tolerantly at Jennifer’s condemning stare. She was immune to disapproval. “Are you ladies ready to place your orders?” she asked, pen in poised over pad.

“Would you by chance serve hot tea?” Jennifer inquired.

“Sure, Toots.” Zoë studied her for a moment. “You look like a green tea lady sweetened with a dollop of honey and a twist of lemon on the side.”

Jennifer was visibly startled by Zoë’s accuracy. “You’re correct.”

“I think you’ll like our chicken salad,” Zoë said, efficiently ordering for Jennifer as if she could read her mind. She turned to Susan and said, “And you, Mrs. Ritter?”

Susan smiled and said, “You know me, Zoë. I come to a coffee house for one thing—the double chocolate latte. Hold the whipped cream. I’m on a diet. I’ll have the chicken salad, too.”

Once Zoë was out of hearing range, Susan said, “She’s psychic. I think all of the waitresses are. Something about tattoo ink opening a portal into another realm of consciousness. I read that somewhere.”

Jennifer bit back a guffaw. “If that’s true, then we won’t have to ask for refills.”

The rattle of cups on saucers announced Zoë’s quick return with their drink orders. “Green tea with honey and lemon for you. And a double chocolate latte minus the whipped cream for you.” After she set the cups and saucers on the table she asked with a smile, “Shouldn’t you ladies be celebrating with champagne? New homes should be honored or the house fairies won’t inhabit them.”

Susan gasped, “My husband and I just bought a new house. How did you know that?” Jennifer couldn’t say anything. How in the world did this woman know about her recent housing investment?
“Maybe a birdie told me, Mrs. Ritter. Your order will be up in a moment.” Zoë smiled and floated away, as if on air.

“I tell you, Jennifer that woman is psychic? This isn’t the first time she’s known things about me.” Susan exclaimed, as she attacked her latte.

“She could have ever heard you talking earlier. But that doesn’t explain how she knew about my recent investment. She did say homes. Plural.” Jennifer was taken aback by the woman’s statement.

“You bought a house?” She asked, staring over her glasses at Jennifer.

“Yes, I did. Closing the deal next week. Actually, it’s a townhouse at the Floral Clovers.”

“Wonderful. At my party Saturday, we’ll celebrate your new beginning, too. I read somewhere that it’s important to keep house fairies happy.”
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Time Bandit

Georgette and Martin were introduced by mutual friends, who hoped that love at first sight would overpower them. Martin was smitten with Georgette, but she remained true to Trip. Over time, Martin had become her most valued friend, even if he did loathe Trip. She pretended Trip was wrong about Martin’s desire that he become more than a friend. He was in love with her, but he would never step across the friendship line, because he respected her. And he preferred having her as a friend than not having her in his life at all. Though he respected her feelings of friendship, he still voiced his opinion of Trip Trevor at every opportunity.

As they ate, she told him about Trip’s banishment into the cold morning and how he got upset over her not answering his calls. “Martin, I know he’s selfish, but you would think he would be more understanding. The meeting went into lunch and I really couldn’t talk. I hate how he made me feel—that I was unfaithful to him and his silly show.”

“He’s a petty fool. Don’t let his ego stroking needs cause you to lose the DT renovation job. Think of the city and county contracts you might land if this job’s done with the expertise I know you posses.”

“Martin, he won’t make me chose between him and this job. You misjudge him.”

“My dear sweet child, Trip’s a crook. He steals time from you. He sucks out your vitality and uses it for hair gel.”

“That’s a new one. I think it’s better than the one from last week. Let’s see. What was it…Oh, ‘Trip’s an artificial sun without light and I am a flower starving for it.”

“Hello, you two.” It was Susan Ritter, one half of the Ritter duo that introduced them to each other. She gave them both a hug and a kiss. “Can I join you for a moment?” She asked, as she sat in a vacant chair at their table.

“Susan, it’s been ages. How are you? How’s Elijah?” Georgette asked, watching Martin wipe vivid red lipstick off his cheek.

While Susan chatted away about her current news, Georgette raised a questioning eyebrow at Martin. He nodded and pointed to a spot close to his chin. She discreetly wiped the corresponding area on her chin. The napkin became stained with red.

“Oh I almost forgot. Elijah and I are throwing our last dinner party next Saturday. You two must come. We’re celebrating the foreclosure of our new home. It’s not far from your place Martin. Over on Cedar Drive. It’s taken months to find the right house to buy. I don’t know what we would have done without Dale Larkin. That man is an angel. He searched until he found the perfect home. Georgette, once we’re settled I want you to come by and give me some suggestions on what to plant in the garden spot. I’m thinking herbs and roses.”

“I can’t wait to see the new home,” said Georgette. She smiled at Susan’s enthusiasm. New homes were exciting until you moved in and realized you had a house full of boxes to unpack.

“Be there at 6:30 for before dinner drinks. It’s a formal dinner. Black tie and evening wear. We’re going all out, my dears. We’re having a live band on the patio.” Susan lowered her voice and said, “Also, a special guest. Congressman Redden. I’m so excited. He’s one of our new neighbors and has been so friendly. Already welcoming us into the neighborhood.”

Floral Clovers

With her afternoon shot full of holes, Jennifer decided to leave the office early. As she walked to her car, she dialed Dale’s cell phone. She wasn’t surprised that his voice mail picked up the call. But a girl can hope. She left a message that she was heading home and if he had some free time to call her.

As she drove towards her home, she kept glancing at the folder, which held her brother’s offer. Jennifer thought about her family often, but the feelings evoked were not pleasant, except when she thought of her mother. Jennifer couldn’t forgive her father and brother, for not coming to her aid when she needed them the most. She had married against her father’s wishes, so she was prepared for his rage and disappointment, but not from her little brother. He broke her heart when he sided with her father. It was then that she realized he was a puppet, doing and thinking like their father, no matter what it cost him. She hadn’t seen him in almost twenty years.

After her divorce, Jennifer considered reconciliation with her family. They were right in many ways, regarding her poor choice of a husband. But in the end, she didn’t contact them. Instead she spent the last fifteen years, working hard to move up the corporate stairway of recognition and leadership.

She read the offer very carefully. The lawyer was correct. Her brother was more than generous regarding her share of the estate. She remembered the day she saw the front page article about her father’s sudden death from a massive heart attack and it was a loss to the state of North Carolina. For a long time, she stared at the black and white image of him laughing from the photo contributed by the family. Jennifer wanted to cry, but her eyes remained dry. After he disowned her, she had spent years crying until her tear ducts were empty and still remained so.

Her mind wandered over the lawyer, Martin Schmidt. Jennifer hated to admit it, but she admired the way her cold glances ricocheted off him, not one penetrated his professionalism. She was accustomed to unnerving people with her hard edge, because most people assumed that because she was beautiful that she would be easy to walk over. But he didn’t. She wondered what her brother had told him about her. Did he bring up the dirty laundry of the past? But she didn’t recall seeing any contempt for her in his eyes. They remained a warm brown, like coffee on a cold morning.

Jennifer’s cell phone buzzed on the seat beside her. She smiled as she saw the name on the caller ID. “Hello Mr. Larkin.”

“Hello, Ms. Swann. You’re off early.” Dale’s voice simmered in suggestion. “I have a nice town house for you to view. It’s in the new gated community, close to down town.”

Jennifer couldn’t suppress her surprise. “The Floral Clovers?” Dale, I was under the impression there was a long waiting list for purchase of those townhouses!”

“You forget I have connections. Meet me at the gate in twenty minutes. We’ll…test the waters. See how you like it. This could be the one you’ve been searching for. But I’ll warn you now, Jen. It’s very expensive.”

Glancing at the folder on the seat beside her, Jennifer smiled and said, “I’m not worried about the price. I’ll see you there in twenty.” She made a kissing noise and then hung up. It was time to severe all the ties to her past.

Heavy Breathing
Trip didn’t return her call until late afternoon. After admitting to herself that he was punishing her, Georgette gave up the waiting game and helped Heather with various tasks in the greenhouse. As soon as her hands were buried in soil, she was paged to the phone.

In a rare streak of defiance, she used the phone inside the greenhouse instead of running to the privacy of her office. “Hello, this is Georgette.”

“Hello, love monkey. What are you wearing?” The voice was rickety and barely spoke over a whisper.

“Martin! Silly goat. Up to your old tricks. Making pranks phone calls. I’m notifying your probation officer.” She laughed, relieved it wasn’t Trip. She was in no mood to argue.

“How’s my favorite flower child?” His normal voice in her ear was a comfort.

“Not bad. I’ve been meaning to call you all day. I want to thank you for suggesting my business to your friend Rod Hutchins. He and the famous Congressman Redden have enlisted my help with the downtown renovation project.” Sarcasm dripped in her voice when she mentioned Redden by name.

“Good for you, girl. Great news. Ran into him at the post office. Hadn’t seen him in ages. He mentioned the project and during the conversation I dropped your name.”

“We spent all morning pouring over the current plans. Without that horrible Redden man, thank goodness.”

“Don’t underestimate him. He’s a sly dog, as most politicians are, darling.”

“I won’t. Hopefully, he won’t be involved in my part of the mission.” Changing the subject to him, she asked, “How’s your day been?”

“Frustrating, which is the reason I’m calling. Want to grab a drink at 6? Maybe something to eat. I could use a dose of your sunshine.”

“Sure. Meet you at Britt’s.”

“Sounds like a winner. Don’t forget to wear something sexy, so we’ll get a discount on our tab. Remember he’s an ass man.”

“Martin, you’re incorrigible. But don’t go changing for me.” She laughed, as she hung up the phone, only to be paged again. Thinking it was Martin calling back, she whispered a sexy greeting. “Hello hot stuff, I’m ready for you.”

“Georgette? Who’s the lucky man? Marty?” Trip’s voice could have made winter cold.

“Hi Trip. I got an obscene phone call earlier.” That part was semi-true. “And I thought it was the guy calling back. I figured a dose of his own medicine might discourage him from calling again.” Trip’s jealousy of Martin made it necessary for her to tell him a white lie.

“Why wouldn’t you take my calls earlier? I rang twice.”

“I told you last night that I had a meeting this morning with the downtown renovation committee about working with them on the landscaping portion of the project.”

“Georgette, I called after my show, which is during the noon hour. Not in the morning.” His voice had a dubious tone, which sent her into an atypical burst of outrage.

“Trip, do you really think I would be up to mischief, knowing you were going to call during the course of it? If you don’t believe me, you can use your analytical talents and call Mr. Hutchins office to verify my statements. I don’t have the number handy, but give me a few minutes and I’ll call back with the information. On second thought, you’ve done plenty of investigative reporting, you look it up.” Georgette’s rare flair of temper surprised her into silence. Trip didn’t speak for a moment.

He whistled low. “Testy today, aren’t we? Is it because I made you leave this morning? You know the neighborhood. I don’t wear gossip well, Georgette.”

She let out a long tired sigh. “I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired. Your accusations aren’t helping.”

“I’m sorry. So you didn’t get to watch my show? It was a great one. Got a lot of positive viewer email afterwards.”

“That’s wonderful, Trip. I did miss the show, much to my sorrow.” She hated to say the next thing. “And I forgot to record it.” She waited for the bomb to explode.

His silence voiced his anger and she wasn’t surprised when he said, “No problem. I’ve got another call coming in. We’ll talk tomorrow.” With that, he hung up before she could apologize again or say goodbye.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Nuts and Bones

Neon signs flashed all night and day at the “Stones and Bones Sports Bar and Grille”, best sports bar in town. It was the only place where you could sit in comfortable leather booths or on cozy couches and watch any sporting event that the patrons voted on unanimously. When a big event or competition was going on, you had to watch where you stepped because large stones from all over the world were scattered about. The owner Britt Sims was well traveled and to prove it, he has a collection of stones from wherever he roamed and written on them are the dates he visited and the exact location he found the stones; hence the “Stones” element of the name.

The “Bones” portion of the name was another story. Sometime in his youth, he became fascinated with the legend of Black Beard the Pirate. From that interest, sprang an obsession to learn about every famous and not so famous pirate in the history of the world. There was a rogue named Thaddeus T. Scoggins a.k.a. Bones Scroggins who terrorized the Atlantic long before Black Beard hit the waves. Britt had copies of every document, sketch and map that he found, hung in frames around the bar. There were a few patrons who have wondered if Bones wasn’t a myth invented by Britt Sims, who loved telling tales of the obscure pirate.

If Bones was a legendary tale of Britt’s, people didn’t mind. The place was popular for the after college and pre-middle-aged crowd. “Stones and Bones Sports Bar and Grille” was selected as the “Best Grille” in town, offering a variety of sandwiches and appetizers. His selection of import beers was the envy of other bars around.

If asked for advice, Britt Sims was quick to give it, and oft times the advice was unwanted. Because he was so jovial, it was difficult to get angry with him. His brawny physique and crooked nose resembled that of a heavy weight boxer, but dimples in his cheeks softened the image. It was unwanted advice that Georgette overhead when she walked up to the table Martin Schmidt sat at, patiently waiting for their weekly night at Stones and Bones.

“…and if you grew your eyebrows extra long, you could sweep them back over your bald head, Marty,” Britt’s laugh clipped some of the words. He pounded Martin on the arm, his back to Georgette. “Another thing you should do, man, is get Georgette to a beauty shop. That braid she wears around her head, reminds me of a snake. How can she think straight with it squeezing her brain?”

“I don’t know, Britt. Ask her. She’s standing behind you,” Martin said. He stood up and offered Georgette a seat, bemused at how humbled Britt had become, all humor gone.

“Well, you should get rid of that braid. Let your hair down, woman,” Britt said. The only reply he got from Georgette was a raised eyebrow, which spoke loud and sent Britt into a flutter. “Not that you aren’t a pretty lady. You are. And the braid…it’s…it’s…nice enough, but you’re too young to look like a grandmother, dressed in a frumpy skirt with a braid wrapped ...”

Martin interrupted, “Britt, we’ll take those menus now.”

Georgette waited until Britt went to fetch the menus before speaking. “Jeepers, Martin, what got him all wound up?”

“The same song and dance about how I should seriously think about making an honest woman of you. You missed the best part—he gave me advice on the perfect engagement ring.”

“Ha! A ring through my nose?” Georgette wrinkled her nose up and then burst into giggles.

“Precisely.” Martin grinned back and then changed the subject. “What are you having?”

Java Land

With coffee brewing in the background, Georgette and the smiling man made perfunctory attempts at small talk. She glared at him a couple of times, when he laughed a couple of time at how disorganized she was, while getting the coffee ready to brew.

“How can you be so cheerful this early in the morning?” she grudgingly asked.

“Morning’s the best time of day, Miss Witt. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying about the early bird and the worm.” He replied as he helped her clear off a table that had some old flowerpots on it. She had been meaning to spray paint them for the upcoming holidays, but hadn’t gotten around to it.

“For Pete’s sake, call me Georgette. It’s too early in the morning to be called Miss.”

“Only if you call me Rod. I agree. It’s too early for formalities, like politeness and good humor.” He watched her slow reaction to his reprimand of her bad mood.

Georgette was appalled. “I’m sorry, Rod. It’s not been a great start of the morning. I’m embarrassed. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“Apology accepted. A cup of coffee will improve your outlook on the day. I like mine black.” He motioned to the coffee pot that had finished its percolating dance.

As she poured their coffee, he spread out the work plans for the downtown project. She put his cup out of harms way, before finding a place to seat where she could view his presentation. She was eager to listen to his explanations of the details.

“I’ve got several things I want to show you today. First, the…” He looked down at the chair next to him, but it was empty. Instead she was perched on a stepladder, like a queen overlooking her subjects. The vision of Georgette’s face disappearing into the largest coffee cup he had ever seen in his life caused him to lose his train of thought. “Are you drinking straight from the coffee pot?” He asked.

She choked from laughter. “No. This was a Christmas present from Heather, one of my employees. It saves time on refills.”

“Are you comfortable on your perch?” He couldn’t contain his laughter. “You remind me of queen, sitting on her throne. At least I’ll not have to worry about keeping my head lower than yours, Highness of Java Land.”

Georgette realized she had misjudged him during their first meeting. Without Redden around, he was naturally relaxed and charming. She laughed in earnest at his humorous remarks. Their meeting spilled over into lunchtime, because he went over every detail of the renovations, even those that didn’t include her participation. When she had questions, he answered them patiently and listened with interest to observations she made.

Once everything had been covered, Rod rolled up his plans and suggested that they meet downtown one day next week. He thought that she might envision their project better if she had a real picture to work with, because according to him “sketches are impersonal.” She agreed and they arranged a time and date. After he left, she was lost in a mental review of the meeting when Heather interrupted her with news that Trip had called twice (Georgette had asked that the office hold her calls). Startled, she realized not once had she thought of him or his show since she pulled up at the gate that morning.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Martin Schmidt

Jennifer’s morning consisted of two meetings with potential loan applicants and a trip to her dental hygienist, whose gentle touch must have been on vacation during her appointment, because her mouth was usually sore after the cleaning. When she arrived back at the bank, she wasn’t in a grand mood. Hearing Celeste’s annoying giggle as she opened the door to her office suite only fueled her mood.

A man leaned over Celeste’s desk, speaking softly and intimately to her. Jennifer frowned upon suitors visiting her personal staff members. What they did in the other bank departments was no concern of hers. She expected professionalism at all times in those working around her. Peeved, she decided to end the tête-à-tête immediately.

“Celeste, you know the policy about intimate visitors.” As she spoke, the man straightened. He was completely bald, so bald his head shined under the unflattering fluorescent lighting. Yet a neatly trimmed goatee lived on his face. Jennifer stared unflinchingly into his eyes, “In case she hasn’t explained the policy, sir, she’s not supposed to entertain visitors, no matter who they are.”

She gave Celeste an “I’ll deal with you later” look. Celeste cringed under the glare. The man’s voice arrested Jennifer. “Ms. Swann, I’m here to see you. I don’t have an appointment. It’s regarding your father’s estate.”

She stared at the business card he offered her. From the corner of her eye, she could see unveiled curiosity on Celeste’s face. Jennifer took the card. It simply read Martin Schmidt, attorney-at-law, along with his phone number, fax number and address. She looked at him and said, “No email address? Mr…Schmidt.”

“No. I’m trying to retain some of my father’s old business practices, Ms. Swann. He put much of his faith in simplicity.”

Jennifer pasted on a smile. “Charming. Shall we step inside my office, Mr. Schmidt?”

After she made sure the door was securely shut, she motioned for him to sit in a chair across from her desk. Jennifer studied the man before her. His sense of fashion impressed her. Not many men could pull off a starched red tailored shirt with navy trousers.

“Mr. Schmidt, I fear you’ve wasted a trip to my office. I’m estranged from my family. We haven’t been in contact for twenty years.”

“I’m aware of that, Ms. Swann. But I have business with you, regardless. Your brother is interested in buying out your portion of the estate. We’ve estimated its worth.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. Jennifer refused to take them.

“Sir, I’m not a part of the family any longer. Thus I’m not interested in my father’s estate. He disowned me when I was nineteen. I’m not entitled to anything.”

“He never disowned you officially. You’re still listed as an heir, Ms. Swann. That’s why I’m here. To settle the estate, now that your father’s passed on. Your brother is anxious to get this done quickly, so he can settle back into a normal life.”

Jennifer snorted. “I imagine he is! Poor little brother, worried that his racket ball games will be interrupted.” Her anger level grew. She dug her nails into her thighs until the pain cleared her head. “Leave the papers with me. I’ll have my attorney get in touch, after we’ve had a chance to peruse my brother’s generous offer.”

“As you wish, Ms. Swann. When can we expect to hear from you?”

“That depends on how generous my dear thoughtful brother is, Mr. Schmidt. Good day, Sir.”

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Pansies

After their blissful night, the abrupt way Trip woke Georgette an hour before sunrise the next morning made her wonder if maybe she hadn’t dreamt the erotic adventure. His excuse was concerned that the neighbors would see her leaving his house and he didn’t want gossip started. His rude dismissal of her knitted a frown between her eyes. In his hurry to get her out the door, he missed it. She was vexed because it was his idea that she sleep over. Usually she skulked home at midnight. Maybe she would conveniently forget to record the broadcast of his little show or better be completely away from the office all together or maybe away from the business grounds. She could head out of town on a shopping trip or upstate for a few days. A vacation would be a good idea before the holiday rush.

As she drove home, she plotted various revenge scenarios, also. The plotting, which considerably cheered her, continued while she showered and got dressed. Since she was awake, she thought she would get to her office early and get some paperwork finished before her meeting with Mr. Hutchins. She gave a short feverish prayer that the infamous Mr. Redden would be absent.

When Georgette arrived at the garden center the next morning, a huge black truck was parked in front of the gate. Her semi-cheerful mood evaporated. It always irritated her that customers arrived an hour before the gates were open to the public. They parked at the gate, which made it almost impossible for the employees to enter. She pulled in beside the truck which looked monstrous in the thin morning fog. Slamming the door of her jeep, she rounded the front of it and walked into Rod Hutchins.

“What the hell?” she said. The impact knocked her back a few steps.

“Sorry, Miss Witt. I thought you saw me.”

“It’s too early for clear vision. What are you doing here? Our meeting isn’t until 10 this morning.” She yelped out the words. How could she face this man without a cup of coffee in her system?

He gave a sheepish grin, which showed a set of wolf like teeth. “I’m early, because it’s the only way to exclude Redden from our meeting. I feel he’ll hinder us, more than help.”

“True. I really don’t think I can deal with him without at least three cups of coffee before hand.” Her fingers fumbled with her keys, as she tried to remember which one to use. He had completely unnerved her with his abrupt appearance.

“How many cups do you need before you can deal with me?” He asked, not bothering to hide his wolfish grin.

“A cup and a half.” She finally found the right key. The gate opened with a rusty moan. She barked out orders to him. “Drive in and park at the blue door on the right side of the building facing the A-framed greenhouse. Mind the pansies. We just planted them and they are fragile. So don’t tromp all over them.”

He laughed. “I really don’t think you need any coffee. You’re so stern and commandeering, I believe you could command a Naval Ship with nary a problem.”

“Scoot inside, before someone driving by thinks we’re open. I’ll be right behind you, once I lock the gate again.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.” He saluted and did as she bade. She was careful not to show her amusement, but once he was inside the gate and out of sight, she laughed loud enough to startle a jogger passing by on his morning run.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Wednesday’s Morning Edition

The shrill sound of a car horn blaring woke Jennifer from a restless dream, one that she had more often that she cared to admit. She believed sleep made a person vulnerable to memories that should stay buried, memories that still held power over her. She cursed the dream, resenting its invasion. Now that she was awake enough for her mind to wander, sleep would be elusive to recapture, so she crept out of bed. She felt achy all over. She stumbled to the bathroom, thinking a hot bath would soothe her sore muscles.

Dale was extra zealous with his lovemaking the night before. His appetite for role-playing games met her own, which kept her from tiring of his company. They had dallied longer than planned. She didn’t care because she had no schedule to keep, but Dale did. He had to hurry home. As they dressed, his mind was on the excuse he had to perfect, their decadent romp momentarily forgotten. Jennifer hated the harried way they always parted, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

They had met a month ago, when the agent who was suppose to show Jennifer a home had an emergency with another client and couldn’t reach her to reschedule the appointment. Dale was called in to rescue the sales pitch. Looking back, she felt their meeting had been fate, because of the immediate chemistry they both felt simultaneously. Jennifer rarely mixed business with pleasure, but the moment she saw the way his eyes kept straying to her shapely legs all through the house tour, she knew he saw diversion written on them.

Their affair started a week later, during a third tour of homes. He had a picnic lunch waiting for them, complete with strawberries and champagne. In the kitchen, he seduced her with expertise. Every kiss and touch felt right. They fit together, like spoons in a kitchen drawer. The interlude lasted three hours. Jennifer had the foresight to clear her afternoon, because the previous tours had lasted hours due to their lingering talks. That day instead of the art of conversation, they engaged in the art of sex. Neither of them had any regrets afterwards.

She knew he was married, but that didn’t stop her from partaking of a slice of the Dale pie. Jennifer had issues with men and commitment, but who didn’t at her age. Women these days over 38 often did. Many sought therapy or support groups. Some turned to drugs or alcohol. Her method of dealing with the issues was to explore clandestine affairs with unavailable men, emotionally or martially. They were always discreet and never made demands on her heart, until Dale Larkin—man of wicked intellect, whose intuition of her hidden passions was the knight in tarnished armor, who rode her into shadows where she found solace in his touch.

She sat in the steaming bath water, trying to deny that Dale was no different than the others. She could end the affair at any moment and never look back or think twice about it. But a glimpse of a bruise on her thigh, the brand of his love told her different. He possessed her in a way that no other man had before. The combination of his wit and taste for decadence seared her soul. Dale instinctively knew her moods, knew when to be tender and when to be carnal. He could read the flecks of color in her blue eyes, predicting her needs. At times this frightened Jennifer. Her fear was that with every encounter, he would steal more of her heart. As much as she feared this, she was beyond strength to stop it.

Rapunzel’s Hair

Trip’s version of supper was Chinese take-out. They reviewed the day’s show, as they ate. Trip made his usual negative comments regarding his image or speech and Georgette made her usual rebuttals, singing his praises like she had been doing for almost a decade.

“No one believes in me like you do, sweetie,” said Trip. “I could be bald and toothless with hair growing out my ears and you would still say I was perfect.”

She glowed like candlelight. “You are, Trip.” Georgette cleared her throat. Because of her awe for him, she found it hard to talk about herself. But she wanted to share her good fortune with him. The tale of her daily tasks usually bored him, but with the ex-congressman’s new role in the story, he might find it interesting today.

“I’ve got some news, Trip. The committee to beautiful downtown has chosen Buckets of Daisies to be their gardening supplier. I met with the architect, Mr. Hutchins and the committee head Ex-congressman Redden this afternoon.”

“Congratulations, Georgette. I’m impressed and amazed at the same time. Usually an outside company is chosen. Someone must have put in a good word for you.”
If anyone else has said that to her, she would have flamed them with the reminder that her company was in second best selling privately owned garden center in the whole county. It shouldn’t be so amazing that it was chosen, but this was Trip and he wasn’t just anyone.

“Martin knows the architect, but I don’t think that’s the reason I was chosen. Mr. Hutchins seemed impressed with my input at the meeting. That’s what cinched the job, Trip. Not who I know.”

“Schmidt!” He spat out the name. “He’s doing you a favor in hopes that you’ll do him a favor.” His emphasis on favor wasn’t flattering.

Her voice shaky, Georgette said, “Trip, that’s not true. Martin’s like my brother. I don’t think of him that way. He’s dating someone, by the way.” She was close to tears and hated how easily he could wound her. He should be celebrating her success along with her, instead of bringing it down with his jealousy of Martin. Loving Trip shouldn’t be this hurtful at times.

He lifted her chin with his hand. “Sorry, sweetie. I can’t help it if I get uptight about Schmidt. Don’t you know how much you mean to me? He would give anything to be in my place.” She nodded, tentatively. Her vulnerability was intoxicating to him. She sat humbly before him with her head bowed, hiding her face. All he could see was her braided hair, a laurel crown that she wore just for him. “Let your hair down for me.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Georgette removed the bobby pins that kept the thick braid in place around her head. She unwound it slowly, watching his rapt face. He did love her. She saw it in his eyes. “Unbraid it,” he instructed. She did as he asked, letting the sections fall around her shoulders and spill down to the small of her back.

Trip combed her hair with his fingers, putting it to his nose and inhaling the floral scent of gardenia. He pulled her into an embrace, hugging her tightly and said, “I love the fact that you hide your hair from the world. I love that you only share it with me.” They kissed. He wrapped a rope of her hair around his hand, using it to pull her head back. “Only me,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, as if searching for an answer, before returning to kiss her.

Endless Search

The tour began upstairs with the four spacious rooms with accompanying closets and baths. As Jennifer feared wallpaper swathed every bedroom, bath and roomy closet. An outdated thick shag carpet blanketed the floors; the color a murky beige. The upstairs tour ended in the master bedroom, which had huge French style windows facing out the front of the house. Dale Larkin’s memorized tour lecture would have been boring if his voice wasn’t so melodious.

Jennifer looked out one of the windows. Dusk was beginning to fall. In a matter of minutes, darkness would cloak the trees with shadows. A fast moving figure caught her eye. A little woman in a dark skirt trotted towards the house across the street. The braid wound around her head amused Jennifer. All that the woman needed was for her skirt to be tie-dyed and a sign saying “Give Peace a Chance” and she could be mistaken for a hippy or even one of those Mother Earth Wicca worshippers who were always trying to save a tree. Miss plain Jane was in dire need of a head to feet make-over, which would require a miracle to transform her into a fashion model of today.

Her rumination was severed by Dale Larkin’s suave sales pitch echoing in the room. He stood behind her. His face faintly reflected in the crystal clear window pane. Handsome wasn’t the perfect word to describe his Roman-esque features…striking, yes that was the word. Jennifer admired the sales technique he employed, using his attractiveness and charm to win his potential buyer and using his intellect to close the sale—but not this time.

Without turning to face him, Jennifer said, “Mr. Larkin, I’m a woman who believes in intuition, as did my mother and her mother and so forth. Never have I known my intuition to scream as loudly as it’s shrieking now.” In the window pane, she watched his lips form to speak, but she forcibly continued talking. “I do acknowledge the moderate care and maintenance of the house. I have no complaints in that department. What raises my bile is the interior design. Wallpaper and shag carpet disagree with my sense of décor.”

Mr. Larkin took advantage of her need to breathe, saying, “Wallpaper and carpet are easy to replace, Ms. Swann. You shouldn’t let minor faults dissuade you from an ideal home.”

“I agree, Mr. Larkin. But it would cost a small fortune to renovate the interior of this house so that it matches the exquisite exterior. But that’s not my main concern. Time, which takes up a large percentage of my working day, dictates that I need housing that requires little work.”

She watched his reflection move closer until he stood directly behind her. “The search continues, Ms. Swann. Lucky for you, I have a long list. It may take months to find you a perfect home.” His breath at her ear caused an involuntary shiver. With a deliberate slowness, he turned her to face him.

Jennifer’s eye were soft as rain on roses, as she said, “It could be an endless search, Mr. Larkin.”

“One can hope, Ms. Swann. One can hope.” His wedding ring reflected in the window pane for a mere moment, as his fingers traced the fullness of her lips. Then his mouth crushed over hers in an urgency he didn’t bother to restrain. The primal cry of the zipper of her dress as he unzipped it was lost in the muffled sounds of words mingled with kisses, as they forgot their pseudo formalities.

Side Roads

Georgette viewed her office as a sanctuary within the empire of her business; a place where she could find brief escape from the overwhelming riots of daily commerce. Today was an exception, though. The cozy comfort of her feminine atmosphere was blindsided by a rage of testosterone and the subtle battle of wills, as the two men fought a silent battle of dominion over the conference with her. At first she was bemused, and then irritated, especially when Mr. Redden made a comment about the tender blossoming flowers waiting to be plucked. He was referring to Heather, whom he glimpsed through one of the windows, as she came out of the greenhouse.

The rumor mill hinted that the reason Congressman Redden hadn’t run for a second term wasn’t due to ill health as purported, but to a scandal of inappropriate conduct within the confines of his own office. Georgette didn’t know the definite details, but in her heart she felt that maybe the rumors were found on solid ground in spite of the denials from those close to him. She was on the verge of canceling the meeting when Mr. Redden got a cell phone call that demanded his immediate attention. When he stepped into the hallway outside Georgette’s office to speak in private, Mr. Hutchins seized the moment to speak confidentially to Georgette.

In a quiet voice, he said, “I apologize for Congressman Redden’s behavior, Mrs. Witt.”

She interrupted. “Miss, not Mrs.”

“Miss Witt, then. When I won the architecture contract of the project, I didn’t realize I would have to include him in every minuscule aspect of the planning.”

“He is the project head, Mr. Hutchins. He’s not out of order, really. I dislike his innuendos, but can overlook them if the main object of our conjunction is met with professionalism. Let me offer you some unsolicited advice.”

“I’m all ears, Miss Witt.” His tolerant smile reminded her of her father and the times during her youth, when she would explain something to him that he already knew how to do.

“If you want to met deadlines and not appear weak opposite Mr. Redden’s force, you need to establish concise leadership boundaries immediately. The first step is to recognize that he’s not a congressman anymore. He’s in the vein of any committee member that you’ve dealt with in the past.”

Hutchins smiled broadly, “Wisdom becomes you, Miss Witt. I can see why Martin regards you so highly.”

They were interrupted by Mr. Redden’s return. A crisis at his office closed the meeting. Rod Hutchins promised to call her early the next morning. After they left, Georgette was pressed for time. She had some tasks to finish, before going over to Trip’s for the evening. With Heather’s help, she managed them and hurried home for a quick shower and change of clothes.

She exchanged jeans for a long flowing green skirt with a matching peasant style blouse. Traffic was light as she drove to Trip’s neighborhood. She drove, searching for a parking spot on the street perpendicular to Trip’s street. Locating a perfect one on the corner, Georgette parked her weathered jeep and walked briskly to Trip’s house. The toils and trials of the day ebbed about, as the anticipation of his kiss embraced her heart.

Bucket of Daisies

Georgette spent the rest of the day on the sales floor. She wasn’t partial to sales, because she felt uncomfortable trying to talk people into buying more than they came for. But one of her sales reps had a dental appointment and she was left to fill in the spot.

She was over by the gardening tool section rearranging the hoes and shovels, when a voice behind her startled her. “How much for the hoe?”

With a clatter of noise, she turned to face Mr. Redden, a prominent political figure. She recognized him right away. He was a frequent face on the airwaves of Trip’s TV station.

“The hoe? We have different brands. Which one, sir?”

“Which is the best?” His eyes weren’t on the gardening tools.

“It’s not the tool that performs, but the person utilizing it. How much do you want to spend, sir?” As soon as she asked, Georgette realized she had handed him a loaded gun.

“Lovely lady, that depends on what I’ll get for my money?” His eyebrows resembled thick caterpillars, rising to battle. Georgette struggled to find a neutral reply. The arrival of another man saved her from the embarrassment.

“Congressman Redden, I’ve had the girl at the cash register to page the owner. No one seems to know where she is.” The man spoke with a hint of impatient. Then his eyes touched Georgette’s form a mere moment, before moving on to rummage around the rest of the area.

She cleared her throat, “I’m the owner. My name is Georgette Witt. How can I help you?”

The man’s dark eyes riveted back to her. He didn’t speak, just stood examining every particle of her. She returned his stare, willing her eyes to boldly examine him from foot to head. Her heart was pounding with indignation. She had never met a man who was so boorish. Georgette supposed his sun bronzed skin, masked brown eyes, generous nose and mouth could be a pleasant sight for most women. She hated to admit that the widow’s peak at his forehead dared her to brush his black hair back from his face and watch it feather back down in place around his temples.

The silence was becoming awkward, so Georgette repeated herself. “I’m the owner. How can I help you?”

“You’re the owner?” asked Redden, a gleam of devilment in his eyes. “I would love to hear about your business and how you came up with the name ‘Bucket of Daisies.’ Preferably over dinner, my dear. We really should have dinner tonight.”

With a blatantly impatient glare at Redden, the man hurried a reply, once again saving her from an awkward retort. “Oh sorry, Miss Witt. You’re not exactly what I expected. I’m Rod Hutchins and this is Ex-congressman Redden. Martin Schmidt suggested the congressman and I seek your advice on landscaping that will correlate with the downtown renovation project. Mr. Redden is the project head and I’m the architect. May we find a more private place to talk?”

“I read about the project. Also, Martin Schmidt is one of my closest friends. My office isn’t far. Follow me, gentlemen.” She wasn’t sure which set of eyes unnerved her the most—the dark impatient man’s or the roving hungry politician’s.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Pink Cadillac

Jennifer had told Mr. Larkin a white lie—her appointment book was clear. She felt she needed some time to canvas the neighborhood of her potential new home. It was of vital importance that the surrounding neighbors were of the same caliber as her. She knew from observing loan applicants that most spent money on their upkeep, such as clothing, jewelry, hair/nail care and even automobiles, while neglecting important objects like their homes and lawn.

She had no difficulty finding the street and was satisfied that Mr. Larkin wasn’t at the house, trying to spruce it up in hopes to seal the deal. The grounds were properly maintained. Not a single oak or magnolia leaf littered the lawn. Bloomless azaleas bordering the front porch were trimmed. Jennifer allowed her car to idle in the drive, while she sat examining the house with calculating intent. The irregular shaped stones that made up the house were unique with various shades of gray. The wood trim and porch were painted a slate blue. She couldn’t find a blemish from where she sat, but that didn’t comfort her. So she turned the ignition off and inspected the grounds thoroughly. Just as she expected, there were a few minor things in need of repair. She made notes and then returned to her car. During the appointment with Mr. Larkin, she would be sure to examine every inch inside, as well.

As Jennifer was backing out of the drive, a vivid pink Cadillac came pealing out of the driveway of the house across the street. She saw a mass of blonde hair and the rude finger gesture of the driver for only a second and then it was gone. Jennifer thought that the owner must be in desperate need of attention, to own an expensive car pimped in a tacky color of pink. Looking at the house it came from, no wonder the car sped off. The woodwork around the windows probably screamed in pain as the paint peeled off. An immaculate lawn seemed at odds with the smudged windows and the porch that needed sweeping.

While she drove around the block and back, Jennifer mulled over the Cadillac, remembering the dream of her youth of one day owning a “love bug”, like in the Disney movie, except it was to have been pink instead of white. She thought of how time changes dreams, as she gracefully stopped for a traffic sign in her pale green BMW. Jennifer stole a glance at her wristwatch. It was close to the meeting time, so she drove back to the house.

Mr. Larkin’s black sports car looked at home in the drive. She pulled in behind him. He appeared on the doorsteps, standing tall with a shock of gray at his temples. Jennifer smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, before she strode up the steps to take his outstretched hand.

“Mrs. Swann, I’m happy you made it. Come inside. View the wonders.” He smiled down at her. She rarely met a man who made her height seem small.

“I’m impressed with the grounds. So immaculate and picturesque.” Her eyes scanned the foyer, as she spoke. “I’m not fond of wallpaper. I hope the rest of the house isn’t flooded with it.”

“With the right furniture and wall hangings, wallpaper can embody a homey feeling that every house longs for. Don’t rule it out completely.” He offered his hand again, “Shall we start upstairs and work our way down?
``````````````````````````````````````````

Blood of the Goddess Chpt 1 (reposted)

Blood of the Goddess
By Sherrie Parnell

Chapter 1

Earth Lady

A bright orange sun complimented the fiery rain of leaves, as autumn reigned in glory. The day was promising to be a chilly day full of fallen maple leaves and chimney smoke. Georgette Witt watched the roots of a fern disappear under the blackness of topsoil as she replanted it into a larger pot. She mused at how she wore her name as uncomfortably as the fern had once worn the smaller pot. With long hair as black as the soil she mixed into the pot and as curly as the fern’s newly sprouting leaves, green eyes woven with specks of golden sienna and skin that bronzes in winter. Georgette embodied the persona of a Mother Earth Goddess. Her soiled hands accentuated the image.

When she was born with a head full of black curls, her mother immediately named her Georgette, after her grandmother whose black curly tresses was alleged to have once inspired love poems and whose fashion style was the toast of high society. Though Georgette’s hair resembled that of her great-grandmother, the rest of her features were her own, as was her humble personality. Favoring jeans or long bohemian skirts, Georgette would never be the toast of fashion. Instead of being a prominent wife of a successful politician, she was owner of the second largest nursery and garden shop in the county.

Heather, a college student who worked part-time at the greenhouse, called to Georgette, “Miss Witt, can I take my lunch break?” Georgette nodded and watched her gallop out of the greenhouse. Heather’s hair was the color of weathered bark covered in sparkling sunlight. Heather. Now that was a name Georgette felt she should wear. The name Heather was floral and green, embracing a mist on the moors and a Celtic song on the air.

Georgette surveyed her work area, noting she still had three ferns to repot by three pm, but it was almost time for Trip’s moment of daily fame and she wouldn’t dream of missing it. She took off her dirty apron and laid it on her worktable. Her office was in the main building and if she wanted to catch his spot, she would have to run for it. What a pair they made! She was of earthen clay and he was made of sunlight. In fact, he loved the spotlight, something she ran from in horror.

Trip Trevor was a field reporter at WRXZ, a local television station. He had recently been rewarded for outstanding fieldwork in a political scandal and acquired the position of hosting a short weekday program featuring news from the local universities, which was shown during the lunchtime news hour.

Georgette raced into her office, letting the door slam behind her. She turned her television on and hastily pressed the record button on the VCR. Trip would be very disappointed in her if she failed to record his show. His favorite pastime was rating how he looked on the air, which was lucky for Georgette, for she loved any reason that brought them together, even if it was a review of how he looked on camera.

As soon as the record feature started, Trip’s chiseled features filled the television screen. His thick golden blonde hair fell over his forehead. Georgette pretended to smooth it. His emphatic blue eyes bore into her, as he spoke to the camera before announcing his guest of the day. Trip possessed features that would be found attractive on either sex, a full set of lips, eyes that could say paragraphs, hair that stayed in place even if ruffled, skin that wasn’t reddened easily, but his height was a feature he couldn’t do much about. He barely topped five feet seven inches. Georgette liked to say his good character lent him the height of a legend.

The show was over quickly. Georgette wished the station realized how lucky they were to have Trip, and being so lucky the station should reward him with more airtime. Heather knocked on the door, as Georgette removed the VCR tape. “Miss Witt? There’s a call for you on line one.”

“Thanks, Heather. Do me a favor and start repotting those ferns I was working on earlier. I’ll be there in a few minutes to help.” Georgette waited until Heather closed the door behind her before answering the phone. “This is Georgette Witt. How may I help you?”

A low throaty laugh filled her ear. “Ah, Georgette. How professional you sound! Well, did you see the show? Did you remember to record it?” Trip asked.

“Trip! Yes, I did both. You were wonderful. Definitely, the most handsome talented man at the Z. I’m so glad they finally noticed. The show was great.” Georgette gushed over him. She wished she could find a way to bottle it, so he could have a sip whenever he needed a boost of confidence.

“Sweetie, why don’t you come over at seven o’clock for supper?” Trip paused. Then added without waiting for an answer, “And bring the tape. Got to run. See you then”

“Sure. Sounds wonderful.” Georgette’s heart danced.

“Oh and Georgette? Don’t forget to park on the side street. The new neighbors are nosy.”

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Swann Song

Jennifer Swann stared icily at the leering businessman sitting in the chair across from her desk. She hated when people like this man, assumed that because she was beautiful and blonde that she was also dumb and a tramp. It never occurred to these types of people that she was the one person who had power to veto a loan approval. She was tempted to do just that, but Mr. Redden was one of the bank’s biggest patrons. Jennifer bit her tongue until her anger ebbed. It wouldn’t do her position any good to show offense. He might take it as encouragement to continue his decadent proposals.

In her best professional no-nonsense voice she said, “Mr. Redden, dear sir, I think you misunderstood me. I’m referring to the home-improvement loan you applied for and not my home.” He had insinuated that she should invite him over for a nightcap and other treats.

“Sorry, Ms. Swann. I misunderstood.” His dark eyes lost their playful look. An edge of steel appeared in his voice. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Tell me where to sign and I’ll be on my way.”

She x-ed the lines in ink and he scribbled his signature on all lines of the duplicate form. His barely concealed anger vibrated in form of the door closing hard behind him. Jennifer let out a long somnolent sigh. She hated dealing with the public but it was part of the requirements of her trade.

Jennifer walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her desk. Tall and statuesque, she looked like a blonde Amazon minus the breastplate. She kept her hair short and sleek, not a stray hair anywhere. Her wardrobe cost could buy a family of four a vacation twice a year. The reflection staring back at her was a spitting image of her mother; blonde and fair with blue-gray eyes. During her childhood and youth, Jennifer won many beauty pageants, much to her mother’s delight. But sadly, they ended when the mother she loved so deeply died when Jennifer was 17 years old.

She turned her back to her image, pulling herself from the past. It never did any good to travel down memory lane. There was only sorrow down that road. Jennifer was proud that she was not a weak-willed woman. Through the years of her young adulthood, she had learned the hard way that beauty didn’t open every door, nor was beauty immune to the cruelties of life. She had worked hard to get her career to the place it was now. Many sacrifices and hardships knew her well, but she triumphantly succeeded. Jennifer Swann, VP of the Loan Department at Bank of Carolina had shown many that being blonde and beautiful wasn’t all she was made to be. Her receptionist buzzed in, distracting her from her rambling thoughts.

“Yes, Celeste?”

“Ms. Swann, Mr. Dale Larkin is on the line. Shall I put in through?” Celeste’s speech was a bit unclear, as if she was chewing her fingernail or something.

“Celeste, are you chewing gum? If you are, I expect it expelled from your mouth within three seconds. Am I clear?”
Celeste hesitated briefly. She knew the wrath that she could incur, if she answered wrong, “I’m sorry, Ms. Swann, it’s a throat lozenge. Not gum. My throat is scratchy today. I’m worried I’m catching a cold.”

“All right, then. Be sure to cough in a tissue and wash your hands often. I don’t want any of our customers getting sick. Nor do I want to catch a cold.” Jennifer cleared her throat. “And Celeste, if I find out you’re fibbing, I will make a note on your files. Now, to answer your question…yes, I will speak with Mr. Larkin.”

With the issue of her receptionist’s incoherent speech cleared away, Jennifer put on her best sunny voice and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Larkin. This is Ms. Swann. How may I assist you?”

“Hello, Ms. Swann. How are you? Lovely day, it is. I’m calling about that property over at Walnut Cove that you were inquiring about a few days ago.”

“Oh yes. The lovely gray stone house with the rose garden out back.” She had outgrown her townhouse and was ready for a roomier home.

“If you have some time free late this afternoon, I can show it to you.”

Jennifer looked over her appointment book; idly thinking how more professional Mr. Larkin—realtor and owner of Larkin Properties, Inc. sounded than the tedious Mr. Redden ex-Congressman could ever sound, even during his politicking days.

“Good news and bad news, Mr. Larkin. I’m busy until 6:15, but I’m free after that.”

“Delightful, Ms. Swann. How does 6:30 sound?”

“As you said, Mr. Larkin. Delightful. I’ll meet you there

``````````````````````````````````````````````````

So it begins

Ready ...set.... go...