Month: January 2018
You know you’re a writer when…
Anderson Bell and His Dead Lobsters
Anderson is my protagonist for a proposed full-length romance novel. This is not a story excerpt, but more character development.
How many seafood wholesalers does it take to sell five hundred dead lobsters? Just one. One slimy, sleazy, lying bag of garbage! Rage still coursed through Anderson Bell. Focusing on the road, he took deep breaths trying to calm down.
This was a rare feeling for the forty-seven-year-old restaurateur. Running an upscale restaurant with as many as one hundred employees during the summer months had its own unique stressors. Overbooked reservations, rude dinner guests, sick employees and late supply deliveries were weekly issues Anderson had long ago put in their proper place…deal with it and move on.
He’d learned this as a child from his father.
But the lobsters. The dead lobsters. The five hundred. Dead. Lobsters.
A sense of foreboding swept over Anderson when the delivery truck driver rang the exterior bell for entrance to the back lot.
He was six hours early.
Anderson immediately headed for the delivery bay. Falling into step behind Vance and Eric, two members of his stock crew, the three men silently approached the bay doors. Eric threw the release lever, and the doors began to rise. Anderson couldn’t wait. Just as the doors reached waist height, he bent over and went under them, walking out to the end of the dock.
The driver was already at the rear of the semi, releasing chains and keying in codes to get to his precious cargo. However, before he was finished Anderson could smell it. Spoiled food. Decay. Rot.
The driver smelled it too. He frowned as he caught hold of the door latch and swung the door open.
Simultaneously, the four men took several steps back and turned away. The odor was indescribable. During a special assignment, back in his Air Force days, Anderson’s unit had stumbled upon the decomposing bodies of murdered locals. The fumes coming from the truck were ten times worse.
Vance suddenly ran to the truck, slamming the door closed.
Eric fell to his knees and gagged.
Feeling a wave of nausea, Anderson took a few more steps away from the bay and tried to inhale fresh air in through his nose. Turning back to the truck, he saw Vance advancing on the driver.
“Man, what the hell is this? You got shit for brains or something? Those lobsters have been dead for days!”
“I-I…I didn’t know. I just picked the trailer up less than an hour ago!” He backed away as Vance approached, his hands raised in front of his face.
Returning to the edge of the bay, their words replayed in Anderson’s head. Dead for days. Picked up the trailer less than an hour ago. He didn’t like where this was leading.
Jumping off the dock, Anderson’s face didn’t reflect the pain that shot through his recently repaired ACL. Gesturing for Vance to stop, Anderson questioned the driver.
“What’s your name?”
“Dell. Dell Hanks.”
“Was this a scheduled run for you, Dell?”
“N-No, sir. I just got in this morning with a load of coffee from Georgia. I was ahead of schedule and my boss will get every damn second out of you he can. Anyone else would have let me go home to sleep. But Paul said he’d just got a call for a local run I had to do before my shift timed out. He gave me two addresses. I was to show up at the first one, and they would hook up the trailer, then take the load to the second one—here—and it would be unloaded.”
“Son of a bitch!”
Anderson glanced at Eric who had figured out what Anderson was already thinking.
He’d been scammed.
Anderson Galen Bell had been a mild-mannered, easy-going person all his life…much like his father. A successful and well-respected dentist, Arthur Bell believed life was far too short to spend it angry and vengeful. He and his wife, Sara, had taught their boys it wasn’t so much about turning the other cheek, as it was deciding their own path and who they allowed to control them. His line of thinking didn’t always work, but it had served Anderson well for most of his life.
Now was not one of those times.
“Eric. Vance. You guys get the protective gloves and masks out of storage. And bring some for Mr. Hanks, here.” The driver tried to protest, but Anderson cut him off. “This goes above and beyond anyone’s job description. You, as well as my men over there, will be well compensated for disposing of this nightmare.”
Dell’s eyes widened at the thought of making a few bucks.
“You’re not going to call my boss, are you?”
“As far as I’m concerned, Dell, you made your delivery and went on your way.”
The long-distance trucker relaxed.
“Now, do me a favor, and pull the rig around to the incinerator. It’s to your right over there, down a small incline. Eric and Vance will meet you over there and you can give these poor crustaceans a…proper cremation. Don’t dump the water. God only knows if it’s toxic or not. I’ll go call the water treatment plant.”
Trying not to visibly limp, Anderson returned to his office. Placing a call to the water treatment plant, he wrote down the instructions for getting rid of the tainted water. He then made out three checks, each for five hundred dollars and sealed them in individual envelopes. Turning to his computer monitor, Anderson scrolled through his recent invoices until he found what he was looking for, and made several notes.
Satisfied, Anderson attempted to stand. Pain shot through his knee, causing him to cry out and fall back into his chair.
Dammit! Dr. El-Kass had warned him about doing too much too soon. He had not been happy when Anderson cut his physical therapy short and returned to work. The doctor told him one wrong move could not only undo the repair but also do additional damage.
Anderson Bell had grown tired of sitting around at home with his leg up.
He had an efficient staff and good managers. Luminarias did good business whether he was there or not, and the customer feedback box was always full of compliments for food and staff. But the summer months were special to Anderson. As a child growing up just outside Detroit, Anderson’s family made several day trips to Bayview during the summer, and always spent the first two weeks of July there, without fail. Those trips were the best times of his life, and Anderson couldn’t miss out on another chance to try to recapture the simplicity and innocence of his youth.
Bayview was gearing up for the arrival of tourists and no less than ten festivals before the cool breezes of fall swept in off the water.
Anderson had to be a part of it. It was all he had to look forward to. The restaurant and the days of summer.
Not much of a life, but it was his.
He’d lost his dad to bone cancer six years ago. Sara Bell died less than a year after her husband from a heart attack. Anderson’s brother, Lawrence, lived in northern California. His parents each had one brother and neither had ever left Pennsylvania as his parents did. Anderson knew little or nothing about them or his cousins.
He was alone.
Taking a deep breath, Anderson slowly rose from his seat. The pain was subsiding, his knee almost numb. He knew that meant swelling.
Dammit!
He didn’t have time for this.
Anderson grabbed the bottle of anti-inflammatory pills and swallowed two without water.
Taking a few steps toward his office door, Anderson tried not to limp. He didn’t want to stress his knee or appear weak in front of his staff.
He also couldn’t appear weak during the errand he was about to run.
Clutching the envelopes in his hand Anderson Bell went in search of his day manager, Gayle Norman. He frowned finding her office empty. Passing the banquet rooms, Anderson heard Gayle’s deep throaty laugh. Following the sound, he found Gayle at the beverage counter instructing the newest member of his summer staff on the proper way to change the filters in the ice maker.
“Did I demote you?”
Gayle turned at the sound of Anderson’s voice, already laughing at his comment.
“Bennie’s wife went into labor, Nina had a flat tire on Old Highway 14, and Willie fell off his porch this morning. Broke his wrist. I am the wait staff now.” Laughing at her own words, Gayle gestured at the young woman next to her. “This is Donna, the new hire I told you about a couple of days ago. She wasn’t supposed to start until next week, but she has prior experience, which I need today. Donna, this is Anderson Bell, the owner.”
Anderson shook hands and exchanged greetings with the pretty African-American young woman, and turned back to Gayle.
“Vance and Eric are doing a disposal job at the incinerator. A delivery driver is helping them. When they’re done, give them each one of these.” He handed her the envelopes. “And give this to Vance—I have a quick errand to run.” Giving her the instructions to dispose of the near toxic water, Anderson was already thinking about his next stop.
Shaking her head, Gayle pointed at Anderson’s leg. “That knee says otherwise.”
“I’ll be fine, Gayle, and this won’t take long”, bowing as he backed away, “thank you, ma’am!”
Anderson almost believed he would be fine until he reached the doorway and turned. The jolt of pain caused him to freeze in his tracks. Checking over his shoulder, he saw the two women were back to work and hadn’t noticed his misstep.
Exiting his restaurant, Anderson quickly made his way to his late-model Chevy Tahoe. Taking one more look at the address he’d scribbled down, his anger easily reared its head again as he pulled out of the parking lot.
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
Retta
This is unedited excerpt from my 2017 NaNoWriMo project, Sacrificial Daughter.
She brushed her long, dark tresses without thought, mesmerized by own her gaze.
The dark brown eyes, once vibrant and alluring, were now dull and lifeless, witnesses to her lifetime of abuse and excess.
The lines which used to appear around her eyes when she laughed were now permanent fixtures her best makeup couldn’t conceal.
To be seen, her thin lips needed the deep red lipstick tones she favored, or she always appeared cross and sullen.
At fifty-seven-years of age, Margaretta Marie Sellers was still an attractive woman.
But she no longer met her own standard of beauty.
Retta’s looks made her stand out among her contemporaries, which was a point of contention for more than three decades.
But it wasn’t enough for Retta. She wanted to be a standout, regardless of age.
She wanted… needed to be admired and envied by younger women.
Retta wanted to be an icon.
That desire was her downfall.
Blessed with a perfect mezzo-soprano voice, Retta longed to perform in the spotlight like her idols, Marian Anderson and Leontyne Price.
While her parents, Mae and Albert Sellers had the means to finance a music education for their daughter, neither thought it a practical career and pushed Retta towards a business or teaching degree.
Headstrong and determined, seventeen-year-old Retta ran away to find her destiny.
All the sheltered, naive teen found instead were men with little interest in her natural vocal talent and more interest in her shapely, young body and exotic looks.
With promises of fame and lucrative contracts, Retta bounced from party to party on the arm of different men who plied her with alcohol and drugs.
Less than three years after leaving home, Retta returned an alcoholic junkie.
Albert Sellers rushed his baby girl into rehab.
Mae was less welcoming and had little to do with her daughter. During Retta’s absence, her younger brother, sixteen-year-old Joseph, succumbed to rheumatic fever. Mae was devastated. Her gifted and studious son had a bright future ahead of him before illness took him. Yet, her selfish, narcissistic daughter ruined her voice and her life abusing anything she could get her hands on and she still lived… and manipulated her father.
Albert tried to be the cushion between the two women but never got to see them reconcile.
A week before Retta was discharged from the rehab center, Mae dropped dead from a coronary embolism.
Retta came home drug-free and sober but her partying ways were still with her.
Craving the attention of men, Retta put her appearance first and abstained from liquor and drugs.
During a south side party for a local city commission candidate, Retta connected with her first love, Ham Burford.
Now a college graduate working for the city’s finance department, Hamilton Charles Burford fell in love with Retta Sellers when they were fifteen-years-old.
But despite the above average living Albert Sellers made from his co-op farming business, Ham’s parents considered Retta socially unacceptable and forbade Ham from seeing her.
The smitten couple sneak around and get together when they can, but after Retta learned her parents wouldn’t support her music career, she changed, becoming depressed and more withdrawn.
It was bad enough she’d never get a life with Ham, but to also not have a life in music was more than she could bear, and she left on a morning train bound for Chicago.
Now they were both back in Corwin, but any dreams Retta had about being with her first love were snatched away when Ham introduced Retta to Belinda Foley, his fiancé.
Retta Sellers has no time to mourn her broken heart when Albert is injured in a farming accident and dies two days later.
The sole survivor of her family, Retta feels cheated by life and closes off her heart.
She continues to stare at her reflection, her jaws tight and as hard as her heart.
Her hand shakes as she lowers the brush. Her chest burns with anger for the betrayals by those closest to her.
The man she loved.
And the daughter she didn’t.
Retta launched the brush into the mirror, not bothering to shield her face or body from the glass shards.
Satisfied, she stood and left the room.
©2017 Felicia Denise
The Last Medal
Image from NCO Journal
Word prompt: ambush
She didn’t need a shrink to tell her she had PTSD.
Virgie Hudson knew of the price she’d paid for thirty-two years of military service – twenty-two of those years… on the front lines.
The day after passage and ratification of SB 1200 allowing women into combat, Virgie left behind ten years of desk and training duties. Like her father and brothers, she would now get to serve on the front lines.
As one of only four women who would lead combat forces, Virginia’s service was legendary. She had numerous medals and awards. She also had numerous scars… on her body and her mind. Virgie remembered all too well how and when she’d received each scar – physical and mental.
For every inch of ground taken, every hill won, every town liberated, there was a memory attached.
The good memories made Virginia smile.
The day her unit entered the town of Ras al-Ayn, the grateful Kurdish women’s militia cheered. After fighting ISIS forces for days, the exhausted women thanked the Americans’ for their help… and for some relief. With American support, ISIS guerrillas made a hasty retreat.
The memories of losing team members played on repeat in her mind often. Pfc. Jeff Ollenbeck – lost to a land mine. Pfc. David Jencks and LCpl. Donald Morgan – killed in an ambush attack. 2ndLt. Shelley Cooper – taken down by a sniper. There were more. So many more.
Why did she survive?
Virgie squeezed her eyes shut and yanked at her thick, black curls attempting to block out the faces of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
She grabbed the tumbler of bourbon from the table in front of her, gulping it down in one breath. Even in those brief periods when fallen Marines didn’t cloud her thoughts, there was always the children.
The children Virgie couldn’t save.
It took several days to get into the small isolated town east of Mosul. When a ten-thousand member Iraqi counter-terrorism force arrived, militants soon scattered over the borders into the mountains of Turkey and Iran.
Villagers wept as Col. Virginia Holman Hudson’s team set up aid stations. It was obvious many of the town’s residents survived severe beatings and torture. Virgie knew one young woman wrapped in a thread-bare blanket and shielded by an older woman was a rape victim.
A silent signal to her senior officers was acknowledged only by their scattering to inspect the village. One of her team interpreters called out to Virgie.
“Col. Hudson, the children!”
“What about them, Lance Corporal?”
Accompanied by two female villagers, LCpl. Dirks approached her. “A man took the children yesterday morning.”
In rapid speech and dialect Virgie didn’t understand, she did recognize the word for ‘hill’. The woman gestured and pointed at something behind Virgie.
Virgie looked over her shoulder and saw a small, flat, mud-brick building sitting on a low hill about four hundred meters away. With one movement of her hand, the strike team fell into formation, heading for the building. Virgie led them until her second-in-command, 1st Lieutenant Reynolds pulled her back.
“Excuse me, Colonel, but you know I can’t let you do that.”
She nodded once. “Dammit, Rey… find those children!”
Led by Reynolds, the strike team moved forward up the small incline to the building. Virgie fell into step behind them.
They had traveled half the distance to the building when a man threw open the building’s only door. His maniacal laughter was rife with anger and madness.
“Hold fire!” Virgie held up her hand while glaring at the insurgent.
Stepping forward, Virgie questioned the man in flawless Arabic. “اين الاطفال?” Where are the children?
Not getting any response other than wild-eyed mania, Virgie switched to Kurdish. بچوں کی کہاں ہیں?
Recognition dawned in the mad man’s eyes. He lifted his arms and yelled, “کان کے بچے ہیں!” The children are mine!
Virgie recognized the small detonator in his hand, attached to a wire feeding into his sleeve. Before she could give the order to fall back, the crazed terrorist yelled out again, “Allah is great!”, and detonated the bomb.
What happened in the next few seconds was an eternity to Virginia Hudson.
The expression on the bomber’s face never changed as the impact of the explosion behind him ripped his body in half, each section set ablaze. Virgie lost sight of him when someone threw her to the ground, covering her body with their own. Except for the monstrous roar of the burning building, silence bathed the area.
Then sounds flooded the area.
Like a chorus, the wails of the villagers pierced the silence. Virgie pushed against the body holding her down, but stopped struggling and listened. She heard a different noise… coming from the burning building.
With one final shove, Virgie pushed the body off her enough to roll from under and to her feet. Reynolds lay a few feet away rubbing his chest from the impact of her blow. Virgie headed for the building but another team member grabbed her.
“Let go or you’re losing a stripe! I don’t care who it is!”
Anger rose inside of Virginia as she spun around and looked up into the face of Cpl. Lawrence.
“Col.… there’s nothing we can do for them.”
Her body sagged, already knowing the truth. The tears streaming down the big Marine’s face caused Virgie to look at the rest of her strike team. They all wept–male and female alike.
Donnelly watched out for Dirks, now on his knees, giving up the contents of his stomach.
Sanchez clutched the cross around his neck.
Though his face was wet with tears, Gilmore’s eyes flared with rage.
“Dirks? How many?”
Without raising his head, Dirks responded, the words causing him physical pain. “T-Thirty four, ma’am.”
Anger and grief warred inside Virgie. Anguish strangled her heart as bile rose in her throat. Closing her eyes, Virgie called upon the false sense of calm needed to do her job. Opening her eyes, Virgie spoke, knowing Reynolds was back at her side.
“Secure the perimeter, Lieutenant.”
Virgie gave the order almost as an afterthought, not moving from where she stood. Only after the cries for help stopped did she turn to look at the building crumbling in the fiery blaze.
Col. Virginia Holman Hudson knew her military career was over.
She’d had enough.
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
#amNOTwriting
Hypocrite
A scene from an ongoing (never-ending!) WIP. Quinn Landon can’t get a break! Determined to divorce the adulterous Oscar Landon, she can find no respite from her family’s judgment and harassment. Quinn draws a line in the sand when older brother, Aaron Clark, shows up at her job.
Aaron held out his hands in front of him. “Quinn, be reasonable. Just because a man has a little fling or two on the side, it does not mean he doesn’t love his wife.”
She froze, willing herself to not throw the stapler on her desk at her brother.
“What does it mean, Aaron?”
Caught off his guard, Aaron scrubbed his hand down his face, “It just a guy-thing, Quinn. Not a big deal.”
Quinn dropped the stack of files she was holding and leaned across her desk.
“What about you, Aaron? Is it just a guy thing for you too?”
Aaron Clark folded his arms across his broad chest again and returned her glare. “This isn’t about me.”
In the span of seconds, Quinn saw the truth in his eyes.
She was crushed.
Quinn covered her gaping mouth with her hand, shaking her head. She stood and walked over to her office windows still reeling from her brother’s non-admission.
Tears formed in the corners of Quinn Landon’s eyes. No. She would not cry. Enough tears were already shed over a situation that didn’t deserve them. Quinn looked over her shoulder at Aaron.
“This isn’t about Oscar’s infidelity, is it? This isn’t about his betrayal of our marriage, or my… what did you call it? Inability to be reasonable?”
She turned and fully faced him.
“This is about male privilege. Guys just being guys, right? Who else, Aaron? Who else gives lip service to their marriage vows? Junior? Clinton? Daddy?”
“Now, sis. If you’d just calm down and think-”
“Oh, I’m calm, Aaron. Probably calmer than I’ve been in the last five years. I’m glad you came here today, Aaron. You’ve given me not only true clarity, but the resolve to follow my heart and my mind. Now, get out.”
“Quinn-”
“I said get out. And Aaron… never come here again. If you do, I’ll have you removed by security.”
“Quinn! Listen to what you’re saying! We’re family, for god’s sakes!”
“We’re siblings, Aaron. Something we had no say about. But family?”
Quinn returned to her desk and sat in her chair. With a small, bittersweet smile, she continued.
“Family is always there for you. They support you, lift you up and cheer you on. They love you unconditionally. My family doesn’t do that for me. When I think about it, the Clark family abandoned me and supported Oscar even before we were married.”
“But it all makes sense now. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. No one was shocked and appalled when I found out about Oscar’s first affair. It was me everyone told to calm down. It was me who was told to not do anything hasty… to think things through.”
The small smile faded from her lips.
“It was me who was shamed because I wanted to end my marriage. All because my family doesn’t see adultery as wrong… for men. They rant and rave about the sanctity of marriage and how it’s ordained by God, and is forever. But adultery… it’s just a little thing. A minor detail. Forget that it’s listed in the Bible as a reason for divorce, or on God’s top ten list. No… no. Men are entitled to a little tail on the side every now and then. God’s a guy, he understands, right?”
“Quinn, you’re-”
“How would you feel if Vanessa had an affair? Or two? Three? How many have you had, Aaron?”
“Vanessa would never-”
“Hypocrite!”
“I take care good care of my wife. I’ve given her everything she’s ever wan-”
Quinn bolted from her seat.
“Except honesty and fidelity!”
“I’ve always been honest with Vanessa.”
“Oh! Well, that’s different. If you tell her up front you’re a lying, cheating asshole, it’s okay.”
“Quinn-”
“I believe you were leaving.”
“Quinn-”
“Goodbye… brother.”
“This isn’t over, Quinn Avery.”
“Yes, Aaron. For me, it is.”
He held her gaze as he backed toward the door.
“No, it isn’t. If you go through with this divorce, you’ll pay a steep price you’ll never recover from.” Aaron left, leaving her office door open.
Stunned, Quinn stood there, her mind replaying her brother’s words.
“… you’ll pay a steep price you’ll never recover from.”
What the hell?
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
Song Lyric Sunday | “The Comfort Zone” by Vanessa Williams
Song Lyric Sunday is sponsored by Helen Vahdati. For more info or to join the fun, start here.
This week’s prompt is ‘Comfort’.
For me, The Comfort Zone by Vanessa Williams was an obvious choice.
The song peaked at #62 on the Billboard Hot 100, #2 on Billboard’s Hot R&B Singles chart and #25 on Billboard’s Hot Dance Music\Club Play Singles chart between 1991 & 1992.
It was also nominated for a Grammy Award for “Best R&B Vocal Performance, Female.”
See the #SongLyricSunday pick for my blog, Nesie’s Place.
Disclaimer: I have no copyrights to the song and/or video and/or hyperlinks to songs and/or videos and/or gifs above. No copyright infringement intended.
“The Comfort Zone”
Written by Reggie Stewart and Kipper Jones
Where do we go
When there’s a need to be loved
Like you need to be loved
Oh, I’ll let you know
Just what to do and where to go
Hey welcome to the comfort zone
When you need to be loved like you need to be loved
Welcome to the comfort zone
Do whatever feels right and turns you on
When there’s a need to be loved
Like you need to be loved
Oh, I’ll let you know
Just what to do and where to go
Hey welcome to the comfort zone
When you need to be loved like you need to be loved
Welcome to the comfort zone
Do whatever feels right and turns you on
After a hard day’s work
There’s one thing to be certain of
This ol’ familiar love
It’s not unusual to find that it’s sensual
It’s all you need to let go
There’s no need to try
Or compromise
Or settle for another outside of my love
The thing to do
When you get through
Heed the message seek the comfort of my zone
Hey welcome to the comfort zone
When you need to be loved like you need to be loved
Welcome to the comfort zone
Do whatever feels right and turns you on
Hey let me make you comfortable
Let me take control
And give your mind a break from the day you made
Let’s turn the lights down low
And oh the rest you know
I’ll be here for you
’cause you just stepped into the comfort zone
Moving Right Along
Another scene from an ongoing WIP and continues on from Good Morning, Mother. Quinn Landon returns to work and updates her perky assistant on her meeting with Morris Dabney, not sharing with her the Ace she’s holding to force Oscar’s hand.
Quinn breezed into her office grateful her meeting with Morris had only run twenty minutes over her one hour lunch. Dropping her handbag under her desk, Quinn was about to listen to her voicemails when her assistant, Priscilla Cooper, entered her office at near running speed. The petite, perky dynamo stopped abruptly in front of Quinn’s desk. Fighting back the urge to grin, the assistant human resources director again reached for her phone.
“Really, Quinn? Really? You’re just going to act as if I’m not standing here dying to hear how your meeting with your DIVORCE attorney went?”
Looking surprised, Quinn relaxed into her chair.
“Good afternoon, Pris! How are you? Did you enjoy your lunch?”
“Quinn! C’mon, no fair! Did you sign the papers? Are you on the road to freedom?”
Deciding not to torment Priscilla any longer, Quinn chuckled and nodded.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooper, I signed my divorce papers less than an hour ago.” Quinn hadn’t finished her sentence before Priscilla was bouncing up and down, clapping.
“Well, alright! I’m so happy for you, and even happier you went through with it this time.”
Her assistant was one the very few people Quinn confided in. The group of women Quinn had known most of her life and considered friends, firmly sided with Oscar and their families. Quinn found this out the hard way five years ago when she shared her anger and resentment of both their families defending her adulterous husband, and her mother called her enraged, repeating what Quinn had said word for word.
“I signed the papers, Pris, but this isn’t over… yet. I still have a mediation meeting next week.”
Priscilla scoffed.
“Do you believe he won’t sign and drag this out more, hun? What has he to gain? Why is he putting you through this?”
Sighing, Quinn leaned forward onto her desk. “Well, in no particular order, because he can; both our families are on his side; he believes he’s going to win this battle of wills, and it’s not a good look for a school district administrator.”
“But his ‘winning’ means the two of you stay married. Why? He’s put you through so much. If he wants to sleep around, why are you expected to just put up with it? Have you had the man’s mental competency checked?”
Both women laughed.
“If I start checking mental competency, I’d have to line up my parents, his parents, all our siblings, and nearly everyone who’s ever met us to be tested, because I am considered the spiteful, vindictive bitch-of-a-wife who’s ruining her own marriage.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn. You are a fantastic person. You do not deserve any of this. Whenever you want to talk, just find me… here or at home. You know you have an open invitation to the Cooper abode.”
“Thanks, Pris. I’m blessed to have you as an assistant AND a friend.”
Priscilla pulled a face and pointed at Quinn.
“Yes, you are! And we’ll go into more detail on the friendship when you take me to lunch sometime next week. And, we can discuss my next merit raise after we clear this week’s calendar!”
Shaking her head, Quinn simply laughed.
“I’ve created a monster, but you get away with it by being the best assistant and facilitator in the building, and for keeping me on point. So, yeah… we can discuss that raise later this week.”
Stretching her arms out at her sides, the Nia Long look-alike leaned her head back.
“I am awesome!”
“Alright, Your Awesomeness, how does our afternoon look? Did Bennie send the promo copy up?”
“He sure did, and it looks amazing! Your new layout looks tons better than what marketing threw together. Bennie said Fletcher was there while he was printing it out and seemed quite impressed with your work.”
“Pris, don’t start.”
Priscilla tried to fake a hurt expression but dissolved into giggles.
“I was just passing along information, ma’am… nothing more.”
“Whatever, Priscilla. Did we hear back from Martech?”
“Yeah…and it’s not good news. They’re raising their premiums across the board in eighteen months. Even if employees only have a twenty percent co-pay, it will cost entirely too much. Any of the staff with more than two dependents would be working solely to afford healthcare.”
“Damn. Okay, at least we saw it coming, and they were nice enough to confirm the increase. I’ll see what our remaining HMOs have to offer before I approach new firms. Anything else?”
When her assistant didn’t respond, Quinn looked up to see Priscilla standing with her arms folded across her chest and a sullen look on her face.
“No…just no. I know that look, Pris. It’s a non-subject, for several reasons.”
Returning her gaze to her computer monitor, Quinn continued. “I pulled seven resumes off jobs.com for the administrative assistants Accounting wants. We need to contact the applicants for convenient time frames, then we can-…”
Realizing again Priscilla remained silent, a quick glance in her direction showed she stood rigidly in front of Quinn’s desk, lips tightly pursed.
“You’re not going to be happy until you have your say, so go ahead.”
Sitting back in her chair, Quinn braced for the verbal reprimand she knew was coming.
“Sue me if I want to see you happy with a man who truly appreciates and adores you for the remarkable person you are.”
“And that man is Fletcher Morgan?”
Priscilla threw her hands up.
“I don’t know — it could be. Or Don Jarrell… or Leonard Parkes… or Brandon Reynolds… or a guy you haven’t met yet. But you won’t know until you make yourself available, will you?”
“No, Pris…I won’t, but the fact of the matter is I’m not available. No mat-…”
“But you’re ne-…”
Quinn held up her hand.
“Let me finish. No matter how many papers I sign, until a judge bangs their gavel and declares my marriage over, I AM a married woman. No, there is no way I’ll reconcile with Oscar, but I cannot conduct myself as a single woman when I’m not. It’s not a good look, Pris, and it’s not who I am. I would love nothing better than to find ‘the one’… in my case, the REAL one this time, but I need to free myself of Oscar and learn how to deal with the disapproval of my family. Down the road, any man I bring into my life is going to have to deal with my family, and it would be wrong to subject any man to my family drama right now. He’d probably run from me screaming in the other direction.”
“But Quinn…-”
Quinn stopped her again.
“And those names you called out? No…just no. All nice guys, Pris, but never someone in the workplace. That never ends well. I love my job, and don’t want to lose it over a bad affair.”
“Quinnie…Fletcher is so delicious, though. He’s got that Keanu Reeves ‘John Wick’ thing going on, only not as stiff.”
Priscilla mimicked a wooden soldier’s walk in front of her boss’s desk.
Quinn couldn’t help but laugh.
“Of course, you’d push the one who’s not black.”
“Whatever, Miss United Nations! I know you dated interracially before you met Oscar. And this is 2016. You’re allowed to be with whoever makes you happy, and anyone who doesn’t like it should mind their own business and move along.”
“You should be up in the EEOC office, not here in Human Resources.”
“I’m far too radical for them!”
Quinn shook her head.
“How does Cameron handle you? That poor man probably doesn’t know if he’s coming or going.”
Priscilla’s face softened at the mention of her husband of twenty-two years.
“He handles me just fine.”
Quinn waved her hands in the air with a mock look of horror.
“No need to overshare, Pris. Especially to the lonely soon-to-be-divorcee. I want to be you when I grow up.”
“Trust me, you don’t. I’ve got three teenagers I’m desperate to unload. Is the circus coming to town anytime soon?”
“Oh, please. You’d go all mama bear on anyone that looked at your boys the wrong way.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t considered boarding school every time I see piles of laundry or an empty fridge less than a week after I bought groceries.”
Quinn rose from her seat and walked around her desk. Bending down, she gave her assistant and friend a tight hug.
“I’m glad I have you in my life as a friend and a co-worker, Pris. But don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine. I’ve come through the worst part of this and I’m still standing. I haven’t even reached forty yet… still a lot of good years to find Mr. Right.”
“I know, Quinnie, and I’m sorry. I know I get pushy sometimes.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, I’m pushy all the time, dang! But I have good intentions. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Before Quinn could answer, a cell phone began to ring. Quickly whipping it from her pocket, Priscilla answered, and Quinn knew immediately it was Cameron. Priscilla only got that moony, dreamy look when talking to her husband.
Mouthing and gesturing that she would work on contacting job applicants, Pris quickly backed out the office, closing the door behind her.
Feelings of loneliness and pangs of yearning assaulted Quinn. She stared at her office door, knowing Pris and Cameron were having their regular afternoon update call. He called every day after lunch, without fail. They would remind each other of after-school activities or games for their kids, or make plans to meet for dinner after work.
Another thing that was always the same was Priscilla smiled during the entire conversation. Quinn could just imagine Cameron smiling too. The successful ophthalmologist scheduled his day around his adoring wife, and Pris was constantly on the lookout for rare sports memorabilia to surprise him with.
Quinn loved their relationship, but if she dwelled on it too long, depression would set in.
Returning to her seat, Quinn tried to concentrate on the healthcare provider listing. Her hands tightened into fists as anger distracted her.
Why couldn’t she have what Pris and Cameron had? Why didn’t she have three active teenagers and an attentive husband?
Quinn had such high hopes for the future when she and Oscar first married. He’d been loving and attentive, and she thought he’d hung the moon. They did everything together — make dinner, laundry, shopping — mainly because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and were very creative when it came to locations to make love.
Quinn and Oscar spent their first four wedding anniversaries in exotic locales soaking up sun… and each other.
Halfway to their fifth anniversary, Oscar changed, leaving home early in the morning and returning late at night with little or no contact with Quinn throughout the day. Quinn was looking forward to their fifth-anniversary trip — Paris, France. She’d dreamed of seeing the City of Lights since her early teens, but every time she brought up the subject with her husband, he’d promise to check the vacation calendar at work and get back to her.
Six weeks before their anniversary, Oscar told Quinn they couldn’t go. Two administrators accepted jobs with other districts, and one had been terminated. With the school year about to end, his workload was immense.
Quinn was devastated but knew how serious Oscar was about his job.
Oscar told Quinn not to toss out any of her notes for the trip, saying as soon as the school year was wrapped up, they would make the trip. He was sure they would get to Paris for Bastille Day in July.
Quinn never got that trip. By the time May fifth arrived, the only thing she got was confirmation that her husband of five years was an adulterer.
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
Good Morning, Mother
A scene from an ongoing WIP. Much to the horror of her family, Quinn Landon has filed for divorce from her adulterous husband. Her family doesn’t miss an opportunity to bully and berate her for ending a “sacred” union, and the number one bully is her mother.
Rejuvenated after a good night’s sleep, Quinn danced around the kitchen to her favorite playlist while making herself a quick breakfast.
Today was the end of the work-week for Phero’s staff since Friday was a company holiday—the founder’s birthday.
Ronan Gaetan decided if countries could celebrate long-dead presidents, document signings, and wars, why couldn’t the company he started from the ground up celebrate his birthday as a paid holiday? For twenty-four years, Phero’s four sites in the U.S., Italy, and France honored their founder by not working on the date of his birth.
Quinn knew it was a concept American corporations would never embrace.
She planned to spend her day off at the Veteran’s Outreach Center. Quinn found volunteering there for the past five years personally rewarding, and it had given Quinn perspective.
Her current situation was not ideal, but helping others get back into the mainstream of living made Quinn realize how fortunate she was. Work kept her from volunteering for several weeks, and now she was anxious to reconnect with the men and women whose trust she’d earned.
Pouring her first cup of coffee, Quinn headed to her breakfast nook to go over her calendar for the day when her phone rang. Swearing under her breath, she reached for the cell, knowing only one person on the planet would call her before six in the morning.
“Good morning, mother.” She could hear Katherine Clark scoff over the phone.
“You sound awfully pleasant this morning. I’m at a loss at why you’re so chipper when you’re breaking your husband’s heart.”
And there it was… again.
“I’m doing great, mom… thanks for asking. How are you and daddy doing?”
“Don’t be flippant with me, young lady!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, mom. Give me a blindfold and a cigarette at dawn if I’m ever flippant.”
“Where did I go wrong with you? Honestly, I believe you’re being stubborn just to defy me.”
Quinn inhaled slowly… her anger building.
“Yes, mother. This is all about you. I’m divorcing my lying, cheating, low-down snake of a husband just to spite you.”
“Quinn Avery! Do not speak to me in that manner.”
“What do you want, mother? I mean, besides for me to stop the divorce proceedings, which is never going to happen. What do you want?”
“I want you to be reasonable, dear, and think this through. No good can come of a divorce. It will only leave you both bitter and disillusioned.”
“Too late, mom. I got over the bitterness after Oscar’s THIRD affair… you know… FOUR affairs back? But the disillusionment? That’s still hanging around. Mostly because I cannot understand why MY family paints me as the villain when it was Oscar who mocked his wedding vows and disrespected our marriage. You should be standing behind me, not giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”
“You’re still young dear, and learning about the little indiscretions of men.”
Quinn had enough.
“I’ll let you get away with saying one affair is an indiscretion, mom, but seven? That’s just an unfaithful, disrespectful jerk. And I’m three years away from forty, mom, hardly a child. While some women may feel it’s okay for men to stray, I’m not in that club. I hold everyone to the same standards — honesty, fidelity, trust. I no longer have any of those with Oscar and haven’t had them for quite a while. Way past time to end our farce of marriage.”
“Marriage is for a lifetime, dear… and ordained by God.”
Ding, ding, ding! Katherine Clark was hitting all the markers today.
“The union of marriage is ordained by God, mother, but if God didn’t bring two people together, why is He used to keep them together? And, correct me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t adultery the only acceptable reason for divorce in the Bible? And isn’t it listed in the Big Ten?”
Katherine Clark was silent.
“Oscar has been to church only a handful of times since we were married—you don’t get to play the God-card with me, mom. He’s never been a part of this marriage.”
“People in our family do not get divorced, Quinn. You know this.”
Quinn chuckled.
“Yes, I do know, mom. I’ve seen the photos of long dead relatives who would rather have had their tongues cut out than divorce.”
“Quinn-…”
“I watch my brothers and their wives, barely able to be in the same room with each other, but too afraid of upsetting you, so they languish in marriages that should never have been. I do not intend to spend my life that way. I’m not stopping the divorce.”
“Your brothers are all happily married!”
“No, mother. YOU are happy they’re married. Myron and Aaron both never smile anymore. They bring their families for Sunday dinner to appease you and daddy, but always look like they’d rather be somewhere else.”
“You do not know everything, young lady. Aaron and Cecelia are talking about having another baby. They’re very much in love.”
“Oh mother, please! They’re talking about it because you suggested it. Cecelia is just as unhappy as Aaron and wants to be closer to her family back east.”
“Cecelia has loving family right here.”
“No, she has you and daddy, always butting in trying to run their marriage.”
“Quinn Avery! How dare you? I will not tolerate your disrespectful attitude!”
“Then we should end this call, mom, because I’m just being honest. I refuse to live in your fairy tale. Enjoy your day, mom.” Quinn ended the call, gripping the phone tightly. She took a couple of deeps breaths, then gently placed the cell on the counter.
Quinn emptied her now-cold coffee down the drain, and poured a fresh cup. A faint smile graced her lips. She’d endured one of her mother’s self-serving phone calls and was already mentally moving past it—all in less than twenty minutes.
Quinn remembered times when the same phone call would have thrown her off her game and ruined her entire day.
Not this time.
Things were definitely looking up.
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
Felicia Denise, Author 