Felicia Denise's Blog, page 47

The Real Betty Boop

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The iconic cartoon character Betty Boop was inspired by a Black jazz singer in Harlem. Introduced by cartoonist Max Fleischer in 1930, the caricature of the jazz age flapper was the first and most famous sex symbol in animation. Betty Boop is best known for her revealing dress, curvaceous figure, and signature vocals “Boop Oop A Doop!” While there has been controversy over the years, the inspiration has been traced back to Esther Jones who was known as “Baby Esther” and performed regularly in the Cotton Club during the 1920s.

Baby Esther’s trademark vocal style of using “boops” and other childlike scat sounds attracted the attention of actress Helen Kane during a performance in the late 1920s. After seeing Baby Esther, Helen Kane adopted her style and began using “boops” in her songs as well. Finding fame early on, Helen Kane often included this “baby style” into her music. When Betty Boop was introduced, Kane promptly sued Fleischer and Paramount Publix Corporation stating they were using her image and style. However, video evidence came to light of Baby Esther performing in a nightclub and the courts ruled against Helen Kane stating she did not have exclusive rights to the “booping” style or image, and that the style, in fact, pre-dated her.

Baby Esther’s “baby style” did little to bring her mainstream fame and she died in relative obscurity but a piece of her lives on in the iconic character Betty Boop.

Image: Esther Jones (“Baby Esther”), late 1920s by James VanDerZee 

Claudette Colvin | Civil Rights Activist

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Claudette Colvin (born September 5, 1939) is a pioneer of the Civil Rights Movement. On March 2, 1955, she was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on a bus in segregated Montgomery, Alabama, nine months prior to Rosa Parks’ famous arrest for the same offense.

Colvin was among the four plaintiffs originally included in the federal court case filed by civil rights attorney Fred Gray on February 1, 1956, as Browder v. Gayle, and she testified before the three-judge panel that heard the case in the United States District Court. On June 13, 1956, the judges determined that the state and local laws requiring bus segregation in Alabama were unconstitutional. The case went to the United States Supreme Court, which upheld their ruling on December 17, 1956. Colvin was the last witness to testify. Three days later, the Supreme Court issued an order to Montgomery and the state of Alabama to end bus segregation, and the Montgomery Bus Boycott was called off.

Ms. Colvin resides in The Bronx, New York.

 

From Wikipedia and Google.

Dressed to Unimpress #Snippet

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Snippet from the upcoming  Family Matters. Attorney Olivia Chandler is stepping further out of her comfort zone for new love, Bruce Bellamy.

Olivia argued with herself the entire drive to Bruce’s home.

The New Balance running shoes felt foreign on her feet.

Purchased over a year ago, Olivia wore the shoes two to three times a week when she worked out in her home gym.

But she’d never worn them outside of her home, much like any athletic apparel…or the jeans she wore today.

She adopted a habit of wearing tailored business suits and heels before leaving law school. The only things which varied were the style of the suit and height of her heels.

Olivia slowed and stopped at a traffic light rubbing her hand down the leg of her jeans.

Margot was right. Olivia was wound too tight… and boring.

Her idea of casual dress leaned toward a light, spring dress accompanied by a blazer, and ballerina flats… but only on non-court days.

The light turned green and Olivia accelerated through the intersection.

Get over yourself, Chandler! People dress casually every day, stop trying to have an anxiety attack. This is for Bellamy, so suck it up!

Warmth enveloped her body as thoughts of the man she was falling in love with filled Olivia’s head. Anxiety over clothing vanished. The corners of Olivia’s mouth twitched as she remembered his admonishment.

“Under no circumstances are you to show up in your lawyer clothes, counselor.”

He chuckled at the horrified expression on her face.

“Please, Olivia? Do this for me. I want the kids to see the real you, not the Olivia-mask the world sees every day.”

Olivia sobered at his words and promised to dress casually.

Bruce pulled her into his arms. “Besides, my specialty dish is considered comfort food and best enjoyed… while you’re comfortable.” He’d claimed her lips before she could respond, kissing Olivia deeply. He pulled away and pushed a small shopping bag into Olivia’s hands. Bruce backed toward the front door.

“Whatever you decide to wear,” he motioned to the bag, “you have to wear that with it.”

Olivia didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in Bruce’s eyes as he all but ran out the door to his truck. He winked as he slid into the driver’s seat and blew her a kiss as he sped away.

She stood in her doorway shaking her head. Remembering the Halloween costumes Bruce chose for them, inklings of dread caused her to shudder. Olivia stepped back inside her foyer, closing the door. She held the bag out at arm’s length and smirked.

“Now what have you gotten me into, Bellamy?”

 

©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

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2017 52-Week Writing Challenge – Winner! #MondayBlog

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When the Writing Cooperative announced their 52 Week Writing Challenge in January 2017, I thought long and hard about entering. I wasn’t fond of writing challenges and had problems sticking with some which were only ten to fourteen days.

But a year? Me?

I threw caution to the wind and signed up and figured any amount of time in the challenge would be good practice and help me work out a writing regimen I could stick with.

I sailed through the first three months.

I mentally reprimanded myself for fearing something which was too easy for words.

And then April happened. Hello Reality check!

Between my husband’s hospitalization for a serious infection related to his ESRD (End Stage Renal Disease) and me, getting hit with the mother of all Fibromyalgia flare-ups, I was done.

I had two submissions saved in Scrivener and decided after posting them, I was out of the challenge. I’d missed editing and publishing deadlines for my debut novel’s book two, no way could I also be stressed over a writing challenge.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

Writers can be a quirky bunch, and whether we’re burning the midnight oil editing or rising before dawn to flesh out characters and plots, we make our families (and close friends) aware of our projects and schedules.

Why?

So, they’ll understand missed appointments, preoccupations with fictional characters, or if dinner is late… or pizza… again.

But we also keep family and friends in the loop because they’re our first level of support… and our biggest cheerleaders.

Time passed, and I submitted the two completed pieces to the challenge with no plans to continue.

My family had other ideas.

Our three adult children took turns passing through and staying for a night or two with me until their dad was discharged.

(Told you guys I needed a supervisor!)

When the mister was finally discharged, I was ready to sleep for a week.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

The oldest blindsided me with, “Is your weekly writing challenge done?”

I was floored. This is the guy who thinks I write Victorian romances starring Fabio! God’s honest truth… I kid you not! Other than a couple of early story outlines, he’s never read a word I’ve written and probably never will. So, when he called me out, what else could I do but write?

That was the week I wrote Dumped, based on a true encounter I had with a homeless man when I was six months pregnant with HRH, the firstborn!

I won’t say it was easy, but I never considered quitting again after that.

And it paid off… even if the timing wasn’t the best.

Just hours after we lost my mother-in-law on January 12th, I received a congratulatory email naming me the winner of the 2017 52-Week Writing Challenge.

I was shocked, excited, and grateful… still am. But Life and family had to come first.

We’ve fallen back into our routines again, and it’s time to go to work.

My prize is a publishing package from the great folks at Standout Books, so I need to give them something to publish.

Wish me luck.

 

 

George Coleman Poage 1880-1962 #Olympian

 

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George Coleman Poage (November 6, 1880–April 11, 1962) was the first African-American athlete to win a medal in the Olympic Games, winning two bronze medals at the 1904 games in St. Louis.

The Milwaukee Athletic Club sponsored Poage to compete in the 1904 Summer Olympics in St. Louis, Missouri. Many prominent African-American leaders had called for a boycott of the games to protest racial segregation of the events in St. Louis. An integrated audience was not allowed at either the Olympics or the World’s Fair as the organizers had built segregated facilities for the spectators.  Poage chose to compete in four events and became the first African-American to medal in the Games by winning the bronze in both the 200-yard and 400-yard hurdles.

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Sculptor Elmer Petersen created this statue of George Poage for the city of La Crosse.

 

From Wikipedia and Google

The Marshall Sisters #52weeks52stories

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#52weeks52stories: Week 6

The pings and knocks of the beat up Toyota vibrated through Leslie.

She glanced out at the tiny bungalow, her thoughts in rhythm with the car’s motor.

Come on, Pau-la, what’s taking so long?

Come on, Pau-la, I want to go home.

Swearing under her breath, Leslie tried to burrow deeper into her coat. The Toyota’s heater sputtered and hissed almost as loud as the motor but gave little comfort in the dropping temperatures.

I could be home right now wrapped up in my Snuggie, laughing my ass off at Angie Tribeca. But no. I had to be the supportive sister and ride out here to Allen’s house just because she thinks he has some bimbo in there. Damn!

Leslie folded her arms across her chest, slipping her gloved hands into her underarms.

Five more minutes and she was going to kick Allen’s door in. There was no argument more important than her freezing to death.

Come on, Paula!

If Leslie had her way, Paula would have dumped Allen months ago.

Not only was he weird, always picking nonexistent pieces of lint off his clothing, but he was an arrogant ass.

When speaking, Allen’s sentences were peppered with random pauses where he’d wiggle his nose. If the conversation was about anything other than him, the idiot would sniff.

Leslie at first thought the man had a severe case of hay fever. When there was never any sneezing or watery eyes, she was sure Allen had a nasty cocaine habit.

Grumpy and annoyed after an evening of bowling with the smitten couple, Leslie couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“P, why does he talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“All those pauses… and nose wiggles… what’s up with that?”

“Oh, that.” She waved her sister off. “It’s not a big deal. Allen stuttered when he was a kid. The pauses and nose wiggles are tools his speech therapist taught him to focus and pace his words.”

She glared at her sister, incredulous.

“Was sniffing another tool he was taught?”

Paula Marshall giggled. “Isn’t that adorable? I just want to smother him in kisses when he does that?”

Leslie smirked but didn’t respond. She doubted Paula wanted to hear she wanted to smother her boyfriend too… with a pillow.

She fidgeted with the heat vents, attempting to direct the tepid air toward her numbing feet when the back car door screeched as it was opened.

Leslie yelped.

“P, dammit! You scared the hell out of me!”

Paula Marshall dumped two large blue plastic trash-bags behind her sister then jumped in the driver’s seat.

“Sorry, Les.” She tapped the accelerator peddle twice before pulling away from the curb.

“Sorry, Les? That’s all you have to say after I nearly froze to death waiting for you? Why did you insist I come anyway if you planned to leave me the freakin’ car?” Leslie Marshall babbled on, approaching hysteria. “What the hell, P? Say something! I could lose two toes behind this! And what’s in those bags you shoved in the back seat? Am I talking to myself? Is this a conversation for -”

Nonplussed, Paula gave her rambling sister a casual glance. “Shut up, Les.”

Slumping in her seat, the younger sister held in her anger. “I didn’t need to be here, Paula Beth. I could have phoned this in.”

“Leslie, I-I… he wasn’t alone.”

She jerked forward in her seat.

“What? I’m sorry, P, really. I know you liked him a lot.”

Paula slowed at the next intersection as the traffic light turned red. She smiled at Leslie.

“It’s okay… and it’s not a big deal. Yes, I did like him, but I will not be bothered with a man I cannot trust.”

Leaning her head back, Leslie stared at the crimson stoplight, not speaking until the signal turned to forest green.

“What did he say?”

She scoffed. “What could he say? They were half-dressed in that way you knew the deed had already been done. He followed me around whining as I collected my stuff. Pleading for another chance… saying it didn’t mean anything.” Paula gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m getting pissed all over again thinking about it.”

“I’m so sorry, P. You deserved better than that. But I’m hella proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

Paula Marshall had been a doormat for a long line of men in her short thirty-two years. She’d been a victim of physical and verbal abuse, robbed of her paycheck and savings several times, and had her identity stolen by one man who claimed he was tracing the Marshall ancestry. It took Paula over a year to get her credit records back in order and the more than seventy-thousand-dollars in fraudulent charges removed.

“Thanks, Les. It means a lot to know you’re in my corner.”

“Always, P. Always.”

They rode in silence, both women lost in their thoughts.

Worry lined Leslie’s young face as she fought to not question her sister further, but lost the battle. Her words fell shaky and clipped.

“Paula, did you know the woman with Allen?”

Nervous butterflies assaulted Leslie’s stomach. She watched her sister’s gaze dart over the road in front of her, a slow menacing grin forming on her lips.

“Oh, yes. I knew the bitch.”

“Paula?”

“It was Zoe Cox.”

Anger turned Leslie’s nervous butterflies into smoldering bile. “What the hell? Are you kidding me, P? Dickwad has a beautiful, smart girlfriend who’ll do anything for him and he cheats with the town slut?”

“It’s okay, Les. I took care – ”

“No, it’s not okay! Allen knew what kind of woman she is. And the whole town knows she’s a walking STD-bank. I cannot believe this.” She raged on. “Turn around, P! Take me back to Allen’s so I can kick both their asses!”

With her eyes on the darkened road stretched out ahead of them, Paula reached over and caught her sister’s hand.

“Les, I promised you… it’s handled. By the time I finished with them, they’d seen the error of their ways. This will not happen again.”

Still not convinced but reigning in her anger for Paula’s sake, Leslie folded her arms across her chest, sullen.

As Paula turned onto Renway Court, Leslie didn’t want to get out the car letting her sister believe she was angry with her. The beat-up Toyota sputtered to a stop in front of Leslie’s tiny bungalow.

Leslie’s head hung as she gave Paula a sheepish side-eye glance. “You know, P, the whole thing with Allen was one big cluster, but… what you did tonight? The way you went out there and barged right in? Pretty much makes you a bad-ass bitch now.”

Paula Marshall fell into a giggling fit. “Yes, I am! Look out world! I’m done taking anyone’s shit!”

Leslie shared Paula’s laughter, but something seemed off about her sister. However, she rationalized that her sister had put in a full day’s work, found out her boyfriend was cheating and caught him in the act, and here they sat in a freezing cold car in the middle of the night trying to process it all. Paula had every right to be a little unsettled. Leslie pushed the accusatory thoughts from her mind and reached out to give her sister a hug.

“Get some rest, pretty girl. You’ve had one hell of a day and it will be time for us to do it all again in a few short hours.”

“Thanks, Les. And thanks again for having my back. It may not seem like it, but knowing you were in the car waiting… gave me strength to do what I had to do. Love you.”

“Love you too. Night.”

Leslie Marshall ran into her house without looking back. Closing and locking the door, she sagged against it, thankful she left her heat on. Determined to get at least six hours sleep, she grabbed a beer from the fridge, drinking half of it before she reached her bedroom. After a two-minute shower, Leslie drank the rest of the beer and slid into bed, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When her alarm sounded at five minutes after seven, Leslie’s first thought was to call in. She hadn’t used any sick time in over eight months and had only two scheduled days off over her regular two days a week.

But Clarence Milton wouldn’t care about that. He was more than likely giving Stephanie Thompson, his assistant, a major migraine right now… and counting the minutes until Leslie showed up. She didn’t like the pompous news director, but he was allowing her to write and edit more segments. She’d better not chance it and get on his bad side.

Sitting up, Leslie grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV to see how the morning crew was faring. She hoped the morning co-anchor, Dianna Corwin had gotten rid of the assy two-tone hairstyle she showed off two days ago.

WKTT returned from a commercial break and there sat Dianna, assy hair and all, looking like an over-the-hill skater-boy.

Shaking her head, Leslie headed for the kitchen in search of coffee when Dianna’s words stopped her cold.

“We have an update on the grisly double murder WKTT first reported during our 6 AM broadcast. Police have identified the victims as thirty-four-year-old Allen Bailey and thirty-three-year-old Zoe Cox.”

Leslie Marshall stumbled but made it back to her bedside before she could fall to the floor. She crawled to the center of her bed and hugged her pillow close as the broadcast continued.

“WKTT’s Sharon Shuford was able to get a short interview with lead detective, Don Ware.”

“Sharon: Det. Ware, what do you know so far about this double murder?

Ware: Well, Sharon, the coroner puts the time of death at somewhere between 8 PM last night and 1 AM this morning. We believe the person or persons who committed this crime was known to at least one of the victims as there were no signs of forced entry. We also believe it was someone who knew the victims because this was a violent slaughter. This is, by far, the most gruesome crime scene I’ve worked in a decade. It took a lot of rage and malice to carry out this crime and generally, for this to happen, there has to be a personal connection between killer and victim.”

Tears streamed down Leslie’s face. And she had been sitting in the car alone while a murderer was roaming the streets! She rocked back and forth, unable to believe Allen and Zoe were gone.

True, she didn’t care for either of them and just a few short hours ago, she wanted to kick their asses, but that was because of how they betrayed Paula…

Oh my God, Paula!

Leslie leaped across the bed to grab her cell phone. She prayed Paula was still asleep and hadn’t heard the news. She would be devastated. Punching Paula’s number into the keypad, Leslie paused when she realized the newscast had returned to Dianna and she was still talking about the double murder.

“Police have no suspects and no leads in this heinous crime and could use whatever help the public can give. Law enforcement says the blood splatter from a crime like this would be excessive and the killer or killers would be covered in blood. We’re also told there is a chance the killer or killers tried to clean themselves up before leaving the scene. Police say blue trash bags like the ones on the screen now may have been used to hide bloody clothing when leaving the scene. Anyone with information in this case should contact the Pitts Police Department immediately.”

Leslie Marshall dropped her phone, stunned.

Blue trash bags.

Paula put two blue trash bags in the back seat of her car last night.

No way. No way.

Her sister was not a killer.

A murderer.

“Les, I promised you… it’s handled. By the time I finished with them, they’d seen the error of their ways. This will not happen again.”

“It may not seem like it, but knowing you were in the car waiting… gave me strength to do what I had to do.”

Covering her mouth, Leslie raced to the bathroom. Her empty stomach spasmed having little more than bile to give up. She backed away from the toilet until she reached the wall next to the bathtub and slid down the wall with a thud, unable to cry or scream. Her body shook as she tried to push the truth from her mind, and the harder she pushed, the more her body shook. Leslie was unable to control her own limbs and she fell over not realizing she was going into shock.

Her meek, docile, submissive sister was now a bad-ass bitch… who killed two people last night while Leslie waited in the car.

Leslie Marshall was the star witness against Paula… or a co-conspirator.

The buzzing in her head grew and Leslie could no longer sort her thoughts. She let go and fell over the edge into the dark abyss.

 

©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

Ann Cole Lowe 1898 – 1981

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Ann Cole Lowe (1898 – February 25, 1981) was an American fashion designer and the first African American to become a noted fashion designer. Lowe’s one-of-a-kind designs were a favorite among high society matrons from the 1920s to the 1960s. In 1953, she designed the ivory silk taffeta wedding dress worn by Jacqueline Bouvier when she married Senator John F. Kennedy.

Image from Pinterest

Song Lyric Sunday | “Mr. Telephone Man” – New Edition

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Song Lyric Sunday was created by Helen Vahdati from This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time. For complete rules or to join in the fun, click here.

The theme for Song Lyric Sunday this week is “phone calls/calling”. 

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I reached deep into the WayBack Machine for this 1984 hit from New Edition, Mr. Telephone Man. The number one R & B song was penned by Ray Parker, Jr. of Ghostbusters fame. (Who ya’ gonna call?)

The group’s youngest member, Bobby Brown, was fifteen at the time, when means this group of teenagers are now all in their forties AND fifties! Feel old yet? You’re welcome!

Lyrical Fiction Friday | “His Distraction”

So sorry I’m late with this, but I have the flu. And a migraine. And I had to go out for more COFFEE. And my socks don’t match. And a Unicorn ate my first draft.

Mona Lisa Smile #FlashFiction

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Flash Fiction: Word prompt – Mona Lisa smile

His chair was empty and cold just like the coffee he hadn’t drank.

She stared at the cup of coffee, unblinking and unmoved, the Mona Lisa smile still gracing her face.

She tried to remember the words he’d said. Something about ‘not working’, ‘better as friends’, and ‘he’d met someone.’

He had said more, but she wasn’t listening.

She was remembering.

When he said he loved her.

When he said she was the one.

When he asked her to marry him and slipped the ring on her finger.

She looked down at her hand, the ring still in place, heavy and laborious.

He told her to keep it and remember the good times.

Good times?

Instead, she remembered when he said he had to work late and turned off his phone.

She remembered him canceling their weekend trip to Vegas because the ‘big project’ at work was past due… and he turned off his phone.

Lastly, she remembered how he canceled their dinner… on her birthday… because of work.

And he turned off his phone.

She’d told all her friends she was spending her birthday with him and refused to sit home alone.

She went out to dinner and saw him… with her.

She didn’t know if it was a casual fling or a new beginning.

It didn’t matter.

It was over.

She went home and waited.

Waited for him to tell her.

Two days.

Five days.

A week.

She emotionally removed herself from the relationship.

She pulled away from his hugs and turned away from his kisses.

She knew she should walk away but she wouldn’t let him off that easy.

He had to say the words.

One day, he looked into her eyes and he saw it.

She knew.

He left quickly… because of work.

Three days later, he called and asked to meet her for coffee.

And he told her… at last.

She never spoke but just sat there before him cloaked in serenity, Mona Lisa smile in place.

He stood to leave, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She turned away… and he left.

Looking at the two-karat emerald-cut ring on her finger, a wave of sadness passed over her.

Not for herself but for the woman she replaced… and the woman who replaced her.

They were all members of a club by default. There would be no meetings, only dues paid in full. His new woman would pay hers soon enough.

Gathering her things, she stood and placed a ten-dollar-bill on the table for the coffee no one drank.

As an afterthought, she removed the ring and left it on top of the cash.

Heading for the door, she noticed new customers arriving with wet umbrellas and damp jackets.

“It’s really pouring out there,” an older man said as she walked past him.

Her Mona Lisa smile grew. She loved the rain.

She reached to push the door open and felt a tug on her other arm. Turning, her waitress stood next to her, holding out the ring.

“Is this your ring, ma’am?”

She shook her head once and said, “Not anymore,” and stepped out into the cleansing rain.

©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

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