Sherry Morris's Blog, page 39

One Night for Lovers

One Night for LoversBy Josephine WhiteFate summons best friends Marie and Annette to tour Mount Vernon and rollerblade through the grounds. They meet the Barrow twins, Vincent and Virgil, who happen to be a couple of English vampires just dying for a bite of feminine wiles. An instant attraction leads to a nighttime rendezvous in the threshing barn. As Annette and Virgil frolic in the hay, Marie and Vincent realize they have an important mission to accomplish. They must free the old souls in the Bastille as they hungrily fall into love at first bite.Novella Available at Amazon Kindle Novella Available in all eBook formats at Smashwords

Excerpt: Hundred Dollar Bill Chapter Two

Hundred Dollar BillBy Sherry MorrisChapter Two
Two hours later the Havana Special's brakes squealed as it rolled to a smooth stop. The steam engine's whistle blasted one long note. Perched on a white leather and stainless steel stool bolted to the floor of the lounge car, Chloe looked out the wide window. Sepia clouds framed a new moon. No precipitation fell. The sign on the dimly lit platform identified the station as Richmond. Edgy from the coffee, she hopped up and hurried through the darkened narrow corridors. In the vestibules, she impatiently heaved one door open, stepped in between the cars and opened the adjoining door. Worried she'd wake someone, Chloe cringed each time a door slammed. There just was no quiet way of transcending the thresholds.Reaching her reserved coach car, she squinted in the darkness. The conductor strolled up to her. In a hushed tone, he said, "We're changing over to diesel engines and adding two more sleeper cars. Go ahead and return to your seat. I'll let you know when you can walk back to your berth.""May I get off the train and watch?""No miss. Passengers may not detrain while we're adding cars."She sighed and sat next to the kissing sailor. Spittle ran down his smiling baby face. If only I could sleep like that.Chloe experienced the aftershocks of a hard jerk when the diesel locomotives coupled. She grabbed onto the armrests of her wool-upholstered seat. Moments later she heard a bell faintly clanging. A backward thrust and a bump signaled the Pullman sleeping cars had been added. After a short pause and two toots, the Havana Special resumed its voyage to paradise. "Miss, you may walk back to the last sleeper car now." the conductor said. "Thank you." She swayed with the cadence of the train, down the aisle of slumbering passengers. An Army Air Corps nurse was sprawled across two seats, snoring. Her legs were splayed open and one foot encroached over the armrest, into the aisle. Chloe turned sideways and squeezed past. She stopped and felt around on the overhead rack until she pulled out a blanket. Chloe quietly unfolded the thin white cover and gently draped it over the woman's legs, hiding the view up her skirt.She continued walking to the last Pullman car. Letting out a weary breath, Chloe patiently waited her turn in the sleeper. The porter, dressed in a snappy white jacket, assigned her a berth. Feeling as though she'd been hit by a locomotive, she whimpered as he assisted her up the ladder."I'm sorry miss. Are you all right?""Yes." she lied."You sure?"Chloe climbed onto the bunk and swung her legs on top of the cool crisp white sheet. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Leave all ready, will ya? She handed him a quarter."Thank you miss. I'll be by momentarily to collect your shoes for polishing." The porter pulled the blue wool curtain shut and moved on to assist a woman with three irritable children. * * * * *Chloe slept until late afternoon. She opened the aisle curtain and squinted into the light. Scooting to the edge of her bunk, Chloe let her legs dangle as she grabbed her pocketbook. Seizing the ladder, she stepped down the swaying rungs. She walked into the ladies lounge and used the toilet. Chloe washed and dried her hands, then moved into the spacious primping compartment. She sat on one of five bolted down stools in front of a stainless steel counter and wall-to-wall mirror. The railway had provided hair lacquer, tissues and six bottles of perfume on a silver tray. She freshened her makeup and brushed her hair. Chloe sprayed her curls into place with the lacquer. She blotted her lips with a tissue and then squirted on rose scented French perfume. The metal door banged open as a woman and a little girl entered. Chloe smiled at them and left.She stumbled through the rail cars with the rapidly escalating side-to-side pitch of the train. In the jam-packed dining car, she bought a ham sandwich on buttered white bread, gobbling it as she plodded to the first lounge car. There weren't any empty seats in there either. Chloe continued walking until she arrived at the special tavern lounge observation car, at the end of the train. She lucked into a comfortable chair next to a glass-topped end table, just as someone left. She tried to disappear into the laughter permeating the streamlined pink, mint and periwinkle art deco room. The piano man began his first set. Chloe soon lost herself in his melodies and reminisced over the good times. The day she met Bill, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes…their secret love…on her part anyway. Bill never once said, "I love you." He just used her. She admitted it to herself. How could she have been so stupid? All she wanted was for somebody to love her. To wrap his arms around her and kiss and comfort her. Someone to make her feel that she was lovable. I was so stupid. Nobody loves me. Never has, never will. And now look what a mess I've gotten myself into. I have to run. Far away. Shuddering at the memory of her last night in Washington, Chloe allowed herself a good cry. * * * * *Helping herself to the napkins arranged like a fan on the end table, Chloe picked a couple of them up. They were embossed The Havana Special. She wiped her eyes and nose. Determined to begin anew, Chloe gritted her teeth and stood up with perfect posture. There. That didn't hurt too much. Maneuvering through the smoky haze, she hummed along to a Mitch Miller song. In between well-groomed heads, she caught a glimpse of the Clark Gable mustached bartender.The same terrific smelling gentleman she'd passed in the corridor during the night bumped against her back as the train pitched hard on a curve. Mike Taurus said, "Pardon me." The slight jolt stung Chloe's bruises and sore muscles. I never knew everything was attached to my back. She stifled a gasp and half smiled, looking from side to side, trying to keep her sites on the bartender. There was something magical and comforting about his aura, drawing her to him. She never looked at Mike Taurus.Chloe dodged animated hands waving lighted cigarettes and booze. She arrived at the bar and steadied herself by holding onto the pink marble counter. Leaning in close to the bartender, she asked as loudly as she could without screaming, "Hot tea please." The bartender was crooning to the tune of Make Believe Island. He finished the first verse and shouted, "Are you sure you want tea miss? I've got some killer martinis."Chloe caught a little hint of a British accent in his spoken words, but not in his singing. "Yes, hot tea with sugar please." He dashed off to the kitchen to fetch a fresh little pot of tea. When he returned still singing, Chloe enjoyed his soothing voice as she scooped three sugar cubes into a gold-rimmed teacup. She visualized the fantasy in his lyrics. Sunshine, blue water and beautiful flowers. Make Believe Island. A magical paradise where the future is much better than the past. Chloe laid the small silver spoon on the cup's saucer. The crooner grinned at Chloe while she fished coins out of her purse. She dropped them on the bar.   Looking forward to the first delicious sip, Chloe balanced the cup and saucer in her left hand and her purse and the small silver teapot in her right as she navigated through the lively throng. Mike Taurus pushed his way up to the bar and motioned for the barkeep to lean in closer. He complied.Mike whispered, "What's the story with her?""What?"Mike shouted, "What's the story with her?" He spun around and was satisfied no one else had heard him. The mix of service men and women as well as a few civilian ladies were immersed in their own merriment. He returned his attention to the bartender.The bartender stroked his mustache. He hollered, "She bawled her eyes out and then came up here swaying to the music. Beats me. I can't believe there's some stupid stooge who would hurt a classy dame like that.""Gimme a bottle of beer and a pot of tea." The bartender winked. "Sure thing, mister." He popped the top off a bottle of Miller High Life, placed a cup and saucer on the counter and then dashed off to the kitchen. He retrieved a second little pot of steaming tea. Mike threw a dollar bill on the bar. He slid the beer into his pants pocket. Opening the hinged lid on the pot, he plunked in five sugar cubes and snapped it shut. Mike Taurus carried the teapot, along with a cup and saucer toward the end of the car. The barkeep winked and muttered, "That's it brother, get her on the rebound…" He continued singing softly fading out at the end of the refrain.The train pitched hard toward the left. The cup and saucer flew from Mike's hand. The porcelain saucer broke in half as it hit the polished wood floor. The cup miraculously just bounced. Scalding tea sloshed through the little silver spout, searing his chest. Cold beer slopped down the front of his gray trousers.* * * * *Chloe balanced the teapot and cup while walking back to her coach seat. Perhaps I'll try to make conversation with the sailor. I don't wanna, but I do need the practice. As she passed by her berth, she noticed the porter had made the bed. She drew a deep breath. The air was much fresher in the Pullman car than it was in the social areas. When Chloe arrived at her coach seat, she was relieved to see the sailor was gone. His duffel bag and pea coat were missing from the overhead rack. He must've gotten off in South Carolina. Yes! I get a small reprieve. There will be plenty more service men to become acquainted with in Miami Beach. Chloe sat in the window seat and clumsily opened the tray table. She placed the cup and saucer on it and poured tea from the silver pot. Steam swirled from the steeped orange and black pekoe. Stirring to melt the sugar, she slopped a little tea onto the saucer. She took a careful sip and savored the hot comfort. Glancing out the window, Chloe marveled at her first glimpse of the palm trees whizzing by. She'd only seen them in books.The conductor strolled through casually announcing, "Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached our top speed of ninety miles per hour. Out your windows, you'll see we are passing through the Georgia swamps. Please rest assured that the odor permeating the train is swamp gas and not your traveling companion."Chloe and the other passengers giggled.* * * * *The train made good time down to Jacksonville, Florida, where they had a scheduled four hour layover. Chloe caught the conductor's eye. She motioned him over. "May I get off here and walk around a bit?" "Yes miss. There's a newsstand in the station. And some telephones."Chloe held tight to the cold metal handrails as she followed two females from the Army Air Corps and a nun down the black perforated steel stairs to the concrete platform. The quartet paced duckling-like, watching the crew swap the two purple and silver Atlantic Coast Line diesel engines for two red and yellow Florida East Coast diesels. Chloe walked over to the building and pushed the glass door open. She held it for the broad shouldered nun with wiry eyebrows and a huge nose. Oh the poor woman. She's so homely. I wonder if that's what led her to the calling? They entered. Chloe bought a newspaper and a pack of gum. It felt so good to walk a bit. * * * * *Back on board, she read until midnight when they arrived in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. There they had to stop on a siding to let troop trains pass. With a long pull of the whistle and squealing brakes, the Havana Special rolled into Miami at 9:00 a.m. This was the end of the line and all of the passengers got off. In the bustle on the platform, Chloe stepped into her new world and felt flushed. She removed her coat and sat on a bench. Opening the envelope Mrs. Grogan had given her, Chloe pulled out a pink piece of stationery and some cash. Bless Mrs. Grogan. I'll pay her back, just as soon as I'm settled and have a new job. A new job? Chloe hadn't thought that far ahead. What could she do on Miami Beach? Examine palm trees? Count grains of sand? Polish boots? This place smelt like boot polish. She remembered Bill's boots and the way he used to snuff out his cigarettes with them. But he never will again. Chloe shuddered.She tucked the money and address into her purse, draped her coat over one arm and trudged off with her luggage to the newsstand. She bought a city map and headed to a waiting bus. An Oriental woman boarding behind her helped heave the luggage up the steps.  Chloe told her, "Thanks." and found a seat in the third row. I remember her from the train. She picked up the lamb for the kid. Nice lady. As they crossed the causeway into the city of Miami Beach, she gazed out the clean window. On Collins Avenue the hotels captivated her. They were painted ocean aquamarine, shrimp coral, impatiens fuchsia, eye shadow lavender, and sunflower yellow. Palm fronds rustled in the heavy ocean breeze. Chloe felt bloated. Her clothes were uncomfortable, no doubt from being sedentary for so long on the train. She looked forward to taking her shoes, stockings and girdle off. At Lincoln Road she pulled the rope and stepped into the paradise of tropical Florida.Chloe crossed the street and set her things down next to a fountain. She sat herself on the wide white concrete rim. The wind sent an occasional water droplet onto her hot skin. She smiled. Opening the map, she quickly located Bay Road. It looks like it's only a couple of inches away. But heck, I should have gotten off over at Alton Road. Yeah, but then I would've missed the art deco hotels, and glimpses of the ocean. Now I've got a longer walk. Oh well.She memorized all the left-right-lefts and folded the map. Chloe picked up her belongings and walked and walked and walked. Those measly two inches on the map translated into aching feet in high heels. When she noticed she was on the thirteen hundred block of Bay Road, she pulled the pink paper out of her purse.Patrick Grogan1401 Bay RoadMiami BeachDarn it. I already passed it on the last block. Chloe turned around, walked back to the corner and crossed the street again. Sunbeams shone on a bay window in the two-story yellow stucco building. Emerald lettering on the glass spelled out Paddy-Cakes Bakery.  A beautiful three-tiered wedding cake with real white pansies spiraling down, took center presentation in the storefront window. White chocolates spilled around the base, intertwined with glistening white and peach pearl strands. It was the most romantic cake Chloe had ever seen. She didn't allow herself to daydream over it being hers some day. Cruel fate has robbed me of that dream. I need a quickie marriage at city hall, to some poor lonely young man about to be sent off to war.Chloe tried to push the bakery door open but it was locked. The light was on. She rapped on the glass. Inside, a deeply tanned bearded man with a fringe of white hair around his dome swept the green and white checkerboard floor. He quickly donned a baker's hat and opened the door. "Sorry love, I don't open until ten. I'll save a cinnamon-hazelnut wiggle worm just for ye.""Wiggle worm?""It's a doughnut dear.""Oh…I'm looking for Patrick Grogan. Mrs. Grogan…uh, Mrs. Dolly Grogan sent me."He smiled, took her bags and ushered her in. "Yer lookin' at 'im love. Ye must be Carnie?"            "Chloe…Chloe Lambert.""Sorry! Terrible with names. Come on and I'll get ye some coffee and that wiggly worm."The thought of eating made her queasy. "Thank you, but I'd really like to rest. I've had quite a miserable train trip.""Where's my manners? I'm sorry love, surely ye have. Come on up with me. I've got yer room all ready." Mr. Grogan used her big suitcase to nudge open the swinging white door into the kitchen. They passed by a waist high white marble counter top with a canister of flour and a marble rolling pin standing by to roll out sweet or savory comfort. Chloe inhaled sugar, spice, and everything nice as she took in the set up—three industrial ovens, a refrigerator, a sink, two big electric dough mixers and a nut grinder. She looked at the other side of the kitchen, well more or less one third of it, by her judgment. It had a home range, a refrigerator, a few cupboards and a kitchen table with four chairs. There was a window over the sink and a back door with glass on top. There were two more interior doors. One was obviously a pantry. The other door probably leads to private living space.The baker lugged her things up a narrow creaky staircase. Chloe followed several rungs behind, holding onto the beautiful oak banister. The spindles had been turned in five different designs, each its own beauty. At the end of a dark hallway, Paddy Grogan opened a door. He set her baggage just inside, next to a small dresser. Chloe entered behind him. When Paddy opened the palm motif drapes, sunlight flooded in. The decor was tropical green, peach and raspberry. "Come on over here, love. If ye peer out between those two buildings ye can see the bay. Biscayne Bay. Try to catch the sunset there every evenin'—Miss—Miss Mary had a little lamb. You'll not regret it. Different every time. Ain't nothin' like it in the world. Just beautiful."Chloe dropped her purse and coat onto the brass bed as she squeezed around the end of it. At the window, she felt the warmth. A smile overtook her. What a difference a change in latitude makes. I might just be able to make a decent new life here in Shangri-La.Paddy pulled two keys from his apron pocket. "This one unlocks the front and back doors and this one is for yer bed chamber." She took them and listened to the old gentleman. "Yer bathroom is right through that door. No other tenants at the mo, so it's all yers. My quarters are downstairs behind the kitchen, so I won't be underfoot. Feel free to walk around in the nude if ye'd like." He winked and laughed as he saw the startled look on her face. "Don't ye go worryin' 'bout me miss. My mind is filthy but my actions are respectable. Probably why I'm still a bachelor. Ho hum.""Thank you Mister Grogan. This is so kind of you to take me in. How much do I owe you for the first and last month's rent?"He rubbed his beard. She saw the twinkle in his warm brown eyes. He blinked his long thick lashes as he calculated. "Well, I don't know now. I suppose I could either charge ye what dear old Dolly did or else ye could go down and have my famous wiggle worm and…"Eww! Does he mean what I think he does? "I'll pay you the same as Mrs. Grogan charged." Chloe grabbed her purse and dropped the keys inside. She fumbled with the pink envelope and counted out the cash. Mr. Grogan dramatically feigned disappointment. He stuffed the money into his apron pocket. "I'm sorry miss. I won't be makin' any more off-color jokes. Relax and get some rest darlin'." "Thank you."He stepped into the hallway and softly shut the door. Chloe didn't know what to make of Paddy. The old man had a very sweet and warm smile. She remembered Mrs. Grogan telling her he was made of good stock and that he'd protect her. Chloe nervously decided to stay, but just to feel safer—she locked the door and pushed a wicker rocking chair over from the corner, wedging it under the doorknob. Not because of Paddy especially, but just in case—. She put it out of her mind.Chloe stuffed the envelope back into her purse and laid it on the dresser. She peeled off her binding clothes. Heaving her brown suitcase onto the bed, the right latch caught under her fingernail and bent it back. "Ow!" After rubbing her injury, she unfastened the other latch. The suitcase popped open, about five inches. She raised the lid. Chloe found her simple white nightgown. She pulled it over her head and arms. The dresser had three drawers that she filled with panties, slips, brassieres, girdles, socks, garter belts and rayon stockings. The closet was even smaller than the one in DC. She hurriedly hung her clothes on wire hangers and draped her terrycloth robe on the brass hook on the inside of the door. Leaving her desk supplies and bedside table trinkets inside, she shut and latched the suitcase. Chloe tilted and hoisted it onto the top shelf. She heard the can of pennies spilling. With some necessary pressure she shoved the door closed. In the white tiled bathroom, Chloe looked around as she used the commode. She saw the small bathtub and knew she should bathe after the long voyage, but not now. I'm too tired. Chloe inserted the stopper into the seashell shaped porcelain sink. She filled it half way with warm water. A fresh white bar of Ivory soap made a nice soft lather. She washed her face. Chloe let the soap float as she turned and felt for a towel, hanging behind her on a chrome rod. The rough texture rubbed her bruised skin. She draped the towel on the rod, placed the soap in the chrome dish and let the water drain.Avoiding her reflection in the medicine chest mirror, Chloe stared at the stained grout on the floor as she brushed her teeth. Her lower lip stung when the bristles touched the spot where her mouth hit the police call box. A tear trickled. Chloe swilled water and spit. She rinsed her toothbrush and hung it in a chrome wall rack. Back in the bedroom, she folded her dirty clothes and put them on the top of the dresser. The new tenant slipped her weary body under the raspberry sherbet sheets. The cotton felt luxurious. She fell into a deep slumber. Nightmares crept up, in black and white. In the first act Chloe was revisiting the resort along the North Carolina coast where she'd spent her fourteenth summer. Her daddy had worked security there. She saw long necked giraffes sticking out of the circus train that had performed in town. It was parked on a railroad siding adjacent to the resort. The black and white faded into vivid color. A blue clown argued with a bearded lady wearing a pink polka dotted dress. Chloe had seen them bickering before. Someone said they were married. It bothered her. She'd worried that's what happened after people said, "I do." Her parents didn't get along either. Momma wouldn't come out of the mountains for Daddy's summer job. So it was just Chloe and him, but that was all right. Daddy spoiled her rotten. She loved him so much.A front loader was digging, digging, digging. Chloe could smell the moist peat. Her breathing quickened. The black and white crept back in. She watched a crane hoist the carcass. An Asian elephant had died giving birth. She watched it swaying over the hole. Then the rope broke. The ground shook as the mammalian mother landed in the dirt pile. Chloe tasted the dusty air. She watched the men using tent poles for leverage to roll the cadaver into its grave. The scene turned blood red as the circus owner aimed his shotgun. He wanted no part of hand raising an orphaned pachyderm. Chloe woke up screaming, "No! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Too frightened to move, she reminded herself that Daddy stopped the slaughter. He persuaded the owner to leave the baby elephant at the resort. Despite the bad dream, Chloe realized that had been a joyous summer. She named the little elephant Laughter. Clutching the sheet in her hands, she remembered the sloppy mess he made when she put bottles of milk in his mouth and how he entertained the vacationers when he used to pick up sticks with his trunk and scratch his back.Never opening her eyes, she lay there breathing through her mouth until she drifted back into slumber land. The next black and white dream commenced. Chloe dreamt she was swimming in the ocean, further and further out, practicing her endurance for the upcoming competition. The soothing water welcomed the young girl. She swam out then turned and tread water. The beach was deserted. She saw Laughter grazing on kudzu. The water suddenly felt thick as her dream morphed into sepia. The kudzu turned into poison hemlock. "No Laughter! Don't eat…" The scene changed to a man caught in a riptide battling his way back to shore. He was drowning. Chloe felt as if she were swimming in quicksand trying to reach the victim. Finally in slow motion Chloe wrapped her arm around him and swum parallel to the beach for about fifty feet. She reached the edge of the riptide and drug him toward shore. A woman and two other men met them in chest deep water. She watched as they helped him stumble to the brown sandy beach. Chloe woke up. She shuffled to the bathroom and got a drink of water. Walking by the window, she saw it—the sunball. Tangerine and bigger than a harvest moon. This was literally the closest she'd ever come to the sun. She returned to the soft feather pillow. The cool raspberry sheets felt soothing on her battered body. Chloe nervously let herself look forward to the future as she laid herself back down to new colorful sweet dreams, not horrible memories.* * * * *Chloe opened her eyes to the Thursday morning sun. She'd kicked off all the covers, perspiring during the early hours. She hurried through a tepid bath. After getting dressed Chloe decided it was too hot for anything more than lipstick and powder. The bruise on her cheek was camouflaged well enough. She brushed her auburn mane, rolled the sides and pinned them in place. The hair spray was suffocating this morning but she still could pick out the wafting aroma of yeast, chocolate and strawberries. Chloe tightened the sheets on her bed, proud of the perfect corners she'd made. The wicker rocking chair scraped along the hardwood floor when she shoved it back to the corner. Picking up her purse from the dresser, she walked out into the hall, locking the door behind her. As she descended the creaky, narrow staircase to the kitchen, Chloe blurted out "Orange and spice tea!""Well top o' the mornin' to ye and orange tea for the rest of the day, Miss Little Bo Peep. Had a herd and a half of sheep to count yesterday, did ye now?""Oh, Mr. Grogan, I slept heavenly thank you. So where's a girl get a bite to eat around here?" She wandered around the kitchen, opening cupboards and peeking under cloths covering bowls of rising dough. Chloe procured a white cup and saucer and poured the steeping contents of a green porcelain teapot into it."Ye've got some sniffer on ye there. I've not known anyone to whiff out the scent of tea from a mile high."She giggled. My sense of smell has been heightened lately. Chloe gobbled up a biscuit with fresh strawberry jam and then nibbled one of his so-called infamous cinnamon-hazelnut creations. "Say, you do have a tasty wiggle worm."A tinkling bell alerted Paddy to a customer. "There's some fried ham on the stove. Help yerself." He scurried out to the front room. Chloe enjoyed the crispy ham and took the time to savor the tea. So far so good.  She'd made her getaway and was now a thousand miles from DC. And Bill. Her eyes welled up, but she refused to cry anymore over him. So long as the police don't catch up to me I'll be fine. I'm not the one that murdered him after all. The only thing I've got to be guilty of is falling for a married man…and… She washed her dishes and scraped the excess grease from the iron skillet. Chloe found a dishrag and wiped the crumbs and goo off the table. She rinsed the crumbs into the sink and wrung out the rag, draping it over the back of a chair to dry.Sticking her head out the swinging door into the storefront, she called out "May I please use your telephone?""Sure thing Little Red Riding Hood."Chloe spoke to the operator and held her breath, waiting for Myron Wimpledink to come to the phone.* * * * *Eleanor Roosevelt emerged from the Lincoln bedroom, startled to find her husband in the hallway. He said, "Babs! Didn't see you come in. How was the hoop dee doo? Tell me, are the older ladies supportive of my efforts?""Um…yes. Yes they are.""So'd you get swept off your feet by some handsome Republican?""Naturally…a baker's dozen of 'em.""Say, the Secret Service boys told me counterfeit money's been turning up in the District, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia.""Oh? That's…alarming…I'm really tired.""I'm on my way for a long hot soak. Care to join me?""Um…no dear. I just want to get out of these shoes and get some shut eye.""So be it. Goodnight…I love you."She leaned down. They kissed."And I love you." As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. "Babs, what's that all along the hem of your dress?""Hunh?"He seized the emerald taffeta near her waist and began hoisting it up. Eleanor's green pumps were filthy. His gaze ran up her rayon stockings. They were tight at the ankles and baggy at the knees. Franklin examined the bottom of her dress.The first lady blushed as she looked over her shoulder. "Franklin! What if…""Cobwebs. Well I'll be. Rosie the Riveter must be older than I thought." Eleanor pulled away, smoothing the taffeta down. She gave him the evil eye.Franklin chuckled as she walked off. He followed his pup into the Lincoln bedroom. Looking around the sparse spotless room, he wondered what his wife had been up to. Fala sniffed the paneling along the fireplace wall. Mr. Roosevelt heard a voice in the corridor."Sir? Sir? Where you are?"Fala jumped into his lap. The president rolled into the hallway. "Ah, looking for you good fellow. Come and draw my bath now. So tell me Fuji, how is that stunning creature you hoodwinked into matrimony?" Tired and aching, Mr. Roosevelt allowed his valet to push his wheelchair to the president's bedroom. "Traveling again. But Mrs. Fuji did send special package you requested.""Perfect timing son." Fala leapt from his master's lap to the chair at the foot of the bed. He circled twice and kneaded his paws into the upholstery before curling up to sleep. As was their usual routine, the president began undressing. The valet stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned the spigots on. Fuji adjusted the temperature and then told his boss, "Be right back." as he dashed out of the suite.Fuji soon returned with a brown interagency envelope. He delivered it to the president then mumbled, "I hope no overflow!" as he ran into the bathroom. Mr. Roosevelt unsealed the metal clasp on the envelope and emptied the contents onto his white bedspread. He grinned while inspecting the nylon stockings."Okay sir, your bath is drawn."President Franklin Delano Roosevelt replaced the contraband, wheeled over to a bookshelf and slipped the envelope behind an original edition of Poor Richard's Almanac. "When's the missus due back?""Not for month. Wish we get delivery from stork and she stay home." He pushed the wheelchair into the bathroom. Fuji removed Mr. Roosevelt's trousers and torturous leg braces. The president smiled. "Careful what you wish for. Once that old stork finds your address, he might become a pest. He visited the missus and I six times in ten years. First a little girl, then five boys."Claude Fuji laughed with the president.* * * * *Still high on adrenalin, the first lady changed into blue and white striped pajamas. She left her bedroom and took her dirty clothes to the hamper in the hall closet, dropping them on top. She dug down and fished out her husband's shirt—the collar had a smudge. She tucked it under her arm and trotted downstairs, straight to his secretary's office. Looking over her shoulder, Mrs. Roosevelt ducked inside. She sat in Vera Blandings' chair, rummaging through her desk. The first lady removed a tube of lipstick from the top side drawer. She neatened the small stacks of papers inside, then hurried back to her bedroom. Thank goodness no one saw me.Eleanor shut the door and locked it. She yanked the cap from the lipstick and twisted it up. Mrs. Roosevelt compared the color to the smudge on her husband's shirt. It matched. Her stomach churned as tears welled up in her eyes. She twisted the lipstick back down, replaced the cap and chucked it into a wastebasket. Then she shoved his shirt in with it. She stomped it down with her foot.Eleanor climbed in bed and picked up the telephone receiver on her walnut nightstand.The White House operator said, "Yes Missus Roosevelt, how may I direct your call?" Available in Print and eBook at Ellora's Cave Available in Print and Kindle at Amazon Available in Print and NOOKbook at Barnes and Noble

Night Fever

Night FeverBy Josephine WhiteIn this vampire romance with a twist, mortal paramedic Stephanie longs to bite a vampire. She lives in the forgotten town north of everywhere where there are still a few blood lines left. The guy she's longed for since adolescence turns out to be Mr. Wrong. Who knew her partner, Richard, might be just what she needs. Richard has his own secret longings. Follow them from the cold black night to the warmth of the new dawn. Novella Available at Amazon Kindle Novella Available in all eBook formats at Smashwords

Excerpt: Hundred Dollar Bill Chapter One

Hundred Dollar BillBy Sherry Morris
Chapter One
Sometime after midnight, freezing rain pelted out a maddening symphony on the window. Benjamin Franklin gazed compassionately from the bloody hundred dollar bill floating near Miss Chloe Lambert's breasts. The redhead lay soaking in a claw-footed tub at Mrs. Grogan's boarding house on Nichols Avenue in the District of Columbia. Her skin was flushed from the steamy water, but she was sure she'd never feel warm again. With eyes dehydrated from crying, Chloe stared at her black, blue, green and yellow bruises. * * * * *Earlier that night, across town, Mrs. Anna Eleanor Roosevelt's footsteps resonatedarmy-like as she stormed the west wing. A black Scottish Terrier rounded a corner and scrambled toward her. "No, Fala, no!" Dodging his excited leap, she caught the fluffy sash of her emerald evening gown on the edge of a marble pedestal displaying the bust of Abraham Lincoln. She twisted and caught old Abe, but the taffeta tore. Eleanor replaced the sculpture, picked up the little dog, then marched to an office.She shoved the door open. Stepping inside, Mrs. Roosevelt vigorously petted the wiry haired pooch while closing the door with her back. It hit the jamb with an audible resolve. "Vera, I am well aware of your…your little game, and I've had quite enough of you."Vera stopped typing. The long legged brunette stood, removed her librarian glasses and snuffed her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. She blew a plume of smoke at the first lady before running manicured fingers along her starched navy-blue shirtdress. A smirk twitched the corners of her strawberry lips. She crossed her arms and turned toward the wall.The first lady crinkled her nose and bent down. Fala leapt from the crook of her arm. He scampered over to sniff the closed door to the Oval Office. Eleanor rose, thrust her shoulders back and stomped to the rear of the desk, launching a rolling chair out of her way. She squeezed between her husband's newest secretary and a portrait of George Washington. Mrs. Vera Blandings took a step back, grinning. Mrs. Roosevelt demanded, "Just what will it take to make you disappear?" "A new job." "Done.""…A role in the next Alfred Hitchcock movie."Eleanor laughed. Vera glared. "I'm quite serious." She cocked her head, retrieved her chair and tucked it under the desk. Pulling out the bottom drawer, Vera removed her navy-blue reptilian pocketbook and gently shut the drawer. Eleanor silently seethed in the stale smoky air while composing a response. I will not allow this woman to slip me into unsavory territory. "Fine then. So be it. Pack your snakeskin. No more games in the interim or—." The magnetic purse clasp clicked when Vera opened it. After taking out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches, the president's secretary sashayed out of the office.The first lady glanced at her diamond watch and groaned. She pulled the chair out and plopped herself down. It hissed as the cushioned seat compressed. She opened Vera's top desk drawer and rummaged through stubby pencils, rubber bands, a loose deck of playing cards,  a crumpled issue of True Romance magazine that was caught in the back, a piece of yellow police chalk and several pistachios. Eleanor briefly picked up the waxy chalk. What in the devil is she doing with this? The stuff they outline corpses with… She shrugged her shoulders and dropped it back inside with a clunk. Digging out a paper clip, the first lady wove the coiled wire through the soft frays of her ripped sash. It popped right off. She noticed a little chalk had transferred from her fingers to her gown. What else can happen?Yanking the middle drawer open, she found a stapler inside. After three squeezes and some creative tucking of the taffeta, she was good to go. When Eleanor replaced the stapler, a metallic glint in the back caught her attention. She opened the drawer all the way and pulled out a pearl handled pistol. What the… ?Eleanor heard giggling. Her eyes darted around the office as she shut the drawer, shoved the gun under her waistband and covered it with the sash. She jumped up, wrapped her arms around her tummy and tiptoed to the open door to peek into the corridor. Eleanor watched Mrs. Stoneburner meandering toward the kitchen. Claude Fuji, the president's valet, was finishing up a good bubbly laugh. "Hello Missus First Lady. You are so beautiful in jade." She exhaled and stepped into the hall.He reached out to shake hands with Mrs. Roosevelt, as was his nature, but she awkwardly declined. "Thank you, Claude."His face saddened at the slight. "Anything I do wrong to you?""No, Claude, no…oh…come on to my study. Follow me." Mrs. Roosevelt's evening gown swished as they hurried to her private room. "Close the door Claude." He obliged. Eleanor gingerly peeled back the delicate folds of taffeta and yanked the gun out. "Look what I found in his secretary's desk!"  "Missus First Lady, please do not go waving that thing at Claude." The valet snatched the firearm from her. Eleanor moved closer, hovering over him. Her stomach knotted as she whispered, "Is it loaded?""Please step back," he said with a sternness she'd never witnessed. She complied. He walked to her small desk. An envelope flew to the floor as he shoved a stack of stationery away to clear a space. He emptied the chambers into his hand and then spread the contents on her desk. "Blanks.""Blanks?" Thank God. But just what are you up to, Vera?Claude Fuji replaced the projectiles. "Put back where you got from. We watch her.""You mustn't tell the president about Vera's gun. I don't want to upset him unnecessarily.""What gun? No gun."* * * * *President Roosevelt warily stared at the excess ink dripping back into the well. He dotted the i's on his fourth inaugural speech. His secretary interrupted. "Here you go sir, this is the last one. The courier's waiting." He signed six pages. Vera slipped them into an envelope and sealed it as she left the Oval Office. She gave it to the tired looking young man. He dashed off.  The president placed the speech in his lap. His hands then gripped onto the gritty wheels of his armless wooden chair. He propelled himself out to Vera's office and deposited his soon-to-be historical prose on her desk. "Sorry I kept you so late. Just leave this for one of the girls in the typing pool in the morning." "Nights like these I appreciate living with my mother-in-law. She's wonderful with the children.""Come on up and have a martini with me before you go. The missus is out at a charity hoop dee doo and cocktails for one are no fun…I'll put two olives in yours." He winked.Stretching cat-like, she placed her elbows on the desk and gazed into his eyes. "All right, Eff Dee. You know I'm a sucker for your…olives." Vera tenderly kissed him on his stubbled cheek. She arched her back, thrusting her chest to attention as she stood. Vera protected her typewriter with a vinyl cover and then strolled over to the mahogany rack in the corner. She grabbed her gray wool coat, releasing her smoky perfumed scent while shaking it out. After smoothing it over her left arm, she placed her matching hat in her left hand and then walked back to her desk to retrieve her pocketbook.They had a quiet ride on the elevator to the second floor. Just the hum of Mr. Otis' invention as they both smiled at the padded walls, mulling over the long day. The doors opened into an informal gathering area outside the family living quarters. The president motioned for his secretary to exit. She nodded and sauntered over to the seating area. He rolled his wheelchair to an ornate teacart where his valet had set up the martini fixings. Franklin concentrated with pride as he measured his secret blend of gin and vermouth into the silver shaker. Vera dropped her coat, hat and purse onto a worn red velvet sofa. She sat down and kicked off her shiny navy pumps. Reaching over to the large radio, she flinched as static blasted when she switched it on. She turned down the volume and tuned in a station. Settling back into the soft couch, Vera caught his eye as she undid the three bottom buttons on her shirtdress, revealing her thighs.Beaming, the president wheeled himself the short distance. He handed her one of the two stem glasses entwined in the fingers of his left hand. Vera downed her martini. He raised his eyebrows. "Thirsty darling?"She blushed and willed him to refill, but didn't ask. Instead she smiled seductively and curled her long shapely legs underneath her. Vera nibbled on the olives. The radio host announced the next song, Hollywood Dream. Franklin turned up the volume and tweaked the dial for a clearer signal. It was an upbeat cinema song heavy on the clarinets. Twisting a lock of nut-brown hair around her finger, Vera sang along in an exquisite alto vibrato. Franklin joined in the harmony. As the song ended, he refilled her glass. She drank it a little slower this time.He said, "Oh Ginger, what fun. Wish I could've whirled you 'round the dance floor.""We'd make a grand team…Fred…I'd have gone to Hollywood you know, if I hadn't married…""You'd have made it to the big time too, Vera. But life—what will be—will be."               They both pondered in silence. The radio host announced the time was 10:30. The president ogled her legs as she slipped her shoes on. Swaying with feline grace, Vera walked to the teacart and deposited her lipstick-rimmed glass. She turned to him. "Thanks for the cheer.""Vera darling, can you stay just a bit longer? I'll get Mrs. Stoneburner to send up some tuna sandwiches…""Not tonight Eff Dee." He tried to hide a grimace as he stretched his polio-ravaged body to pick up her coat from the couch. She smiled warmly as she leaned down and placed her arms inside the gray wool he held for her. "Well then have one of the Secret Service boys see you home. I've heard it's quite slippery out. These blasted Washington ice storms. Why can't it just either rain or snow?""No thanks boss. I'll make my way just fine."He tugged on her sleeve and pulled her down to him. They shared a lingering kiss. She wiped the lipstick from his face before donning her spotless white gloves. Vera searched through her purse."What are you missing darling?""My eyeglasses.""They're on your desk Vera. Watched you put 'em there before you pecked me." "Thanks Eff Dee. I'll pick 'em up on the way out. Can I get you anything? Do you want me to push you to your quarters?" He squirmed and straightened his posture. "No. I'm perfectly capable—."She interrupted him, "Yes you are. Maybe I can find a copy of Hollywood Dream at the record shop. Would you like that?" Stupid! Why'd I have to go and say that? I've insulted his manhood. I hope changing the subject will cover it quick."Absolutely. And bill it to me personally now.""I'll do no such thing. I am a working girl you know. I have a hundred dollar bill or two lying around the house." "Pardon me, Miss Rockefeller."* * * * *After a brief stop at her office, Mrs. Vera Blandings exited the White House and carefully footed her way down the icy brick driveway. Tiny snowflakes danced in the glow of gaslights. Peering around the shadowy grounds, Vera spotted the president's valet accompanying Fala on his last outing for the night. Mr. Fuji waved to her. She called out, "Goodnight."At the guard kiosk, the Secret Service agent on duty signed her out. "Goodnight Mrs. Blandings have a nice weekend.""Thank you officer. I intend to. Goodnight."As she turned to leave, he said, "Ma'am, if you can wait five or ten minutes, I can escort you home. It's really slippery out tonight."Absolutely not! Vera twisted her head back and said, "Oh, I'll be just fine. Don't worry about me.""My relief will be here any minute. I really should see you home ma'am.""No. Thank you you're very kind, but I enjoy the solitude. It's my time to meditate. You understand?""Sure."Vera walked west on Pennsylvania Avenue then circled the block as fast as she could without slipping. She hunched behind a massive oak tree outside the northeast appointment gate, where she had exited. She was breathing so hard that she put her hat in front of her nose and mouth so the vapor wouldn't be noticed.Just before eleven o'clock, Ashley Jones, the night relief, reported to the kiosk carrying his predictable sack of Little Tavern hamburgers. As the Secret Service agents snacked and chuckled, Vera's respiration returned to normal. She put her hat back on and snuck over to a gatepost. She pulled a brass letter opener from her coat pocket and ran it down a groove in the limestone, triggering the latch. A hidden door popped open. She dashed inside, closing it behind her. Crunching paint snagged roughly on her gloves as she hurried down a ladder to the tunnel entrance. She found the first light switch and flipped it. Vera shivered though puddles and muck. Her suction-like footsteps echoed in the cobwebby catacombs. The incessant drip-drip-drip from cracks in the mortar pound-pound-pounded in her head. Some of it spit in her face. At the end of each passage, she shut the light off before entering the next chamber. Every turn and switchback in the labyrinth was familiar, after all, it was part of her job description to know how to get the president out of the White House—in a hurry.Vera made her way to the train platform hidden below the Bureau of Engraving and Printing where FDR secretly boarded for his trips. A scream from behind sent her scrambling up the platform and into the presidential rail car. Springing through the darkened conference room, she bounced off the paneled walls of the narrow corridor and ducked inside the first lady's bedroom. In the moments of seemingly eternal silence, clutching her purse so tight that her fingertips pulsed, Vera summoned inner strength. She finally attributed the scream to either her nervous imagination or a wild house cat. And if it was a human scream, well, she wasn't in a position to go and save the day. Vera crept back through the train. Remembering. At least I got to ride this thing once. That's more than most girls can say. After peeking out a window into the darkened loading zone, she inhaled deeply and sprinted out the metal door of the observation car. It clanged shut.Dashing up concrete steps, she entered the Bureau of Engraving and Printing through a stairwell door, tiptoeing to a supervisors' catwalk. Vera ignored the stacks of brand new United States currency on the floor beneath her. * * * * *Sergeant Bill Blandings hoisted the loading dock door. The springs creaked like an old man getting out of bed. Sergeant Blandings stepped outside and struck a match to light the Lucky Strike dangling from his lip. As he ascended the ramp, frigid air played tag between his breath and the steam from underground. He watched Miss Chloe Lambert get off the streetcar at the corner of 14th and "C". Chloe paused to refresh her lipstick as she engaged his stare. He blew five smoke rings. She stepped up to him and scattered the circles with her red gloved-hand. He said, "You are one gorgeous dame tonight."Chloe gazed into his midnight blue eyes. Nobody had eyes like Bill. He had the devil in them. They were so darned…irresistible. She brushed him aside. He threw down his cigarette and snuffed it out with one twist of his black leather steel-toed police boot. Powdery snow blew off the retaining walls as they walked down the salted ramp. Chloe and Bill entered the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. He lowered the door. It thumped against the concrete floor.She led the way through the cavernous federal building. The scent of floor polish wafted up from the pristine terrazzo.He confided, "We're pretty much alone now. The bureaucrats departed hours ago. The charwomen came and went. Just the skeletal police detail is left. Me, Schwartz and Krankowski."Bill followed Chloe into the printing room. He balked. "Jeez, this place is a pigsty."In her sweet southern drawl Chloe said, "Alcohol was the most popular guest at our office party today, resulting in a whole run of botched hundreds." She pointed to the sloppily bundled currency and a big ink stain on the floor. "They ought not have bothered working at all." Bill eyed her fur. "Hey, where'd ya get the coat from? It's not from that weasel, Myron, in personnel, is it?""Eew! No Bill. It's Mrs. Grogan's. My landlady. She let me borrow it. I told her this was a special night." Chloe faded doe-eyed into her drawl. Bill grabbed her collar. They hungrily kissed. Taking a needed breath, Chloe pulled away and smiled as she unbuttoned the full-length sable. She was wearing his favorite red dancing shoes with the thin ankle straps…nothing else. "Jeez Chloe—lay off of them doughnuts."Before she could process the insult, Bill slipped his extra long fingers inside the fur. She shoved him away. Her voice trembled, "I won't be your dirty little secret anymore. Divorce Vera." There, I've said it.Bill ran his fingers through Chloe's soft red hair. He knew just the spot to touch. "Lovey we've been all through this. You know I can't possibly divorce her while he's in office. How would it look if the president's secretary all of a sudden up and got divorced? The Republicans would go wild! And it'd be rough on my little girls. Just wait a little bit longer. Lovey I promise we'll be together soon. He ain't gonna be prez for the rest of his life ya know."Chloe fought back tears. What ever was I thinking? Momma was right. I should have stayed in the mountains. But my country called. For good girls to fill the shoes of our boys at war. Eleven months ago. When I was still a good girl. I had no idea what I'd have to do for my country. It might as well have been eleven millenniums ago. I can't ever go back. Not now. She stuck her hands in the deep silk lined pockets…where she felt a cold steel revolver. Five shots exploded down from the supervisors' catwalk. Chloe dove under a metal desk, pulling in an olive drab trash can for cover. Bill slumped face-down into a carelessly heaped pile of hundreds. Chloe peeked from behind the can. She watched a female silhouette blow smoke from the barrel and stroll back along the catwalk then out of sight. No! This can't be happening. I'm in a bad movie. Bad dream. Bad world. Shaking, Chloe crawled to Bill and rolled him over. A "C" note covered his eyes. She yanked it off and screamed in horror. Chloe ran through the building and slammed straight into the loading dock door. She struggled to hoist it high enough to crawl under. Rolling clear, onto the ramp, she pushed herself up on hands and knees, then to full height. She put her hand on the revolver in her pocket and lit out running. As she looked back over her shoulder, she slipped on the icy sidewalks battering her knees.Back on her feet, she forced herself onward. A dry lump ached in the back of her mouth, forced open from heavy breathing. Frozen rain stung her face. As Chloe tumbled again she pulled her hand out of her pocket, not letting go of the pistol. The cobblestones abraded her wrists as she broke her fall. Scrambling up again, one red heel snapped off in a snow-covered grate, propelling her face first into a police call box. Moaning in agony, tasting blood, Chloe looked over her shoulder. A lone car sped past. Forcing herself onward, she made it to the 14th Street Bridge. Gasping for breath, Chloe leaned over the concrete railing and threw the revolver. It slid along the surface of the frozen Potomac River. "Damn it. I can't even dispose of a gun properly. It doesn't matter anyhow. It isn't the murder weapon. Murder weapon? No!" An icicle fell from the lamp post above her. Chloe drew back as it shattered in slow motion. She looked at the hundred dollar bill still crumpled in her hand. Benjamin Franklin's picture adorned both sides. Chloe shivered, almost convulsively, as she clutched the paper to her heart. Tears blinded her as she buttoned the fur coat. * * * * *The mournful winter wind harmonized horribly with the off-key singing from down the hall at the boarding house. Chloe lay shivering in cold water, unaware how much time had passed since she'd drawn the bath. Her desperate attempt to wash the evil away. Succumbing to incessant pounding on the door, she whimpered, "Orpha if you and Shirley stop that wretched caterwallering I'll vacate the room." Chloe stumbled out of the tub onto the cold pink and black floor. Lavender scented suds slid down her legs and pooled on the flower-patterned tile. "It's Mrs. Grogan dear. Did your special fella come through for ya tonight? I want all the romantic details."Shivering, Chloe leaned over and twisted a worn but bright white towel around her hair. She shoved her arms into an old terrycloth bathrobe, wincing as the rough fabric abraded her sensitive skin. She pulled the frayed belt tight. Chloe jerked the chain on the tub stopper, releasing the dirty water. She stared at the hundred dollar bill. Slither away and leave me alone. It didn't heed her will. She yanked the money out and wadded it up with all her might, then shoved it into the bottom of the wastebasket, underneath the bathroom discards."Chloe? Can ya hear me darlin'? Did he pop the question?" the landlady asked.Chloe knelt on the wet tiles, dunking her hands into the dwindling water, flattening them on the bottom of the tub. Water poured from her cuffs when she pulled them back out. The cast iron drainpipe burped as the bathtub emptied. Twisting the crystal knob, Chloe opened the door and gagged at the stench of burnt eggnog. After switching the light off, she crossed the hall to her room. Mrs. Grogan gasped at the sight of Chloe's legs and face. She followed Chloe in and shut the door. "Oh my God child! You were attacked! Or did…did he do this to ya? I'll go and fetch Doc Morton. Or do ya need to go to the hospital?" "No! Don't call anyone. You mustn't tell! Promise, Mrs. Gee?" Chloe pleaded, nearly hysterical. "Shh…calm down, now just calm down darlin'. Ya know I'll do ya right." The landlady pulled Chloe to her bosom and stroked the towel on her hair. "There-there now. Everything will be all right.""Ouch! You're hurting me."Mrs. Grogan let go. "I'm so sorry sweetness. Forgive—."  "No, I'm sorry Mrs. Gee. I mean…""Shh-shh-shh. Hush child." She tenderly ran a finger along Chloe's cheek. "I'll be back in a moment." The landlady waddled off with purpose.Chloe located her big brown leather suitcase, wedged in the tiny closet. Determined to extract the luggage, she inhaled and heaved to the left. The suitcase dislodged, propelling a wire hanger with a pink cotton blouse. The hanger stung her chest. The blouse covered her face. She sneezed and dropped the suitcase as she grabbed her ribs. Dear God and Jesus in heaven. Please let me feel better. Please let me wake up in North Carolina. Forgive me of my sins. Amen.She heard panting as Mrs. Grogan swept aside the make up and curlers on the dresser and deposited an aluminum tray. A waffle-sized powder puff fell to the floor. Chloe held in another sneeze and picked up the suitcase. Mrs. Grogan bent down with a groan and plucked up the puff, tossing it onto the dresser. She tugged on the suitcase, unable to release it from Chloe's grip. "Where do ya think you're going on such a treacherous night? Young lady, ya just put that thing away and get under the covers. Here's some warm eggnog and a couple of chloral hydrate capsules to help ya sleep.""No! I have to get out of here now leave me alone! I've messed everything up. What don't you understand? I can't stay in Washington. I have to disappear before it's too late!""Why? Just call the Metropolitan Police on the beast!""No, you don't understand and…I…I can't explain it. I have to leave! Believe me and don't ask anything! Please?" How much time do I have before they find out? What will they do to me?With a look of uneasy puzzlement, Mrs. Grogan questioned, "But where will ya go? Back home to your Momma in Carolina? Do ya want me to call her for ya?"Chloe dropped the suitcase onto the tapestry area rug, grabbed Mrs. Grogan's chubby arms and stared dead into her chocolate eyes. "I can never go back to North Carolina now. Not in this…oh I've said too much! Just leave me be! No. You have to help me. Please Mrs. Gee?" Mrs. Grogan embraced her favorite tenant and with teary eyes affirmed, "I will help ya darlin'. Always. Now what is it that ya need?"Chloe paced the room. As she walked by the wobbly-legged desk, she brushed against an old tin of pennies, knocking it over. They tinkled like a gentle metallic waterfall puddling on the hardwood floor. The two women bumped heads as they squatted to pick up the coins. "Can you get my paycheck from the Bureau next Friday? And deposit it in my checking account? I'll call in on Monday morning and tell them…oh, something?""How 'bout that your sister's baby has come early and ya have to go to Baltimore to help out with her older ones?"Chloe's stomach felt like it jumped to her throat. I have to keep up the charade of the phony sister with Mrs. Grogan. "No! …not that! I'll tell them my Momma took ill and I have to go and look after her." Chloe reached the last two pennies and plunked them into the can. Mrs. Grogan put a stubby finger on her fleshy cheek and began tapping. "But where will ya go? To make a new beginning. Hollywood? …New York? …Iowa? No, not Iowa …" Mrs. Grogan clambered to her feet. "I know! Miami Beach!""Miami Beach?""Yes darlin' of course Miami Beach. It's eighty degrees down there now don't ya know. I'll call Paddy and let him know to expect ya. He's my late husband's cousin. He owns a bakery, finest in southern Florida. Over top of the place, he rents rooms. I'll make sure he has a vacancy and if he doesn't, then he'll just have to make one."Chloe sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting her robe. "Don't you read the newspaper Mrs. Gee? The beach has been commandeered by the Army Air Corps for their boot camp. The hotels are being used as barracks, for heaven's sake." She rattled the pennies, staring into the can.Faint rays of sunshine broke through the cumulonimbus clouds in Chloe's mind. Miami Beach. Warmth, yes, oh to be warm again. Bakery, yum. But soldiers everywhere? How depressing. Wait…soldiers everywhere, about to be sent off to war…scared and lonely men. Chloe stretched to reach the desk and shoved the tin can on top. She pulled herself up. "Yes! Mrs. Grogan, Miami Beach sounds…perfect." The landlady plopped Chloe's suitcase up onto the bed. She grabbed an armload of clothes from the closet and tossed them on the quilt. Removing the first dress from its hanger, she shook it out and rolled it into a tight cylinder. "Ya get less wrinkles this way darlin'. I read it in a magazine don't ya know."   As Chloe touched up her bruised face with pancake and rouge, the Andrews Sisters' snappy song, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, drifted in from down the hall. She coughed while smacking a powder puff all over her forehead. None of this happened. I don't exist. I'll just disappear into paradise and everything will be all right again. She turned to Mrs. Grogan. "How do I look?" "I shoulda married Max Factor. The man is a genius don't ya know. Ya'd never guess what happened tonight. Don't forget your lipstick darlin' and you're good enough to dance at the White House." She hung the empty hangers on the wooden closet rod. "I'll leave ya to dress dear and I'll go call ol' Paddy. And then I'll order ya a cab." When Mrs. Grogan stepped into the hallway, she hollered, "Girls, ya turn that racket off. I don't care if ya don't have classes tomorrow. We have rules in this house." Chloe winced as she painted her scabbed lips in a deep wine color. Her fingers got caught in a snarl as she combed through the carrot colored strands. Satisfied with her hair, she packed her round make-up trunk.Chloe emptied out her desk drawer, packing her birth and baptismal certificates, high school and college diplomas, pencils and a ruler. Hmm…the Mickies might come inhandy… Chloe scooped up the chloral hydrate capsules and dropped them in an envelope, licked it shut and placed it onto her rolled blue gingham dress. She stretched a sock over the can of pennies and sunk it into the bottom of her suitcase. Her hand trembled as she tossed in two pink envelopes, recent letters from her "sister". As Chloe lay across the patchwork quilt on her twin bed, she was grateful the landlady had left and wouldn't see the tears of pain as she struggled into her girdle. She finished dressing and then slipped her coat and gloves on. Chloe draped a beige cowl over her head and wrapped it around her neck.She looked all over the space that had been her home for the last eleven months. The furnished room for let seemed emptier than when she had first moved in. Chloe placed her key on the desk. She turned off the light. She tiptoed down the dark narrow hall to the kitchen. Big band music blared from the radio in the back room. The taxi driver announced his arrival by laying on the horn. Mrs. Grogan pressed an envelope into her hand. "Here's Paddy's address. He'll be a waitin' for ya darlin'. He's good stock don't ya know. He'll see that nobody harms ya there in paradise. Don't ya worry none, I'll take care of your paycheck. If Paddy fusses 'bout the telephone then ya call me person to person every week. And drop me some postcards. And if I ever get my hands on that Billy beast…so help me…"Teardrops spilled down Chloe's face as she hugged and kissed her landlady. Her friend. She hurried to the cab, not allowing herself to look back. Grateful she had slipped out without having to explain her departure to the other girls.* * * * *At Washington Union Station, the driver pulled the brim of his hat low, covering his eyes before he helped her out onto the shoveled and salted sidewalk. He retrieved her luggage from the trunk. With her hand still trembling, she held out a dollar. "Keep the change."He hesitated before taking it. "Thanks. Would you want for me to carry the bags in, miss?""No thank you." She entered the grand domed building by way of a revolving door and crisscrossed through the bustling activity. At the Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac Railway counter, she joined the end of the queue. Chloe set her luggage down on the polished marble floor and ran her hands along the soft burgundy velvet ropes. Velvet. Like the choir robe I used to wear at The Church of the Good Shepherd. Back in North Carolina. Where I should've stayed. * * * * *Still outside, the cabby removed his hat and ran his fingers through his greasy vanilla hair. He paced in front of the train station, peering in the brightly lit windows. Shoving through the revolving door, he made a beeline to a phone booth. He dropped a nickel and spun the dial. "She's at Union Station at the R. F. & P. desk. Shall I see where she's headed?" * * * * *The announcer boomed in a deep voice, "Now boarding on track number nineteen, the Havana Special. Direct coach and sleeper service to Miami Florida. Connecting there to swift and safe air service by Pan American Airways to Havana, Cuba. Track number nineteen now boarding for the Havana Special. Passengers needing assistance and women with small children please board now." Chloe leaned around the broad shouldered nun in front of her, counting three more customers. Hurry up. That's the train I need. A fat cop escorted a disheveled man by the scruff of his collar and the back of his belt, across the station. He threw him outside. "And don't come back!" Chloe turned away from the Metropolitan Police Officer as he walked back inside. She pulled the cowl over her mouth. What if they're looking for me already? What if they think I murdered Bill? Chloe shuddered.An elderly couple walked hand-in-hand toward the restrooms. Momma and Daddy never would have shown affection like that. Tears welling up, Chloe dragged her two suitcases as the line moved forward. She gazed above at the intricate gold leafed ceilings. On a ledge under the dome, statues of the gods were perched high. They're watching over me. I'm gonna be all right. Or are they judging me? Her gazed dropped. She stared at the back of the nun's habit and felt ashamed.The announcer inquired, "Would the owner of a lost yap-yap dog please report to the information desk? She's a hot dog or poodle or somethin'—." The crowd laughed as barking drowned out his voice."Next?" the ticket agent asked.Chloe picked up her luggage and walked to the counter. She bought a coach ticket on the Havana Special, scheduled to depart at 1:50 a.m. Looking up at the Roman numerals on the station clock, she saw it was already 1:47.  Chloe grabbed her bags and nodded up to the gods. She hustled down the stairs to platform nineteen. Hot steam blasted her legs as she passed the shiny black Richmond Fredericksburg and Potomac engine and tender. The conductor yelled, "All aboard." Chloe ran past the dark green Railway Post Office and baggage cars and then five streamlined aluminum coach cars with purple and maroon striping behind the line names of Richmond Fredericksburg and Potomac, Atlantic Coast Line and Pennsylvania. The conductor smiled and took her baggage as she showed her ticket. "Welcome, miss. Your seat is on the right. Walk on through to the lounge car for a complementary cup of coffee."Chloe said, "Yes sir." and then pulled herself up the three steps. Snoring men in uniforms, crying infants and their weary mothers jammed the coach car. Chloe found her aisle seat next to a dozing sailor. She grabbed the armrests and sat down, not jarring any tender spots on her battered body. The baby in front of her began a coughing fit, which in turn woke the little boy next to him. A delicate young Oriental woman wandered through the car. She picked up a fluffy stuffed lamb from the aisle floor and handed it to a crying tot. He shoved a wooly ear in his mouth, closed his eyes and grabbed onto the lady cradling him. Chloe checked her watch. It was 2:25 a.m. Darn it, the train is already thirty-five minutes late departing. She looked out the window onto the platform and saw a couple of fellas dashing toward the train. "Come on, come on, whoever you are." she mumbled.The men appeared to have a brief discussion with the conductor before boarding. "Get on the train already." Chloe hoped she wasn't thinking aloud again. The whistle tooted twice. The train lurched forward, chuffing through a tunnel under Capitol Hill. The drooling sailor's prickly head flopped onto Chloe's shoulder. She shoved him away. His eyes flew open. "Hey doll face, step right into my dream." He burped as he kissed her. Leaping to her feet Chloe screamed, "Eew!" I'll never be able to go through with this. She ran down the aisle, through the coach cars and into the first sleeping car. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shoved past a heavily cologned man walking toward her.Mike Taurus took a deep breath as he tingled on the remnants of her touch. How could she just push me out of the way? It's as though she doesn't even realize whom she is casting aside.
Available in Print and eBook at Ellora's Cave Available in Print and Kindle at Amazon Available in Print and NOOKbook at Barnes and Noble

Do You Make Your Bed?

Do you make your bed every/most mornings? Do you not, because, well, it's only going to get messed up again tonight, so why bother?

I challenge you to make your bed every day for the next week. As soon as you roll out of bed, pull the covers straight. Toss on all the pillows and plump them. Open the blinds. If someone is still in your bed, just make it around him. Leave your bedroom door open.

Everytime you pass by your bedroom during the day, you'll smile. You deserve a beautiful place for yourself.

Once a week, strip off all of your bed linnens and put on your spare set. You only need two sets, so bag up all of the old ugly ones for charity. And then get them out of your house. Every linnen closest needs more room. This will make you smile too.

Don't know how to fold a fitted sheet? Me either. But it doesn't matter. I fold up my clean flat and fitted sheets, along with a pillow case and stuff them all inside the other pillow case. Then I fold over the end of the stuffed pillow case and place it on the shelf. No more hunting for a matching set, it's all together. And nobody would know the fitted sheet is all bunched up inside.

Happy bed making! It takes less than two minutes to make your bed in the morning and open the blinds. It takes less than ten minutes to completely change your linens once a week. Treat yourself like a princess and have a lovely place to lay your head after a long day of wondrous accomplishments. You deserve it!

Excerpt: Immaculate Deception Chapter One

Excerpt from Immaculate DeceptionBy Sherry Morris
This book won the Romantic Times Book Reviews Magazine Reviewers Choice Award for 2007 Best Small Press Paranormal Romance
Chapter One On a gusty Thursday in the summer of my forty-second year, my telephone reverberated to the tune of Daniel Powter's "Bad Day". I shuddered because I knew who was calling. I had set that distinctive ring tone to my father's number. I was screening his calls because he always had something vile to say about my mother and I had listened to too many of his outrageous lies. My stomach churned while I waited for him to hang up after the fourth ring like he always did when the automatic answering machine kicked on. I held my breath, hearing with relief the click of the machine. The robotic voice said, "Hello, no one is able to come to the phone. Please leave your message after the tone." When I heard the beep, I swallowed the big wad that clogged my throat. "Oh-Donna, she's trying to kill me!" I ran to the portable handset and punched the talk button. "Dad! Daddy! Who's trying to kill you?" In a strained breathless whisper, he said, "Your mother." "What? When?" "Right now!" he whimpered. I overheard Momma's voice in the background. "Nobody's going to care about you. You damned old fool!" After a dull thud, the line went dead. Oh my God. I detected my breath echoing out in audible pants. I couldn't believe this. What was I supposed to do? Call the police on my own mother? Not an option. No way! I shook my head. This was just too bizarre to wrap my mind around. Momma was a good girl through and through. She might get furious with Daddy once in a while but she'd never ever hurt him. But what if she was really trying to kill him? Lord knows, he'd manipulated, stifled and belittled her for decades. Had he finally done something so dastardly to drive her across the line of sanity? Or perhaps he'd just pulled another one of his everyday mind games and Momma just reached her breaking point? What if she really was trying to kill him? Think, Donna, think! The Meddlesteins! Yes! I would call the Meddlesteins. Pressing the end button on my phone, I automatically plucked the number of Gloria and Roderick Meddlestein from the cobwebs of my childhood. They'd been my parents' across-the-street neighbors for more than thirty years. When I was little, I could always count on them to help me when I was home alone and needed an adult to relight the furnace or check out a strange noise that had me frightened. They were such good people. I prayed they hadn't changed their number. I felt a flush of heat rise up and envelop my body as I dialed with trembling fingers, agonizing in the seemingly slow motion. Gloria Meddlestein answered on the second ring. "Hello?" "Mrs. Meddlestein?" My voice sounded unnaturally shrill. "Yes." "This is Donna Payne. You know, I used to live across the street from you?" She cheerfully said, "Yes, of course. Hello, Donna, how are you, dear?" "Listen, I just received a phone call from my father. He said my mother was trying to kill him." I faked a laugh. "Will you please go over and check on him?" Without much of a pause, she said, "I'll send Roddy over. You want to give me your number so I can call you back?" "Thank you so much, Mrs. Meddlestein." I gave my phone number and ended the call. My mind was racing. Tammy works close by, she can zip over and talk some sense into those two. She is their favorite kid and has them wrapped around her pretty little finger. What is the name of that gym where she works? I frantically punched in the numbers of the telephone directory. A prerecorded voice told me to state the party's name and city. "Rocky's Gym, Washington, DC." I waited and waited. Finally a live person came on the line. "Ma'am, we only retrieve Virginia numbers. You have to hang up and dial one, two–oh–two, five–five–five, one–two–one–two." Shoot! I ended the call and tried again. Tears streamed down my face. Big almond-sized drops. This time a computer-generated voice revealed the phone number for the gym. The surly employee who had answered the phone at Rocky's Gym had deserted me in the purgatory of hold. Five minutes passed as I waited on the telephone line for my forty-three-year-old adopted sister Tammy, personal trainer to the Capitol Hill pork barrels, all those congressmen, senators, lawyers and lobbyists who thought they ruled the universe. Come on, come on already. Tammy, you're three minutes from their house. It might be a matter of life or— I wouldn't let myself think the last word. My stomach churned and I tasted a burning sourness in my throat. This was taking too long. I punched the button to end the call and then pushed redial. Wedging the house phone in between my right ear and shoulder, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the Meddlesteins. The tiny blue phone on my left ear just rang and rang. I couldn't stand this inactivity. I had to do something. I furiously wiped imaginary crumbs off my pistol gray granite countertops. Stomping into the utility room, I threw the damp rag in the empty laundry basket on top of the dryer. As I grabbed the broom and glanced around, I realized there wasn't anything to clean. I had sterilized the place last evening in preparation for my trip to the writers' conference in New York today. I didn't want to get killed in a plane crash and then be embarrassed at the mess I'd left. What impression would that leave behind? No, I was a good, clean girl. I shoved the broom back up into its holder and shut the door. My neck and shoulder ached from squeezing the portable handset to my ear. Never realized how heavy my head was. I grabbed the house phone and erectly speed-walked into the hardwood foyer. I stumbled over my yellow backpack. Next to it, my pink overstuffed duffel bag leaned lopsidedly against the etched glass front door. A defiant beep pounded in my right ear. I ended the call to Tammy and slapped the phone down on the teacart, beside my purse and plane ticket to New York. I closed the never-ending ringing of the Meddlesteins' call on my cell phone. Thunder cracked outside. The rain commenced its devilish needle pricking on the cedar shake roof of my end-unit townhouse. I folded the cell phone and clipped it onto the canvas belt on my sleeveless khaki shirtdress. I shuffled into the powder room and yanked tissues out of the box to blow my nose on. Looking in the mirror, I tried touching up the black rings around my powder blue eyes but the mascara kept running through the tears. Blue eyes. How come I was the only one in my family with blue eyes? Momma's eyes were green. Daddy had brown eyes. Oh God, Daddy! What's going on between you two? I knelt on the floor, grabbed my curly blond hair back and lost my breakfast. Momma used to hold my hair back when I threw up. I remember when Tammy had her tonsils removed and was so sick afterward. Momma made me hold my sister's ebony black hair back. I thought it was so gross and mean at the time but now I knew she was teaching me compassion and nurturing. Eventually calming down, I cleaned myself up. After strapping on the backpack, I slung my crocheted purse strap over my right shoulder, maneuvered the overstuffed duffel away from the front door and opened it. The wind gushed in. I flinched as I watched lightning strike the field behind the townhouses across from me on Spyglass Street. Heaving the bag over the threshold and onto my brown brick stoop, I propped it against my foot, shut the door and locked up. I pressed the automatic key twice and listened to the doors unlock on my black Chevy Suburban. As soon as I stepped out from under the portico, I was drenched. Running to the vehicle, I opened the rear cargo door and heaved in the duffel. Struggling to free myself from the backpack, I pulled one of those unthought-of muscles in my side. Grimacing and wincing, I stowed the luggage, slammed the cargo door and raced to the driver's side, climbing in as another bolt split the Bradford pear tree in my front yard. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I really loved that pear tree. I started the engine, shifted into overdrive and accelerated through the narrow winding, private streets of my planned community. After switching the front and rear wipers on, I fumbled in my purse to make sure that I'd remembered my ticket. A paper cut cinched that mystery. I sucked on the index finger of my right hand as I stopped at the red light. I spun the dial to defrost while trying to see through the fogged-up windshield. Soaked and shivering, I slid the temperature lever to high. I switched on the seat warmer as I floored it through the intersection on Route Seven. Darn it, Daddy. Why do you always have to pull one of your stunts just when my life is going so well? Am I not constitutionally entitled to "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness"? And if Momma is trying to kill you, I can't say she wasn't provoked by all your years of manipulation. I don't have time to run over and referee. I'm going to miss my flight. As furious as I was at him, I knew there were shuttles leaving for New York every hour. I'd just have to pay a fee and stand by for a later flight. Damn it, Daddy, you're costing me extra money and I'll miss early registration. I hated attending conferences without a name badge identifying me as one of the group. If I was late today, I wouldn't be able to get mine until tomorrow morning. I tensed up even more as I approached the exit for the Dulles Toll Road. If I turned here, I might be able to make the next shuttle flight to New York. Or a few more miles down the road, I could squeeze onto the conveyer belt they called Route Sixty-Six, the road to the Nation's Capital, Washington, and the misery of my parents' house. Before I had made up my mind, my cell phone rang out. I fumbled, unable to unhook it from my belt. I unlatched my seat belt and wrestled to get the phone loose. Simultaneously, I heard a thud and then glass shattering. I shielded my face with my hands as a deer hurtled toward me. I felt the air bag inflating against me and the sharp stab of the antler piercing my right shoulder. I slammed on the brakes with both feet. The vehicle skidded to a lurching stop as the air bag deflated. Impaled on the deer, I was ejected out of the Chevy. The buck and I bowled down a prickly embankment. The searing pain in my shoulder was alternately overwhelmed by the weight of the beast when he reigned on top. I felt the antler breaking loose from my shoulder just before my world somersaulted into darkness. Hearing a thumping whir, I blinked my eyes open. I struggled, unable to move. Someone was holding me down. I focused on his thickly haired brown arms and then down to his blue latex-gloved hands. "She's coming to." I screamed. Screams of fright, frustration and burning agony. Screams that I couldn't hear. "Calm down, Miss. You're gonna be all right. We're flying you to Fairfax Hospital. We should be landing momentarily. What's your name?" The man removed the oxygen mask from my face. "Ohhh…" "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. You're really beat up. Can you tell me your name?" "Ohhh…Donna."  "Donna? Good. Do you know what today is?" Teardrops spilled. I didn't know. The rhythmic whoop of the helicopter distracted me. "It's okay, sweetheart. You'll be just fine. The trauma team will take good care of you." He replaced the oxygen mask and wiped my tears with gauze. * * * * *Four days later, when my HMO deemed me no longer in need of hospitalization, through their healing by statistical curve, I was discharged on a sunny Monday morning. My bloody muddy clothes had been cut off me and destroyed. So I left the hospital dressed in scrubs and slippers, duly charged to my inpatient bill. I had to sign a form promising to pay for non-covered items such as the television, phone and scrubs. I never even used the phone. Who could I call? Who would care about me? Not my family. They always had their own urgent crises. Clan emergencies. And I didn't want to call. I didn't want to hear any more bloated lies and bizarre accusations from Daddy. As if Momma would have killed Daddy. It would've been all over the news. I could hear the sound bites in my head. Retired Secret Service agent Chloe Lambert Payne suspected in the murder of her blind helpless husband, the saintly doctor Nathan Payne. An octogenarian volunteer helped me into a wheelchair and placed a plastic belongings bag and a fruit basket in my lap. The girls I worked with in the file room of the health insurance company had sent apples, oranges and bananas. That's right. I worked for my own HMO and they still booted me out too soon. Fruit. They knew I was on the Atkins diet. No fruit allowed during the induction phase. The wizened portly volunteer groaned and wheezed as he shoved my torture chair down the corridor. Why couldn't the hospital invest in an ergonomic chair instead of this folding low-end ouch-maker? We went down the elevator and he propelled me through the lobby to the curb. He waited until a taxi arrived and opened the back door for me. I stood, sore and stitched, on shaky legs. I eased into the backseat. The driver asked, "Where to, lady?" Where to? To the writers' conference at the Hilton Hotel in New York, four days ago. To the red carpet, where I'll stroll in my strapless champagne silk evening gown, with matching opera gloves, to accept my trophy and cash prize. To the appointment with the acquisitions editor of the romance publisher… "Lady, the meter's running. Where to?" I sighed New York goodbye, "One–two–four–oh–six Nixon Court, Southwest." Arriving at the Harrison Heights section of the District of Columbia, in front of a scaled-down imitation of George Washington's colonial mansion at Mount Vernon, I dug my wallet out of the orange plastic bag of belongings retrieved from the wreckage. I paid the cabby and stumbled up onto the cracked sidewalk. Marijuana and charcoal lighter fluid steeped in the air. A pit bull barked ferociously from the chain-linked fortress next door. "Hi there." I turned around too quickly and gasped. My whole body pulsed in pain. Gloria Meddlestein stood across the street holding open the metal bars on her front door. "Hello, Mrs. Meddlestein. How are you?" "Where on earth have you been, Donna? I tried and tried to get you on the phone. Are you having problems with your line because of the storm the other day? Did the roads wash out? What happened to your face? Got another one of those boyfriends? You really should—" "I need to go in and see my parents now. I'll chat with you later. Um…we'll have tea." I climbed up the Zoysia grass hill, staggering on the crumbling concrete steps winding the way to my childhood home. A mildewy white gutter had torn loose from the two-story-high porch roof. It dangled over the front door. I winced as I ducked under it. I never knew that every muscle in my body was attached to my shoulder. I pressed the yellowed doorbell button. And waited. I knocked. And waited. I tried to turn the knob and it did. I shoved the colonial red door open and stepped onto the slate landing. "Hello? Momma, Daddy?" I shut the door behind me and agonized up the three cherry red carpeted steps to the living room. It hadn't been vacuumed since I had done it on Christmas Eve. That was seven months ago. There was white furry dust on every stationary object. I dropped the fruit basket and orange bag on the floor between the white wrought iron railing and the comfortable oxblood leather tub chair in the living room. I searched the house. My hospital slippers made a suction noise as I trudged through the sticky kitchen. A skillet with potatoes congealed in grease occupied the front burner of the electric range. The table was cluttered with grocery receipts, two aromatic black bananas, a nitroglycerine pill, toast crusts and grape jelly goo. I moved into the adjacent formal dining room. The carpet was littered with crumbs, spills and dust. The French doors to the balcony were locked. The blinds hung shut. As were all the blinds and drapes in the entire house. Daddy had cataracts cut out of his eyes in 1972, before lens replacements were invented. He had no lenses to filter out the bright light, so he had to wear a wide-brimmed hat outdoors and dark bottle-thick cataract eyeglasses indoors. This had abruptly ended his career as an obstetrician/gynecologist at the age of fifty-eight. Some days his eyes went out completely and he couldn't see at all. I veered down the hallway. Daddy's blue bathroom was empty. His bedroom was empty too, nothing but disheveled bedding and the plastic milk jugs he used for urinals. Momma's bedroom was vacant as was her lavender bathroom. Her mattress sported a deep depression on the side closest to the door, where she always curled up. The bed was made and loaded with throw pillows. The third bedroom was empty. Postage stamps, pictures of their great-nieces and nephews, old bills and linens were strewn about the white and gold French provincial bedroom suite that my adopted sister Tammy left behind when she last departed the nest. She flew back during her divorces. Was it five now? No wait. Six. I forgot Abdul, the drummer in the President's own Air Force band who seemed to be wealthy without a visible legal source of extra income. Perry and Daddy had always whispered Abdul was involved in a smuggling ring. Passing back through the living room and down the three steps to the landing where I had arrived through the front door, I pivoted and opened the dark wood door to the basement. I listened to the grandfather clock down there, chiming twelve times. I switched on the light, not that it illuminated much with a twenty-five-watt bulb. I gripped the loose handrails on both sides as I maneuvered down the rust-colored sculptured carpeted stairs to the dark walnut-paneled basement. I looked around. Still no sign of either Momma or Daddy. I squinted at the clock, next to the rectangular stone fireplace. The face only had one hand on it. The small hand. Everything was neat. Daddy usually vacuumed down here and always kept the place tidy. He refused to clean upstairs or do laundry. Probably due to her clinical depression, Momma wasn't much of a housekeeper the past few years. I checked the sliding glass door behind the heavy cream-colored leaf motif drapery. It was locked, the stick was wedged in the track and the white steel grate was bolted into the white bricks of the house. Momma's red Corvette convertible was parked in the carport. The hatch to the outside attic was open. The exposed light bulb on the ceiling was lit. I switched it off and fixed the drapes open. I checked the downstairs bathroom. It was empty. As I peered down the hallway, I spotted Daddy, on the floor, pinned under the deep freezer. I rushed to him. "Daddy! Daddy!" He turned his head and groaned. "Oh…Donna…" I tried to heave the small freezer upright and screamed in agony. It fell back on me. I shoved it in place. Squatting down, I kissed Daddy's forehead. "I'll go call an ambulance. Where does it hurt?" "She…killed…me…" "You're not dead." "Your momma…killed me. She just didn't…understand. I tried so hard to keep my promise to her. I gave you a good home."  "Daddy, you're not making any sense." I dashed to the phone in my old underground bedroom. I picked up the receiver on the blue rotary telephone and spun the emergency number, nine-one-one. "DC Fire and EMS, what is your emergency?" "I need an ambulance. A ninety-two-year-old male has fallen and was pinned under a freezer." The cranky female dispatcher demanded, "Your name?" "Donna Payne. The address is—" The dispatcher cut me off. "We know the address. Is the patient conscious? Is there any bleeding?" "Yes, he's talking. No blood." "Is he breathing?" the dispatcher demanded. Of course he's breathing if he's talking, imbecile. "Yes." I hung up and hurried back to Daddy. "Donna, make sure you find my veterans' life insurance policy, it's in the bottom drawer of my dresser. It's forty thousand dollars and all for you. And up over the carport," he gasped for breath, "there's a few boxes. Unmarked. My memorabilia of your momma is in there. Your real momma. It's worth a lot…to the right buyer. I don't want the others to have any of it. They've gotten too much for too long." "I don't want your money, Daddy. Don't talk like that." I squeezed his arthritis-ravaged hand and rubbed his brown-spotted wrist. What was he talking about? My real momma? I knew he had two big boxes of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia in the attic. Did he think she was my mother? She died before I was born. The poor man was losing his mind. "What happened? What made the freezer turn over on you?" "She did it." "Who?" "Your momma. She hates me." Would that be Marilyn or Chloe then? He really made no sense. Perhaps he was hallucinating. He must be. I couldn't wrap my mind around Momma doing such a horrific thing to Daddy. There had to be a rational explanation. I noticed he wasn't wearing his cataract eyeglasses. He was legally blind without them. "No, Momma would never hurt you." "Oh yes, she did. And she is as strong as a man too," his voice cracked high. My mother was eighty-three years old. Granted, she had been trained by the Secret Service to subdue men but no way was she in that physical shape at her age. "Daddy, I don't understand. Why would she attack you?" "She demanded the money and I will never give it up." "What money?" He had a coughing fit. I knelt down to help him sit up, bracing his shoulders on my knees as I cradled his head against my chest. When he'd cleared his throat, he launched into a stream of tasks for me to attend to and he kept saying that after his death, I would get all the riches that he'd preserved for me. He kept going on and on about his coffin stowed under the stairs. That always gave me the creeps. And I'd heard this all before. So many times he'd promised me money but the others always needed it and I never received a penny. I never asked for any either. Not since that day when I was sixteen and all excited about college. I had wanted to attend George Washington University and major in journalism or political science. I'd get a newspaper job at The Washington Post and run all over Capitol Hill. Maybe even get on the White House press staff some day. Momma had told me then, "Oh no. Just forget about it. I can't do that again." Momma had to train for a second career after retiring from the Secret Service. She worked sixteen-hour days, seven days a week as a private duty-registered nurse putting my father's son Perry through law school. And then she had to pay tuition for some fancy makeup artist academy in Beverly Hills, California, for Tammy who'd dropped out of high school. I understood. I really did. I was the one at home eating tasteless leftover homemade vegetable soup, two meals a day. I watched the toll it took on Momma to work so hard and sacrifice so much for the others. It broke my heart to see her so exhausted. She'd come home from work, fix a tall glass of vodka on the rocks with a bent straw to sip while she lay on her side on the couch with her varicose-veined legs and bunioned feet propped up on pillows. I wouldn't add to her misery. I never asked for anything again. Nor was it offered. I interrupted Daddy's rambling. "Daddy. Daddy. Where is Momma?" I heard the ambulance siren. "I'll let them in." I gently laid him down then bolted up the basement stairs and threw the front door open. A fire engine had stopped out front. The imbecile had dispatched a fire engine. I angrily waved at them to leave. Four men slowly emerged from the vehicle and made their way up the steps. I yelled, "There isn't a fire! I need medical help!" A guy in a sooty white helmet that had Lieutenant written on it spoke. "Listen, lady, do you want help or not? There are no ambulances available. You District residents abuse the system, using them for taxicabs. We just ran an ingrown toenail. Where's the patient?" "Down the stairs and make a left." I followed the white helmet. Three yellow helmets trailed me. One was carrying a first-aid kit. Another fireman toted an oxygen bottle. The lieutenant started examining Daddy. "Joe-Joe, get the paddles, he's in full arrest." Joe-Joe ran.  "Get a bag on him!" The lieutenant began chest compressions on Daddy. A fireman placed an oxygen bag over my father's face and began squeezing rhythmically. The lieutenant said, "Enrique, switch on three… One and two and three." Firefighter Enrique took over doing the chest compressions. The lieutenant rose to his feet and squeezed the microphone on his lapel. "Communications, this is thirteen engine. Be advised our patient is in full arrest. Request the nearest medic unit." Joe-Joe returned with the defibrillator. They cut Daddy's blue plaid cotton shirt open and his white V-necked undershirt. The lieutenant shoved me back into the rec room. "How old is he?" "Ninety-two." "Any history of heart problems? How long ago did he fall?" "No, but he has high blood pressure and a history of TIA's…mini strokes, you know? I found him on the floor with the freezer on top of him about ten minutes ago. I couldn't get a straight story out of him about what happened. He wasn't making much sense. He told me that—" Mrs. Meddlestein appeared at the top of the stairs. "What's going on?" The lieutenant glowered at her and said to me, "Ma'am, take her and go outside. Flag down the medic unit when it arrives." It arrived. Forty-five minutes later. The paramedics found Dr. Nathan Lucifer Payne dead. They called for the coroner. * * * * *I slumped in a chrome and yellow vinyl dinette chair in Mrs. Meddlestein's perky kitchen, numbly sipping mango ice tea. She talked and yammered about Daddy running out into the street on Thursday and Momma standing at the door waving his cane and screaming obscenities. I had no reason to accuse Mrs. Meddlestein of lying but it was really out of character for Momma to have argued in public with Daddy. I tuned her out. A booming parade of dusty sunlight filtered in through the pink Swiss-dotted curtains in the bay window. My bleary eyes ached. I didn't for one minute believe that Momma turned the freezer over on Daddy. Mrs. Meddlestein fussed around, tidying this and that. With her old-fashioned bottled-platinum hairdo, red lips, drawn-on mole and white halter dress, she was every bit a plump sexagenarian Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe. Had Daddy really said that she was my real momma? Just before he… Oh my God! "They're gone now, dear," Mrs. Meddlestein finally said, in her own nasal Jewish mother voice. Definitely not Marilyn-ish. I left her. I shuffled across the street and into the house. I dreaded telling Momma when she got home. Crying in a curled-up ball on the brown leather couch in the living room, choking on my own mucus, I had to get some toilet paper from the bathroom to blow my nose on. I'd used up many plies when the telephone rang. Oh Momma. What will I say to you? I stumbled into the living room and picked up the princess rotary dial phone. "Payne residence." "Who's this?" my half-brother Perry gruffly demanded. "Perry, it's Donna." "Where the frick have you been? I've been trying to call you since Thursday." I had to swallow the wad in my throat. "Perry, Daddy died today." "What?" "He'd fallen, the freezer toppled over on him. I don't know how long before I got here. He had a heart attack. They tried to revive him but the paramedics arrived too late. He's dead. Our daddy is dead, Perry." "She escaped and killed him." "What?" "Your mother murdered him." "How dare you? She's not even here!" Escaped? What was he talking about? Escaped from where? "You have no idea what's been going on these past few months." "Momma is not a murderess!" "I'll be over in a little while. We need to go over some things. Have you notified Tammy?" "No. We're not on speaking terms," I growled. "I'll call her on the way. Stay put." He hung up on me. I dropped the heavy ivory receiver onto the gaudy faux-gold filigree phone. I felt wetness oozing through my bandaged shoulder onto the teal scrub shirt. I wandered down the hallway and found some bandages and hydrogen peroxide under the blue bathroom sink. I peeled off the shirt and yanked the tape off the dressing. Raw, hairless skin screamed from the cruel adhesive the hospital had used. It hurt so bad. I poured hydrogen peroxide on the sutured puncture wound. It bubbled into a cold white and pink fizz. I dabbed it dry with toilet paper and squeezed treatment solution on. I patched it up with a large Band-Aid. Topless and braless, I left the shirt and bloody dressing on the floor and trudged to Momma's bedroom. I removed one of her lavender floral blouses from the closet and gingerly slipped it on. "Oh-Donna? Where are you?" I heard Perry's voice summoning me. Oh-Donna. I hated my nickname. My full name was Orpha Donna Payne. Momma named me after her lifelong friend, Secret Service agent and registered nurse Orpha Livingston Blair. My family nicknamed me "Oh-Donna" after the late Ritchie Valens song "Donna" from the fifties. To me, it had always been a faux term of endearment, more like a snide little inside joke to all of them. Even Momma. They all knew it bothered me. So that's why it stuck. It wouldn't be fun to tease me if I wouldn't get my feathers poked sideways. Of course, the "Donna" song, about searching for the girl that got away, was beautiful. But it embarrassed me when they called me Oh-Donna in front of outsiders. And it also made me feel like the outsider. Like I didn't really belong to this family but by some ridiculous blunder of nature, my spirit plopped down in their sticky glue. I plodded back into the living room where my over seven-foot-tall and seemingly seven-foot-wide half-brother Perry stood, dressed in his black judge's robe. He was holding a briefcase. "You okay? Jeeze, it must have been horrific finding the body." "He wasn't dead when I got here." "Why didn't you do CPR then?" "I…I called for an ambulance." Perry opened his black briefcase and removed a legal type document. "Well, here's the old boy's will. Everything is in order. He named you as executrix. You need to put the house on the market, get the tax assessor in, arrange an estate sale and close out their bank accounts. Insert just a tiny ad in the legal notices section of the Post to notify his creditors. When the year is up, whatever is left gets split evenly. Between me and Tammy." Of course it would be. I was nobody. I snatched the will from him. He grabbed it back before I could read it. "Don't goof it up, Oh-Donna." "Goof it up?" Hot tears streamed down my face. "Why are you always humiliating me? How could I goof it up by just holding it to read? Why do you treat me like a retard?" He didn't love me at all. I had only fooled myself all of my life thinking my brother really did love me deep down. I wiped my nose on the hem of the blouse I was wearing. "Daddy didn't leave everything to you and Tammy. What about Momma?" "Don't worry about her. I had her admitted to Saint Christopher's for a psych evaluation on Thursday. They'll take her on as a charity case if she doesn't go to jail." "You did what?" "I received a message from Dad that she was trying to kill him. When I arrived here, she had chased him outside. He was shaking. She was inside with his aluminum cane in her hand and it was bent where she'd beat him upside the head with it." I remembered Mrs. Meddlestein claiming she saw Daddy run outside and Momma cussing at him and waving his cane. "Did you actually see her hit him with it?" "That's irrelevant."  "If you really thought she'd hit him, then why did you have Momma locked up and leave Daddy home alone with a head injury?" "I had to get back to court. I gave him a couple of aspirins and made an ice pack for him to put on the goose egg bump on his head." "So in other words, you didn't think he was seriously injured." I didn't buy the ice pack bit for one minute. Perry wouldn't even know how to make one. Daddy didn't have a head injury. "Not at that time. I made sure to lock up Chloe before she had a chance to do him in. A fat lot of good that did. She escaped and finished the job." "Escaped? A little old lady escaped from the mental ward? You're being ridiculous, Perry. Come up with a better fairy tale." "Keep living in never-never land, Oh-Donna. Just watch your back before she kills you too." Perry stashed the papers in his briefcase. "I've called the Metropolitan Police. They'll send technicians over to process the crime scene. Let 'em in, will ya?" "Crime scene? It was an accident! The freezer toppled over on him and he had a heart attack." Perry looked incredulously at me. "Oh-Donna, open your eyes and see the truth. Dad was murdered." I panted, trying to catch my breath. I would not accept that Daddy had been murdered. Especially not by his own wife. And there was absolutely no evidence or witnesses to make me believe otherwise. I couldn't believe Perry had talked the cops into accepting there was a crime. Surely the autopsy would clear everything up. I had never been so angry in my entire life. Perry grumbled, "Tammy said she'd do the funeral arrangements. You wanna give me one of your credit cards so she can charge it to?" "What?" "Where's your purse?" "Get out!" "Don't you talk to me that way, Oh-Donna." "Why do you and Tammy always assume I am rich? You are the ones with the college educations and high-paying jobs. Get out!" I shoved him down the three stairs. He clunked his shaved bald head on the white wrought iron railing. "What the devil got into you?" He took off. I locked the door tight and rushed down the basement stairs. I flung open the big wide door to the walk-in closet under the stairs. I reached in the dark for the shoestring and yanked the light on. I shut the door. It wasn't quiet like I needed. A melody faintly emanated from around the switchback corner underneath the stairs. It sounded like Perry Como's "Some Enchanted Evening", a beautiful love song from the forties. The walk-in closet was immense as far as closets go. Since the house was a split foyer, the stairs were turned in an L-shape. Three down from the living room, a wide landing at the front door and then a turn and nine stairs down to the basement. Daddy extended the width of the closet so it made a U-shape with a switchback under the basement stairs. There was an overhead storage area with a hatch underneath the foyer landing and the stairs that led up to the living room. Daddy's eight-sided Dracula coffin was in there. Not that he was a vampire but his family had weird burial rituals. He came from a poor Irish-American family that was among the first settlers in Sacramento, California, during the gold rush. They were known to pack a pistol while standing guard with their loved one to prevent an autopsy, the body was never to be left alone, someone had to stay inside the open grave all night, an Irish wake thrown at the house…things like that. The back of the closet was stuffed with boxes full of Daddy's old medical files and research papers. Neatly lining the walnut-paneled closet walls were two dozen plastic grocery bags filled with used novels. Momma read when she couldn't sleep. She'd told me she liked books with a little mystery, a little danger and a little sex. So here was the New York Times bestseller list for the past few years. She preferred the thick ones. Daddy always whispered it was an obsessive-compulsive disorder, Momma reading so much. There was one bag stuffed with photo albums. I rooted out the white one. Beautiful sepia prints were displayed in little gold corner mounts on heavy black paper. Momma in a bathing suit, on the beach, with palm trees. Must've been in the forties sometime. In one, she was cuddled up to a very handsome bearded man. Definitely not Daddy. In another, she wore a full-length fur. I remembered that fur. She always kept it in the big black steamer trunk that I was leaning on. I eased off it, undid the latches and opened the lid. There it was, along with the aroma of mothballs. I slipped the full-length sable on and drew it tight. The melody became louder. I crept back and peeked around the corner under the basement stairs. I moved some boxes. Blackness swirled. Wind whipped. The music had laughter. I felt an irresistible forward force propelling me deeper. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~I blinked. Sparkles. Rainbow-colored sparkles dazzled my eyes. People danced cheek to cheek. Lots of soldiers in old-fashioned uniform. The women were wearing white gloves and fancy hats. I found the exit and escaped outside into the night. A chilling wind stung my cheeks. Something was very not right. The cars were all jalopies. Really old ones, older than the ones at the classic car nights at the fast food restaurant I always went to. The kind of cars you had to turn a big crank on the front to start. I proceeded along. Passing a newsstand, I picked up a paper. The headline read President Roosevelt's New Strategy For the Philippines. The date was February 16, 1945. I dropped it and ran. All right, this was spooky. Where the hell was I? Freezing rain pummeled my face. I stumbled in a grate, breaking a heel off my blue stiletto shoe. Blue stiletto shoe? What happened to my hospital slippers? I must be dreaming. Midway across the Fourteenth Street Bridge, gateway back to Virginia, I stopped. I leaned over the concrete railing and gasped for breath. I stuck my right hand into the deep silk-lined coat pocket and extracted a pearl-handled pistol. I screamed and dropped it over the rail. I watched it slide on the surface of the frozen Potomac River. Frozen river? This was July! I stuck my hand into the left pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. An icicle fell from the lamppost above me. I examined the note in my hand. Benjamin Franklin's portrait adorned both sides. It was bloody. I felt a tap on my right shoulder. It didn't hurt. I turned…and saw a man. Amazon Kindle All eBook formats available at Smashwords

Sacred Trust

Sacred TrustBy Josephine WhiteBianca goes to prison for killing a cop. A powerful clergyman helps her to escape and sets her up with a new identity. A year and a half later when the governor pardons her, there is something the preacher has that Bianca desperately needs him to return. Enter Desi, the tattooed rocker bad boy son of the preacher man. He's oozing sex yet refuses to oblige. Bianca is frustrated with Desi for stubbornly standing in the way her goal...or has the preacher pulled some divine rank, forcing their bodies and souls to collide? Novella Available at Amazon KindleNovella Available in all eBook formats at Smashwords

Old Folks Joke #9

From my brother-in-law, John
A little old man shuffled slowly into an ice cream parlor and pulled himself slowly, painfully, up onto a stool.. After catching his breath, he ordered a banana split.

    

The waitress asked kindly, 'Crushed nuts?'



'No,' he replied, 'Arthritis.'

Excerpt: Dying to Love Him Chapter Three

 Dying to Love Himby Sherry Morris
Chapter ThreeHow Can You Mend A Broken Heart?
Norma Jean and I eased into the back of the rented purple Chrysler Sebring convertible.  I strapped her in, more or less.  Her pointy ears twitched at the sounds of Fort Lauderdale.  Black lips flapped in the wind on I-95, the road that stretched from northernmost Maine to southernmost Florida.Perry snarled, "Why the frick couldn't we have just flown into Key West? What a miserable frickin' ride this is going to be." A tennis ball couldn't fit between our car and the dump truck in front of us.  I tried not to dwell on his aggressive driving techniques.Seated next to him, tying a trendy chiffon scarf around her perfect hair, Tammy snapped, "It's all Oh-Donna's fault.  She just had to bring the dog.  That was the closest I could get us.  No airline flying into Little Cuba or the Maragaritaville place had any animal tickets left."I said, "Key West is way too far south.  We need to meet up with Mike in Miami Beach, at the hotel he works at."Tammy said, "Why didn't you just get directions to his place or the funeral home or where ever Mom is?""Eww!" I picked a bug out of my teeth.  I flung it at the back of Perry's noggin.  "Because Mike and Momma live on a little island.  There isn't any bridge.  We'll have to take a boat."Perry said, "So we'll go charter a boat.  What marina do we need to leave from?""I'm not sure.  Like I said, we'll call Mike from the hotel."Oh no.  I can't take Norma Jean into the Fontainebleau.  Even if they do allow small pets, she's no lap dog.  Shoot.  "We have a problem."Perry barked, "Now what?""Norma Jean.  I can't take her into the hotel.""Sure you can.  She's a companion dog.  You have a disability.  By law, no one is allowed to ask your disability.""But I don't have one of those little doggie vests to identify her as such.""Don't worry about it."I hugged Norma Jean's left leg.  It trembled.  Why couldn't she have come back as a Labrador Retriever or a German Shepherd? That would be convincing.  But a Great Dane? Tammy said, "Nobody will ever believe that big clumsy dog is for a blind person.  Oh-Donna, here, put my sunglasses on.""No.  I'm not blind.  There are other types of disabilities."Perry drove up under the portico at the hotel.  I squinted across the street at the site seeing ship moored on the Intracoastal Waterway.  Some day I'd like to take a cruise around Miami, getting up close and personal with the backs of the stars' homes.  We waited in line nearly ten minutes, only to be told we were at the wrong entrance.  This was just for the valet parking of previously registered cars.  We had to drive down to the next portico to check in first, by the colorful flags.  I covered my eyes in embarrassment at the spew of foul words my brother muttered in front of the dutiful employee.Perry floored it—then slammed his foot on the brake as we traversed the short distance.  He nudged the car forward and told the valet "We're checking in.  And I'll need a wheelchair for my sister."The older Latino said, "Yes sir.  Evan, we need a wheelchair." as he opened the door.  Perry groaned out of the driver's seat.  A young woman opened Tammy's door.  She seductively stepped out, scanning the scene.  The perky valet flipped the black leather seat up before I could move.  I gasped when Perry reached in and picked me up.  He flopped me into a wheelchair.  Norma Jean leapt out and sniffed it.  "Nice doggie.  Nice doggie," the valet timidly said as she pushed me up the ramp and into the lobby.  Norma Jean followed.  Tammy and Perry went through the revolving door with the bell captain and our luggage.  Perry waddled over to me and told Miss Perky, "That's fine.  She can wheel herself.  Oh-Donna, give me your purse.""What?""Oh-Donna, give me your purse.  He snatched it from me and fished out three dollars.  He gave one to the valet that pushed me and palmed two to the bell captain."Give me my purse back!"I stretched but he dangled it high.  Norma Jean growled and snatched it from him.  I recovered it and wiped her drool off, onto the arm of the wheelchair.While Perry and Tammy were registering, I took in the ambiance of the hotel.  Beautiful crystal chandeliers.  I gazed over at the lobby bar and recalled having a drink with Momma there.  Giant photos of Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis Jr.  were hung in front of the windows overlooking the rock grotto pool.  Oh Momma, You're really gone now.  Forever.Hanging television monitors displayed old Rat Pack footage—concerts and skits the gentlemen in the photos performed in forty years ago.  Norma Jean commenced sniffing.  She sniffed her way across the lobby, down the steps to the bar and started jumping, trying to get to a TV that displayed Frank Sinatra singing "Strangers in the Night".I wheeled myself as fast as I could but was stuck at the stairs.  No one was seated at the bar, thank goodness.  Norma Jean never-the-less was attracting attention from patrons at the tables, who were turning their heads with quizzical expressions.  By the time I spotted the handicapped ramp, Perry finally stomped over, seized my dog by her pink collar and dragged her back to me.  "Control your dog Oh-Donna.  Come on.  Our room isn't ready yet.  They're holding our luggage.  You go make your contact with the randy janitor or whoever.  Let's get this over with."With Norma Jean at my side, I wheeled myself across the tropical carpeted lobby.  Perry and Tammy followed me, but kept their distance until I stopped at the unattended concierge desk.  Nothing was there but a display box of tourist maps on the high black granite counter.  My shoulders were all ready fatigued.  How do the poor frail people do this all the time?A uniformed hotel security officer approached.  I gripped tight to Norma Jean's collar.  Please don't throw her out.  "May I help you folks with something?"I let my breath out and said, "Yes.  We're acquaintances of Mike Taurus, one of your bell hops.  His friend passed away.  Chloe Payne.  We're her children.  We need to get a hold of Mike, to find out what to do now.""I'm Fred Rollins." He shook everyone's hand.  "I'm terribly sorry for your loss.  Chloe was a lovely lady.  Come on over to the security office and we'll try to get in contact with Mike.  He's in a horribly bad way.  Poor old guy."Tammy and Perry marched like little soldiers behind Mr.  Rollins.  My arms ached propelling the damned low end ouch maker chair across the carpeted floor.  It was a step up from the one at the hospital, but worse when you factored in there was no volunteer pushing me.  Norma Jean sniffed her way across, staying beside me this time.~Mike didn't answer his phone.  After an hour, and two sets of complimentary soft drinks, three bowls of a trendy salty snack mix and a silver bowl of cool water for Norma Jean, Mr.  Rollins packed us into one of the hotel's black Lincoln Town Cars, gave the chauffer verbal instructions and handed Perry written directions to give to a charter boat captain.  I was so darned sleepy.  You'd think that I'd be alert and bug eyed after my Rip Van Winkle act.  I had not slept well last night.  I cried for my momma.  Little girl Oh-Donna did.  And I'm still raw over the loss of Daddy.  What's it been now, two weeks? Ten days? Little Orphan Annie.  The tune played in my head, "Tomorrow", as I leaned my head against the door window in the backseat of the Town Car.  Tammy was seated with me, her mind engrossed in Cosmopolitan magazine.  My puppy sprawled on the floor, with her big drooly face in my lap.  She was snoring.  I petted her gently.Yeah Annie girl, I hear ya.  You think tomorrow will be a better day.  I sure hope it is.  Can't be much worse than today.  I tried so hard to drift off to sleep.  Momma says...said...  I just can't get used to her being gone.  Momma told me that we grow and heal in our sleep.  So I really should try to get some sleep on the ride down to the Keys.  To make my head thingy better.  But I really yearned for some music to pull me into one of my special dreams.  I missed Ashley so much.  My debonair dream weaver.  If only they were real.  If he were real.  I had enjoyed a fantastic dream during my coma.  Ashley had turned out to be my roommate.  I do have a roommate, but I've never met him.  Her.  I assumed it was a female.  Ashley Jones answered my house sharing ad via e-mail.  She/he is a song writer wannabe that drives a cross country bus for one of the grandpa pop groups from the seventies.  She's/he's on the road so much that our paths haven't crossed yet.  I assumed she was a girl, but then my dream weaver came out of the basement and he took me on the bus.  We arrived at Make Believe Island.  He was gonna write songs, I was gonna write novels and we would make beautiful music and babies together.  In a cute little orange bungalow on the other side of Make Believe Island, where Momma moved to with her secret agent lover Mike.  She told me Mike was my real father.  Not Daddy, Dr.  Nathan Payne, the sociopath who raised me.  Perry's father.  Like father, like son, like adopted daughter Tammy.~"Wake up Oh-Donna." Tammy demanded as she whapped me with the magazine.  I swatted her back.  "I wasn't sleeping.""Good.  Don't you pull another Twilight Zone thingy on us.  We need you to get us to Mom."Perry said, "Chloe is being autopsied as we speak." He turned his head and threw his arm over the back of the front seat.  Waiting for our—or more likely my response.I challenged, "So you made sure that Momma's mortal body was violated, but you wouldn't let Daddy be autopsied.  And you accused her of murdering him.  Which she did not, could not do.  And then Tammy went and had him turned and burned."Perry said, "Chloe did so murder Dad—."Tammy interrupted, "Whaddaya mean I had Dad turned and burned?""That's what the lady at the mortuary told me.  He wanted a military Christian burial, but you told her to cremate him ASAP.""It was cheaper that way." She twisted her face toward her window as her voice cracked."You never even gave her contact information where to send the ashes."I noticed something odd in Perry's expression.  I hated when he got that look.  Something sinister was going on in his head.  I shivered.The driver stopped at a public park on Duck Key.  He opened the doors for us.  The boat captain stuck his head in the front door.  "I'm sorry, I don't have a wheelchair.  Jimmy will carry the lady to the dock."Oh just great.  I had to keep up this stupid charade.  Wait until I had a private word with Perry.  Of all things to have to lie about.  I'll probably rot in purgatory for pretending to be disabled.  Norma Jean licked my face.  I closed my eyes and sucked in my lips so she couldn't lick them.  Okay.  This is for you honey.  I'll keep it up, so long as you are by my side.  I won't let anyone treat you bad.  Never again.  Your first life must've been a lonesome miserable existence.Well, Jimmy turned out to be about six foot four, two hundred pounds of muscles and sun streaked hair.  Just the right amount of five o'clock shadow.  And he sported a playful smile.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and he effortlessly carried me to the small speed boat.  He handed me off to Perry, all ready onboard.  "Oooff.  Ouch!" I said as Perry plopped me down on the rear padded bench seat.  Norma Jean leapt on and proceeded to sniff the motor housing and everyone's feet.I grabbed on to the beige seat as the boat lurched forward.  It was so hot.  I knew we'd be burnt red before we arrived at the shore.  Me and Perry anyhow.  Tammy was lucky to have so much mocha melanin in her flawless skin.  We sailed southeastward, past scatterings of little islands, some lush and thickly wooded, with mangrove and palm trees.  Others were inhabited.  The captain pointed and said, "There's Virginia Key and there is Key Biscayne." as he propelled us between them.  Penetrating the Atlantic Ocean, the water became deeper teal.  More small islands dotted the mauve shrouded horizon.  Within an hour, we arrived at a dilapidated dock.  My hair was a dried windblown nest.  The captain tied the boat off on a piling.  Perry climbed off first, displaying his big fat butt in blue poplin shorts, bright white legs, covered in thick black fur.  I worried I was gonna be sick over the side, but I kept it in as Tammy stuck her little firm behind out cat-like as she turned her head and smiled demurely at the captain and Jimmy.  They of course weren't missing one iota of her perfectly toned cocoa skinned cheeks peeking out of her hot pants and her barely there halter top.  She didn't need to wear a bra, since her high dollar boobs stayed up high and mighty all on their own, even when she laid down, not an uncommon position for my sister the slut.Yeah, I know that's not nice.  She couldn't help it that her genes and Daddy's money for cosmetic surgeons made her so susceptible to the men.  And she sure has had her share.  Six ex-husbands and she's only forty-one.Jimmy lifted me into Perry's arms.  Perry farted as he leaned down to collect me.  As soon as the boat sprayed its wake on us, Perry dropped me."Hey!""You're heavy Oh-Donna.  I've got a cramp in my pinky."I reclined on the splintery dilapidated dock until the boat was out site.  Norma Jean was sniffing her way down the narrow white sandy shoreline, barking as she chased a brown pelican.Perry said, "Let's get this over with.  Meet and greet this asshole Mike, offer condolences, find out where and when the service will be held, then get back to the hotel.  While we were in the security office, I saw on the hotel information channel they serve hot hor'derves every night, free in the lounge at happy hour."I asked, "Don't you even feel in the least bit grieved that your step-mother died? The woman who lovingly raised you as her own from your teen years on? The one who had to go back to school to train for a second career, after she'd retired from the secret service, so she could put you through law school?"Nope."Tammy said, "Eww! Is that their house? It's a little crap shack.  They'd better have plumbing in there."I squinted at the turquoise bungalow with a fretwork laced porch.  "Yes there is plumbing.  And electricity and even satellite TV.  It's not Gilligan's Island.  It's called 'Make Believe Island...'" I cooed, remembering my dream of being on the other side of this island with my dream weaver, Ashley.We climbed the three wooden steps onto the porch.  Perry banged on the orange door.  Norma Jean leapt onto the porch and circled three times in front of a rocking chair.  She plopped down and groaned.Perry said, "The asshole's not here.  Let's go.  Frickin' wild goose chase.  Again."I shoved my brother aside and tried the knob.  It turned.  I opened the door and said, "Mike? Mike its Donna.  We're here."He didn't respond so I stepped inside.  I roamed through the tiny twenty-five foot by twenty-five foot shotgun style carpenter's house.  The whitewashed bead board walls were adorned with botanical prints and candle sconces.  A curtainless window overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.  Wide, pine plank floors were immaculate.  Seating for four was provided by an oxblood leather sofa with gold nail heads and a matching round tub chair.  My gaze drifted around the perimeter, to a globe on a wooden stand, a green two-level end table, a square coffee table and a short bookcase, filled with colorful leather bound books.  There was a small bedroom situated in the front of the house.  The kitchen was caddy cornered to the living room.  Between the front bedroom and the kitchen, there was an access door to the cistern.  The rear bedroom was a little larger than the one in the front of the house.  Mike wasn't home.I walked back onto the porch.  "He's not here."Tammy asked, "How much do ya think this place would go for? I mean rent out a private island to tourists?"Perry said, "You wanna buy this rocky jungle? It's probably full of snakes and water rats and sharks and crocodiles.""Alligators," I said.  "Florida has alligators.  You need to go to the Nile or Australia for crocodiles.""Or Peter Pan." Tammy said and started singing the never-smile-at-a-crocodile song like Captain Hook.I giggled.  Big smarty pants Judge Perry Payne didn't know the difference between crocs and gators.Perry flipped his little black cellular phone open and fumbled in his pocket."Who're you calling?" Tammy asked."The captain to bring the boat back, before we all get sunburned.""I've never sunburned a day in my life.""Because you're a black girl Tammy." Perry rolled his eyes.She smiled smugly.I thrust my hand up and asked, "Wait, do you hear that?""Hear what?" Perry asked irritatedly.  "Oh Donna, what the hell are we listening for?"I started down the steps.  Norma Jean ran past me, nearly knocking me down.  My legs were still a little wobbly, but I was feeling much better.  I kicked my shoes off and tiptoed through the hot sand.  I followed my Great Dane into the woods.  Perry demanded, "Where do you think you're going Oh-Donna? You wanna get eaten by a croc? There are snakes dangling from those trees."Tammy screamed.I gasped and glanced around.  I didn't see any snakes.  I picked up on a rhythmic noise and couldn't resist following.  Maybe it was my dream weaver, on the other side of the island.  Maybe Ashley was working with a percussion instrument on a new song.  Butterflies fluttered in my tummy and around the wild white hibiscus.  Marsh mallows.Perry and Tammy followed, complaining the whole way.We reached the clearing where I recollected finding momma at the graves of her long ago stillborn babies.  I pondered our last conversation.  Momma had been arranging small sunflowers on two graves."Hello Momma.""What are you doing here?""I came to see you—get you.""Why?""To take you home.""This is my home.""Momma why didn't you tell me about Mike?""None of your business.""My momma living a double life is none of my business?" I huffed in exasperation."Don't you judge me, young lady.  Don't you judge another until you walk a mile in her moccasins.  Your great grandmother was a Cherokee, you know.""No I don't.  How could I? You never told me."I read the headstones.  Baby Girl Lambert May 5, 1945 - May 5, 1945 Born too soon.   The other was etched Baby Boy Lambert May 5, 1945 - May 5, 1945 Born too soon"Oh my God Momma.  I'm so sorry.  Stillborn twins.  How did you ever go on?""The little girl in my soul died with them.""Why don't they say Taurus?""We weren't married yet.""Oh." Wow, that must've been rough."They weren't his blood anyhow.  But he wanted to raise them as his own."What kinda floozy was my mother? Oh my gosh.  "Who are you? You acted like this prim and proper lady all my life, looking down on any boy I brought home.  How dare you to have judged me so sternly." Oh no.  Boy did I regret saying that.  "No—what I meant was—."Momma grabbed onto her baby girl's headstone and rose to her bunioned feet.  She shook her finger at me.  "Don't you dare judge me.  You have no idea what I've been through.  I am not a loose woman.  I was raped in the line of duty." She crossed her arms and veered toward the sea.My hands flew over my mouth.  Tear drops spilled.  I tried to reach out to her.  She trudged away.I followed.  "I'm so sorry Momma.  Of course.  I should of known.  Please forgive me, Momma?"She flinched when I wrapped my arm around her and walked beside her down the path, back to the beach.  Of course my curiosity wouldn't let me let it go."Momma, do you know—did they catch the guy that did that to you?""Mike took care of Hundred Dollar Bill." "Hundred dollar—?""Blandings.  Bill Blandings.  He's dead.  My babies are dead.  Okay? Drop it Oh-Donna." I did.  We shuffled speechlessly toward the sea.  I supported her arm.  Or rather, Momma grabbed onto me, for steadiness.  She'd developed a palsy since I had last visited her on Christmas Eve.  Her head shook.  Poor Momma.So Bill Blandings, the pirate in my dream, Vera's ex-husband raped Momma.  And her husband, Mike killed him.  Hundred Dollar Bill? That must tie into the counterfeit money.  It must be his.  We began walking toward the bungalow.  "Momma, why don't you sit in one of the rockers on the porch and I'll go in and make you a drink?""That would be nice."I left her on the porch and dashed into the kitchen.  I spun around.  No refrigerator.  I spotted a cooler in the corner.  I opened it and removed a bottle of water.  The ice had all melted around it, but it felt slightly chilled.  I twisted the top off as I returned to the porch and offered it to Momma."Thank you.""Momma, I want you to come and live with me."She guzzled a long pull.  Water dribbled down her chin.  She wiped it with the back of her gnarled hand.  "No you don't.""Yes, I do.  Come on and live with me.  It'll be fun.  We can play rummy and watch Jeopardy and you can make big pots of your famous vegetable soup.""No Oh-Donna.""Why not?""Because my place is here.  With Mike.  We don't have that much time left in this world.  I should never have wasted my mortality.  I didn't do anything to change the course of the world.  I could've made him happy though.""Wow.  My life would've been so different.  If you hadn't divorced Mike, I would've grown up in Florida.  On this island? Sweet.  And Perry wouldn't have been my half-brother and you never would have adopted Tammy.  I would have been a spoiled only child.  Oh wait.  No—I wouldn't be me.""Sure you would.""No, 'cause I'm only half your girl.  I'm half Daddy's girl.""If only it were that simple."I looked at her, confused.  Wait a minute.  Momma spent the first week of every August with Mike Taurus.  I was born in May.  I counted on my fingers.  August to September is one, October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May—? "Momma, Nathan Payne wasn't my father was he?""Of course he's your father.  He adored you."Yeah right."But you were conceived in love.  Mike doesn't know.  I couldn't tell him.""Mike doesn't know what?""That he created you.""But you just said—.""Nathan loved you as his own.  He gave you a good life.  You should be proud to have had such a brilliant man to call your father.""But...he wasn't.""As genes go, no." She gulped another long pull of water and wiped her chin."My marriage to Nathan is what we called a marriage of convenience.  It was nineteen sixty-three.  I was pregnant and unmarried.  I would have lost my job.  He offered, I accepted."Wow.  Daddy was that big of a man to marry a woman pregnant by another man and raise her child.  Oh Daddy...  I felt a tear start.  "How come you didn't like him?"Momma rolled her teary eyes.  "Because Nathan was a constant reminder of what I could have done, should have done.  Every day I longed for Mike.  But I was too deep into the mission—into our blended family.  I couldn't walk away from his children.  They needed a mother.  I never actually hated Nathan, not until I found out—he used me as a guinea pig."I waited.  She didn't continue.  I pressed her.  "How did you meet anyhow?""Originally? He delivered my twins.  Years later, I ended up in the ER with bilateral ovarian cysts, gangrene had set in on one side.  He was the gynecologist on duty that night.  He saved my life.""So how does that make you a guinea pig?""He didn't tell me that while he was in there, he transplanted another woman's ovary into me.""Momma! In the freezer— down in the basement—I found a Tupperware container with an ovary in it!" "He was a weird one.""Well, how'd you find out about the transplant? Your body must've rejected it immediately.  Oh that must've hurt?""No, the old genius was extremely brilliant and lucky.  I didn't reject it.  Don't ask me how.  My blood type must've matched the donor's perfectly.  We must've been distantly related or something.""This is like science fiction Momma.  Transplants in the sixties?""He'd been practicing on Rhesus monkeys.  Your daddy really was a genius you know.  It's too bad he went blind.  Nathan Payne, now he would have changed the world for the better.  Had he the chance.""But Momma you hate—hated him.""Fine line between love and hate daughter.  Fine line.""How'd you find out?""Last month, after my hysterectomy.  The surgeon told me.  You know, I told you about my uterus prolapsing? It was hanging down nearly outside of my vagina.  I couldn't get used to the pessary they gave me to keep it shoved up.  It hurt.  I wanted the darn womb yanked out.  So he talked it over with me and we agreed to go ahead and take it all out, the ovaries and tubes too.  He did leave the cervix though, since I'm still active.""Is that why you got mad at Daddy? He called and told me you were trying to kill him.""Kill him? No.  But I was mad as Hell."We watched Mike tying the boat off.  We hurried down to meet him.  "Momma, come with me.  Come and move in with me.  You and Mike."Mike asked, "What's this?"Momma said, "No, child.  Thank you, but we're where we need to be.  You go.  Live your life.  Be happy.  And don't let your career stand in the way of your destiny of love.""Career? What career? I have no education, because there was no money for my college because Tammy and Perry needed it." I stopped.  I sensed an epiphany coming on.  "Momma.  You did that on purpose, didn't you? You didn't want me to have an education and a career, didn't want me to make the same mistakes you made...""You'd better get back to Miami dear.  We generally have a right bad thunderstorm every afternoon.  Thanks for coming to see me.  I love you, Oh-Donna.  Always.  I've lived my life for you."We embraced and wept.  Mike started up the boat.  I stepped in.  "Oh, Momma.  I forgot.  The Miami cops are lookin' for you.  Umm...arson and counterfeiting."Mike laughed.  So did Momma.  I hollered over the engine, "What?"Mike shouted, "Change the charges to murder and counterfeiting and it's déjà vu from when we first came to Make Believe Island in nineteen forty-five."Momma said, "Go on, little doll.  Don't worry about me.  I'm where I need to be, with the man I love.  Now you go to your man.  And forget about your job.  No job is worth a man."I had waved to Momma and blew kisses as we sailed into the wind.  That was to be the last visit I ever had with my mother.~I noticed a hole and a shovel of dirt heaving up.  We inched our way to the edge and made out Mike inside—digging Momma's grave.  The old man was red faced and breathless, sweating profusely.I shouted, "Mike! Get out of there.  Stop that.  You shouldn't be doing this at your age, in this heat.""I loved her with all my heart.  And now she's gone.  I can't wait until I'm with her again, me and Chloe together forever in beautiful Kingdom Come."He clutched his shoulder and dropped the shovel.  "Mike! What is it?"He collapsed.I glanced over my shoulder.  My siblings just stood there snarling and impatient, as if they were in line at the grocery store."Help me! We have to get him out of there!"I slipped down into the hole, about five feet deep and full of watery muck.  I rolled Mike onto his back.  I checked and he wasn't breathing, there was no pulse."He's suffered a heart attack! His heart has stopped! Call nine-one-one! Help me with the CPR!"I did my best, alternating five chest compressions with pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth.  I finally collapsed on top of the man who I recently found out was my real father.  I prayed and cried.  "Dear God and Jesus in heaven, oh please forgive me for not taking a real CPR class since high school.  Please forgive me for giving up.  I'm exhausted.  And I think he really wanted to not come back.  Please take my Daddy's—my second Daddy's soul up to heaven with you and Momma and my father Daddy and give them all peace and happiness.  And help us through our grief.  Amen."I squinted up at my siblings.  Tammy asked, "Is he dead too?""Yes.""Eww!" She ran back to the house.Perry swatted down with a portly groan and stuck his arm into the grave.  "Come on Oh-Donna.  Get outta there before you expire too." I grabbed his hand.  He yanked me up.  I pulled one of those muscles under my arm.We trudged down the path and I climbed the stairs to the porch.  I plopped down into a rocker.  The one Momma had sat in.  I couldn't stop crying.Perry called for the captain to bring the boat around.It would be more than an hour before it arrived, so I proceeded inside the bungalow.  Tammy was sprawled on the sofa, watching a make-over show and eating Tootsie Rolls.  Perry tried to take the bag from her.  She shoved them behind her back.  "Get your own.  I found these."He plodded into the kitchen.  I meandered back into Momma's bedroom.  I made her bed.  There wasn't a depression in this one, like in the twenty-year-old one at her house in DC.  Little Mount Vernon.  Well, that one wasn't there anymore.  It burned down.  I saw the cross hanging over the bed.  As I turned to leave, I noticed a thick stack of 8" by 11" white papers on the desk.  I rushed over and read the top page.  It was from Charlatan Press.~Dear M.  A.  Taurus, This is brilliant.  It hit close to home because I had a similar.  We would like to publish this, if you can make extensive revisions.  We will only make an offer once the revisions have been made and accepted, there is no guarantee, you understand.  Please see the two attached pages of suggestions.  I would be delighted to take another look at this if you would like to revise.  Sincerely, Betty McNeelyAssistant Editor, Charlatan Press~I sighed.  I didn't know what I felt.  Jealous that an old man could write what the romance publisher wanted and I couldn't.  Sad that this old man had been writing for eighty years and when he finally gets an editor's interest, he dies.  His stories will never be read.  He wrote his whole life for nothing, no one but himself.  Is that what I'm doomed for? Me and all my writer friends in cyberspace whom I commiserate with? Poor Mike.  He will never be published.  Unless...unless I revise the manuscript for him...  Buy Amazon Kindle Buy eBook at Smashwords

Sherry's Easy Enchiladas

1 lb. Chicken, Pork or Ground Beef
1 can Enchilada Sauce
1 can Condensed Tomato Soup
1 lb. Shredded Cheese
1 Onion
3 cloves Garlic
1 envelope Taco Seasoning Mix or 1 Tbsp. Chili Powder, 2 Tsp. Cumin and 2 Tsp. Cilantro
Tortillas of Your Choice

Thoroughly cook meat, onions and garlic in skillet. Season with Taco Seasoning Mix or Chili Powder, Cumin and Cilantro. Shred chicken or pork. You may also omit the meat completely and just saute the onions and garlic in olive oil.
Add Enchilada Sauce and Tomato Soup. Do not add water or milk. Stir well and reduce heat to low.
Soften tortillas in microwave for 30 seconds under a damp paper towel.
Fill torillias with cheese, roll and place in skillet. Press down firmly.
Sprinkle with remaining cheese.
Cover with a lid and cook for 30 minutes.
Serve with sour cream.