Trisha Sugarek's Blog, page 122

Blogging my Novel… “Women Outside the Walls” (part 5)

Chapter 3

Alma ~ nineteen years ago

Alma sat on the steps of her trailer. Her elbows were resting on her knees and her chin was resting on her joined fists, Well hell, what am I suppose to do now? She wondered. My money will run out in a month and the rent’s due on the first. As she reviewed her options she watched Cassandra, Charlie’s ex-whatever, walk up the road from the mail boxes. She appeared to be headed home. Alma ducked her head in the hopes that the woman would walk on by.

“Hi kid.” Cassandra said as she neared Alma.

“Hi.” Alma replied.

“How are things?”

“Okay.” Alma said. She stared at the dirt at her feet and didn’t look up.

“It sure is quiet around your place. Your Mama’s boyfriend not at home?”

“No.”

“Where’s your mom, at work?”

“Uh…yeah.” Alma said.

Cassandra could always spot it when someone was lying to her. She hadn’t grown up with two younger sisters for nothing.  “Come on kid, what’s goin’ on, really?”

Alma looked up and stared at Cassandra weighing how much she might be able to trust the older woman.  “My Mom took off, okay!?”

“Took off where?”

“Somewhere in Arizona. She left a note and some cash and she’s gone. She’s not comin’ back.” Alma’s chin wobbled on this last part.

“Holy cow! When did this happen?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“She’s been gone about a week more or less.”

“I knew there was a new guy but….well…what happened?” Cassandra asked.

Alma dug a wrinkled piece of paper out of her jeans.  “Here’s the note, you’re welcome to read it.” She thrust the paper at Cassandra. “The new guy said I cramped his style.”

Cassandra took the letter and sat down on the step next to Alma. She read the note out loud, ‘Alma, baby, Bruce has got this great new job in Arizona or maybe it’s New Mexico. Anyway, he wanted me to go with him. But, here’s the bad news, kiddo. He says no kids, they cramp his style. You’re practically grown anyways so I know you’ll do just fine. I’m leavin’ this money for you until you get a job. The rent’s paid up on this piece of shit until the end of the month.

I’ll write when we get settled. Love, Mom’

“Nice, huh?” Alma’s eyes filled with tears.

“Geez kid, that’s tough. What kinda mother would leave her kid behind?”

“My kind obviously.” Alma brushed a hand roughly across her eyes.

“What’re ya gonna do?”

“I’ll get by, don’t you worry about that.”

“How much money did she leave ya?”

“A hundred and fifty bucks plus what’s in the quarter jar. I got a little money of my own.”

“But the rent’s two thirds of that and that’s due in two weeks.”

“I’ll get a job. I can take care of myself!” Alma’s voice was full of bravado.

“Well, if ya need anything between now and then, you know where I live.”

“Okay.”

Cassandra didn’t know what else to say. She stood up and looked down at Alma. “Well, I gotta get changed and get to work. I’ll talk at ya later.”

Alma didn’t answer. She had resumed checking out the dirt at her feet. Cassandra walked away, shaking her head.

* * * *

At ten o’clock the next morning Cassandra pounded on the door of Alma’s trailer. When there was no answer she opened the screen door and checked the front door. It was unlocked. Cassandra opened it and stuck her head inside.

“Alma? Yoo-hoo, anybody home?”

Cassandra was surprised at how neat and clean everything was. The kid was definitely not a slob like her mother. She walked down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“Alma? You here?” She said as she opened the bedroom door.

Alma was sprawled across the bed sound asleep.

“ALMA!” Cassandra said in a loud voice. “Rise and shine!”

When there was no response Cassandra grabbed the covers and yanked them off Alma.

“Hey! Cut it out!” Alma reared up. She was dressed in an old ratty T-shirt that reached her knees.

“Get up. Why aren’t you in school?” Cassandra asked.

“Didn’t feel like it.” Alma said.

“Get dressed and meet me in the other room in ten minutes. You can shower later. We got stuff to discuss.”

“Who died and made you the boss?” Alma sneered.

Cassandra stood there and just stared at Alma.

Alma broke eye contact first. “Okay, okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Without another word Cassandra left the bedroom.

Muttering to herself Alma slipped on yesterday’s jeans and, stripping off her night shirt, hurried into a sports bra and a fresh blouse. She stepped over to a mirror, picked up her hair brush and ran it through her long curls.’ I don’t know who this broad thinks she is bossin’ me around. It’s none of her business if I go to school or not. Geez, why doesn’t she mind her own beeswax anyway?’ she grumbled to herself.  Alma sauntered down the hall and walked into the living room. Cassandra was at the kitchen sink filling a coffee pot with water.

“Where’s the coffee?” she asked.

Alma slumped into the lounge chair. “We keep it in the freezer.”

Cassandra retrieved the ground coffee from the freezer and put some scoops into the filter basket and flipped the switch on the coffee machine.  “I assume you drink coffee?” She asked Alma.

“God, yes. And I could really use some this morning, what with unexpected company and all.”

“Save your sarcasm for someone else, little girl.”Cassandra warned. “Why was the front door unlocked? Anybody could have waltzed in here.”

“I guess I forgot to lock it. No big deal.”

“Yeah, you say that until you find some creep walkin’ in on ya.”

“Nobody except you knows my Ma and Bruce are gone.”

“Still.”

“Okay! I’ll be more careful in the future, okay?”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee started to fill the air. Cassandra opened a cupboard door looking for cups.

“Over the stove is the coffee mugs.” Alma said.

‘The coffee mugs are over the stove’ Cassandra corrected her.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Cassandra reached up and got down two mugs. One had a garish logo from a local casino stenciled on the side and the other one said, ‘World’s Greatest Mom’…….

* * * *

The next segment will appear Friday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Curiousity Killed the Cat?

      Oddly, (I think) many searches/views on my web site contain  the phrase, ‘curiosity killed the cat’.  I thought it would be fun to tell my visitors where this story actually came from.

By now you all know that I write from family stories….mostly true ones.

This (short play) comedy is true which just goes to show, once again, that ‘truth is stranger than fiction’.

My auntie Ivah had been grubbing all day in the garden of her brick mansion in the Laurelhurst district in Seattle.  While she could afford a gardener or two, she was an avid gardener herself and could be found there, bare foot, in shorts and a sun hat every fair day.  Ivah wore shorts whenever she could because she had ‘Betty Grable legs’  (An actress circa 1940′s-1950′s whose legs were insured for a million dollars) and Ivah was quite vain about hers.

Around dinner time her husband, Arthur (an attorney) arrived home and announced that he had a client stopping by to sign some documents on his way to the airport.  Ivah, dirty and smelly from the garden, hid in the kitchen.  When she thought the client had left she crawled on her hands and knees to peep out the front window for a look at this very rich, reclusive man.  The whole time she traversed the dining room floor to get to the window, he sat in the living room with a perfect view of this supposedly dignified wife of his attorney.  When discovered, Ivah met the situation very much like she dealt with life, with grand bravado!   The client stayed for dinner!

Blogging my Novel… “Women Outside the Walls” (part 4)

Chapter 2

 Alma and Chelsea

Red lipstick half way to her mouth, Alma watched the drama at the front counter. Her daughter, Chelsea, elbowed her.

“She’s a virgin, huh Alma?” whispered Chelsea.

A teenager, wise beyond her fifteen years, Chelsea was a pretty adolescent now, but it was evident that she would be a stunning beauty as she matured. Her strawberry-blond hair, falling to the middle of her back, was natural and her green eyes were made even larger with expert make up. Her torso was concealed in a large man’s dress shirt and her legs were encased in Slim-Jim jeans. Her designer high-tops were untied.

Alma laughed. “Oh yeah, a virgin and a rich one to boot. What the heck was she thinkin’, comin’ here dressed like she was shopping on Fifth Avenue?” Alma looked down at herself distracted by the contrast of her clothing.

“How does this blouse look, Chels? Do you think your father is gonna like it?” Alma fished inside her blouse to fix a bra strap; then cupped her breasts and did a little jiggle to create more cleavage.

“Jesus, do ya gotta do that in public?” Chelsea said.

“Hey. Watch the swearing!” She looked across the room. “Wonder who ‘her highness’ is here to see. From the looks a’her she could‘a sent her maid for this job.”

Alma stood and did a pirouette. She was lovely in spite of the heavy makeup. Her bright red hair was piled on top of her head with messy tendrils framing her heart-shaped face.

Expressive green eyes sparkled as she asked, “How ‘bout these jeans? Too tight, ya think?”

Chelsea was about to answer when the officer’s voice rang out, “For Baldwin! You can go in now.”

“Tie your shoes, baby,” Alma told Chelsea.

Poking her fingers into the mess of red hair on top of her head, Alma adjusted a few well placed strands and with a sensual roll of her hips she crossed the room and waited at the heavy steel portal.  Chelsea hurriedly tied her shoelaces and ran to catch up with her mother. The door silently slid open and the two women walked into a small glass enclosed space, facing another heavy door. The door closed with a whisper behind them.

“I hate this part,” said Chelsea.

“I know, honey. It takes just a minute and we’ll be outta here,” reassured Alma. The door in front of Alma and Chelsea opened as if Alma had uttered ‘Sesame’.

“There. See? Not so bad,” said Alma.

“I still feel like I’m buried or drowning or something,” Chelsea complained.

“I don’t know where you got this fear of small, closed spaces. Ya didn’t get it from me.”

They walked into a large cafeteria style room with two dozen tables and chairs all bolted down. The linoleum floor was a sickly green and the chairs and tables were a faded orange. Alma sashayed up to a podium where another guard was seated.

“Hey, Brad honey, how’s it hangin’?” Alma asked.

Flirting with the young handsome guard was so much fun. Guaranteed he’d blush in five seconds. “Ya got a….table for me, handsome?” She purred.

‘Here it comes, watch for it’… Alma thought to herself. ‘Three, two, one…Voila! The kid doesn’t know whether he’s on foot or horseback when I’m around’, she gloated. ‘He’s probably not too much older than Chels and brand spanking new with the department of corrections. He’s so cute, all embarrassed and shy around me’. She thought. ‘Like most men he laps it up like a puppy’.

“Yes, Ma’am, Mrs. Gaynor. Table three.”

“Brad, honey, don’t call me ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel so old and I’m just a couple of years older than you,” Alma laughed and walked away.

“Oh, brother,” Chelsea muttered.

“Hi Chelsea,” Brad blushed an even brighter red.

“Yeah, whatever,” replied Chelsea.

Alma made her way slowly to her assigned table, making certain that every man in the room had a good view. She basked in the low cat whistles and groans as she walked by.  “Here’s our table, Chels,” she told her daughter, making certain that her husky, sexy voice carried to the men nearby. Chelsea slouched into her chair, across from her mother.

“God, Alma, do you have to be such a spectacle every time we come here? Daddy would be really mad if he saw how you act.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with taking care of yourself and being proud that others appreciate it,” Alma said. “You could take some lessons. Look how you’re dressed. You’re never gonna get a boy friend lookin’ like that. If I was your age again I’d be showin’ it off, you can bet money on it.”

“Yeah, well you’re you and I’m me, thank God.” Chelsea sighed.

‘What was keeping Charlie’, Alma wondered. ‘I’m sure not used to men keeping me waiting…for anything. I hate this place where men are the bosses. Except for a few furtive looks at my boobies and butt, these guards couldn’t care less about the favors I can bestow.’

‘I’ve just been without a man too darn long, she complained to herself. Why did I have to fall for a guy who gets himself sent to prison? I’m dyin’ to get my hands on Charlie, even if it is for only two minutes. What a stupid rule! And it looks like I’ll never get laid again what with Charlie always getting write-ups. No conjungle visits for me any time soon. God, I hated this dump!’

“What’s wrong, Alma?” asked Chelsea.

“What? Oh, nothin’ baby. Just thinkin’.”

“Sour thoughts.” Chelsea observed. “Your face looks like sour grapes. Careful it don’t freeze that way.”

Alma laughed. “You remember what I used to tell you when you were a little girl, about your face freezing?”

Alma kept an eye on the door and suddenly it opened and Charlie walked in. “Ah, there he is,” Alma said.

Charlie swaggered across the room, and gave the guard only the slightest nod. Brad held up three fingers, indicating Charlie’s table assignment. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up showing off his muscular arms. His jeans were tight and the well toned muscles of his thighs were visible through the denim.  As he wove his way through the tables he approached a black couple sitting quietly. He passed their table and bumped the chair of the woman hard.

His voice dripped with sarcasm, “Pardon me, Ma’am.”

Charlie glared at the black man sitting opposite her. Joe Washington jumped to his feet, his hands curled into fists. He was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than him but that didn’t matter to Charlie. He’d killed a man with his bare hands so Joe presented little threat.

Standing his ground, Charlie growled, “Go ahead, Boy. Come on, come and get some.”

Hattie Washington lay her hand on her husband’s arm, “No, Joe, don’ do nothing. Please.”

“It’s Joe or Mr. Washington to the likes of you, cracker.” Joe snarled. “You got a short memory ‘bout what happened the last time you messed with me. You keep away from me and mine or you won’t walk away next time.”

“Baldwin, go sit down with your family,” Brad called out.

Charlie ignored the guard. “Take your best shot,” Charlie said. “Last time ya caught me by surprise, a lucky punch. Go on,” he taunted. “I don’t mind the ‘hole’ nearly as much as you do.”

“Joe, please, sit down. It don’ matter,” Hattie pleaded.

As the two men faced off, Brad got up and started across the room. “Hey, you two, sit down. Baldwin, get over to your table, NOW!”

Joe sat down. Charlie turned to walk away and muttered under his breath, “This ain’t over, Washington.”

“Anytime, Baldwin, you just name it,” Joe replied.

Charlie continued over to where Alma and Chelsea waited. Chelsea jumped to her feet and ran to meet her father.

“Daddy! I missed you!” She hugged her father close. “Who was that man? Why are you mad at him?”

“He’s nobody, little girl. How’s my baby been?” Charlie kissed the top of her head.

“Just fine, but I ain’t your baby no more. I’m fifteen, you know!”

Charlie laughed. “When did ‘ya get to be so old?”

“Oh, Daddy, you know I turned fifteen last summer. I’m almost sixteen.”

“Stay fifteen, will ya? I’m not ready for you to grow up. Remember, you’ll always be my ‘baby’ even when you’re fifty and got no teeth.”

“Eeew, gross!” She playfully punched his arm. “How ya been, Daddy?”

“Couldn’t be peachier. Ya know this here country club is the lap of luxury.” Charlie grinned at his daughter.

“You’re so funny.” Chelsea wrinkled her nose, “This ain’t no country club that’s for sure.”

“Sure it is and after I say hello to your Ma, we’ll go out to the swimming pool and have some drinks brought to us.”

He looked across at Alma, his eyes eating her up like a starving man. He let go of his daughter and reached for Alma. “Goddamn, woman, you look good enough to eat. C’mere.”

Alma rushed into Charlie’s arms and they kissed deeply. Charlie’s hands lowered to Alma’s butt and he cupped her, pressing her to his body as close as possible.  Alma moaned into his mouth.

“Oh, Charlie, I missed ya so much. Give Mama some sugar,” Alma sighed as she ground her hips into Charlie. In the haze of sensual heat they barely heard the pencil tapping on the podium as Brad signaled them to break it up.

“Alma,” Chelsea said, “Break it up. Daddy’s gonna get in trouble with the guard over there.”

Reluctantly, Alma and Charlie pulled apart and Alma slowly licked her bottom lip with her tongue. As she walked to her chair Charlie’s smoky, passion filled eyes never left her.

“God, Alma, it’s been a long time since we…,” he glanced at Chelsea, “…never mind. You know what I mean.”

“I know baby. If you could just behave better we might get a shot at some conjungle time,” Alma purred.

“You mean ‘conjugal’ don’cha, Alma?” Chelsea asked with a straight face.

“Huh?” Alma said.

“Hey, I thought I warned you about calling your Mama by her name. She’s your Ma and you’re not gonna call her Alma. Understood?”

“Oh, Charlie, it’s okay…” Alma said.

“No, it ain’t neither,” Charlie insisted.

“But, honey, it makes me feel so old when she calls me ‘Ma’.”

Charlie raised his voice, “Yur her mother, for Chrissakes. Tell her you’re sorry, Chels.”

“Sor…rey.” Chelsea said begrudgingly.

“Sorry, what?” asked Charlie.

“Sorry, Ma. Jeez, Daddy, what’s the big deal?” Alma interrupted, changing the subject.

“How ya been, honey?” She asked Charlie.

“OK, I guess. As good as it can be locked up in this hell hole. How ‘bout you two? Are you doin’ all right?”

“We’ve been just fine, sweetie. Haven’t we, Chels?”

“Who’s shirt you wearin’, Chels?” Charlie asked his daughter.

“Yours, Daddy. It’s okay, right? You’re not using it and besides all the girls are wearing their Daddy’s shirts this year.”

“Of course it’s okay, Doll. In fact help yourself to any of my shirts at home. When I blow this joint, I’m getting all new ones anyway.”

“Can I have your purple shirt?” Chelsea asked.

“Don’t know why yur askin’ now; you been wearing it for months,” Alma muttered.

Charlie grinned at Chelsea. “Sure you can. That ol’ thing ain’t gonna fit me now anyway.” Charlie flexed his biceps. “I been workin’ out every day, ya know.”

In a honeyed voice that she had learned from her mother, Chelsea purred, “Thank you, Daddy.”

She turned to Alma, eager for a little payback about the ‘Ma/Alma’ nonsense. She hated it when her Daddy found fault with her.  “Tell ‘im what you been doin’, Ma.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Chels. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay outta my business.”

Charlie pulled a prison credit card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Chelsea. “How ‘bout you go get us some sodas?”

“Save that card for later, hon. I bought you a new one with fifty bucks on it.”

Alma handed it to Chelsea.”Use this one, Chels.”

With a dirty look aimed at Alma, Chelsea took the proffered card. She turned back to her father and smiled, “Sure, Daddy. Any flavor okay?”

“Sure, baby, but remember I don’t like that Dr. Pepper crap. And none of that diet stuff. I want the high octane kind. It’s as close to a beer as you can get in here.”

Laughing, Chelsea rose and walked away.  Charlie sat very still and stared at Alma. Trying to cover her discomfort, she started talking fast.

“There a virgin outside.” She mimicked a voice that she thought sophisticated women used. “Very hoity-toity. La-de-da! Fur coat and everything! She got real pissy with the visitor intake officer. Refused to fill out the forms like she was somethin’ better than the rest of us.”

Charlie continued to stare at Alma with a stone cold expression on his face. “Whad’ Chelsea mean…’tell ‘im what ya been doin’, Alma.”

“Nothin’ much, baby, really.”

Charlie continued to look at her, not saying a word.

“Now, Charlie, don’t get all mad okay?” Alma whined.

Charlie answered in a disingenuous tone. “Why would I get mad, Alma? What ‘ya been doin’?”

“Nothin’ much.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I went back to work.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t have heard you correctly.” Charlie’s icy tone sent shivers up her spine. “Could you say that again? So that I can understand.”

“I said I went back to work.” She replied defiantly.

“That’s great, doll, ‘cause I know when you say, ‘back to work’ you couldn’t mean strippin’. Right, Alma? You don’t mean to say you’re dancin’ again.”

“Now, baby, don’t be that way. I had to.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘you had to’?”

“We needed the money.”

“You promised, Alma. When Chels got into her teens you promised you’d stop. That was our deal after she was born. Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“I tried, Charlie, really. But other kind’a jobs don’t pay five hundred a night.”

“I told you no more and I meant it! That’s not something I want my daughter around. Why can’t you work in an office or somethin’?”

“Cause I’m a exotic dancer, that’s why. That’s what I do.”

“Yeah, sure you are. If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Well, I am. That’s what you called me when you came back to Reno. You said I was the best dancer you ever seen. You tol’ me that, Charlie.” Alma whined.

“That was then. This is now. I don’t want ya strippin’ no more. We got a daughter we gotta think about. I got one thing in my life that’s good and clean and sweet and that’s Chelsea. I don’t want my daughter around yur strippin’, whorin’ friends.”

“You’re so nasty, Charlie. Why ya gotta be that way?” Alma trailed her long, red fingernails up Charlie’s forearm. “Don’cha love me no more?”

“Goddamn it, Alma. ‘Course I still love ya. I guess I always will. But, I swear to Christ, sometimes you are as dumb as a box’a rocks.”

“Baby, I had to start dancin’ again. That’s the only way I know how to make good money, ya know that. That old poot who manages the park was after me about the rent. Tol’ me if I didn’t get caught up he’d evict us and sell the trailer. Then where would Chelsea and I be? Besides that, Chels needs stuff.”

“That’s how you’re gonna get it for her? By takin’ your clothes off?” Charlie snarled.

“You can call it exotic dancin’ but you and I both know what your customers expect.” Charlie glared at her and gripped her arm. “You whorin’ Alma?”

“Charlie…!”

The guard rapped the podium with his pencil and called out. “Baldwin! Take it down a couple of notches or your visiting time is over.”  Charlie let go of Alma and sat back in his chair.

“I ain’t whored a day in my life and you know it!” Alma cried. “Shame on you. I ain’t turnin’ tricks. You should know I got more respect for myself than that. I went back to work dancin’…jus’ dancin’. We can’t make it with you in here. And yur never gonna get out if ya keep gettin’ into trouble.” She peeked at him through her lashes.  “Please honey, ya know I can’t do no other kind’a job and make that kind’a money.”

Alma paused to see what Charlie would say. He sat there and stared at her. Alma reached into her pocket and brought out a pack of cards.  “I brung the cards, ya wanna’ play some Gin?”

Chelsea walked up, her hands holding three soda cans. “We gonna’ play cards? Can I play, Daddy?”

“Sure, baby. A nickel a point, okay?”

“Oh, Daddy, you know I ain’t supposed to gamble. You always told me ‘a lady don’t gamble’.”

Charlie laughed. “not suppose to’ gamble, no such word as ‘ain’t. And what I said was, ‘a lady never gambles with her own money.”

He slapped the table and laughed at his own joke. “Deal the cards, Chels.” He looked Alma in the eye, “We ain’t through with this conversation, Alma.”

******

The next segment will appear Wednesday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To recieve each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs. 

Blogging my Novel…. “Women Outside the Walls” (part 3)

Chapter 1

Statesville Prison

Illinois-2011

Kitty

“Mother must be spinning in her grave,” Kitty muttered, as her chauffeur drove up the long driveway to the main entrance of Weston State Prison. “The daughter of a daughter of the American Revolution visiting her husband in prison. My mother would die of shame, except that she’s already gone. Thank God she didn’t live to see this day.”

The tall, distinguished black man, with salt and pepper hair, who drove for Kitty Lancaster, glanced into the rear view mirror. “Excuse me, Ms. Lancaster, Ma’am?” I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing, Beasley. Just drop me at the front door, if you would, and then go and park the car,” Kitty replied.

“Yes‘m.”

Kitty opened her purse and took out a Tiffany makeup mirror and checked that her perfect hair was perfect and that her flawless makeup was flawless. She was not beautiful in the classic sense but she was often referred to as handsome. Her hair, a deep auburn, was styled twice a week. Her personal trainer made certain that she kept fit and trim. Preferring the French designers, her couture clothes were Chanel and conservative.

Gathering her furs about her Kitty shivered as the shiny black town car pulled up to the front steps of the cold, granite building. It wasn’t particularly cold outside but still she trembled when she thought about what she was required to do today.  This was the administration building of the Illinois State Correctional Facility for Men. She had been directed to this place by her attorney for her first visit with her incarcerated husband.

Beasley exited the car, trotted around and opened the rear door for her. Kitty stepped out and stared at the heavy doors where an armed guard stood just inside.

“Ma’am?” Beasley asked. “Are you sure?”

Kitty was silent. As much as she loved her husband, Edward, she wasn’t certain she could do this. She could just imagine the filth, the criminals and the potential violence that awaited her.

“Ma’am?” Beasley repeated.

“What?” Kitty snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, yes Beasley, thank you, I’ll be quite all right.” Kitty straightened her posture and with chin held high, she walked up the steps and through the doors.

The first thing she noticed was the smell and all the other women that waited in the lobby. It reminded her of a DMV office with the uncomfortable chairs and benches. The same smell of old cigarettes and Pine Sol. Along the back wall was a counter manned by a woman in a correctional officer’s uniform. Unrelieved black trousers and tie with a shirt that must have been white and crisp at some point. Her hair was short and frizzy.

She was talking on the telephone and ignored Kitty. Kitty walked to the counter amidst snickers and mumblings from the other women waiting and watching her. Still talking into the phone the woman guard pushed a clipboard over in front of Kitty. Kitty ignored it, tapped her manicured fingernails on the counter and stared at the woman.

With a beleaguered sigh Anne spoke into the telephone. “Hang on a sec.” She covered the receiver with one hand and shoved the clipboard closer to Kitty. “Sign in, please.”

Anne turned back to the phone and continued telling her friend “…so I go over there to the garage and the mechanic says….”

“Excuse me.” Kitty interrupted.

“Hold on again,” snapped Anne. “Sign in and then go have a seat.”

Anne took a closer look at the woman standing in front of her. “You haven’t been here before, hav’ya?” Anne turned back to the phone, “Gotta go, I’ll talk at ya later. Yeah, see ya at Smitty’s at seven.”

Anne hung up the phone and turned to the back wall, gathered several sheets of paper and then turned back to Kitty.

“You’ll need to fill these out. After you’re finished, bring ‘em back to me and sign in here. Be certain to write in the full name of the inmate you are visiting. Who are you here for?”

“Edward Lancaster,” Kitty replied.

“He must be new; doesn’t ring a bell right off. Okay, fill these out, and bring them back to the counter.”

“My dear woman, I don’t believe you know who I am.”

“I’m guessing, Mrs. Edward Lancaster?” Anne said.

“Yes, Mrs. Edward Lancaster, the second, to be exact and I’m here to visit my husband. Now! I don’t see any reason for all these forms. Completely unnecessary,” Kitty sniffed.

She’d used that tone with board members on down to head waiters and it had always gotten her whatever she wanted But oddly it didn’t seem to be working with this five-foot two, one hundred-ten pound, frizzy haired prison guard. She could hear the other women behind her, twittering and murmuring about her interaction with the officer.  I might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on my back, Kitty thought. If looks could kill that blousy redhead’s scorn is literally burning a hole in my silk blouse. Kitty sighed. Oh well, these women are of no concern to me. Just get on with it, Katherine; she admonished herself as she turned back at the sound of Anne’s voice.

“These forms are completely necessary, if you want to see your husband today,” Anne said, staring Kitty down until she blinked.

“Well, really!” Kitty gathered up the forms and stepped aside. She took a gold pen from her purse and began to fill them out. “I had no idea there would be such a fuss,” she muttered.

*****

The next segment will appear Monday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs. 

Review: Dorchester Terrace by Anne Perry

Rating:  4 quills

If you like World War history, you will love this book.  Set in London; while solving an interesting double murder, the characters lead the reader through the factual maze of what led up to World War I.  Politics, world positioning, greed and power were the ingredients of this witch’s brew long before Hitler came along. A tiny country, Austria, was the linchpin and match strike that started the ‘war to end all wars’.  How’d that work out for all of us? Author, Anne Perry tells a good story. Her dialogue is sharp and sometimes witty.  

Blogging my Novel… “Women Outside the Walls” (part 2)

…….A week later Alma still felt humiliated about ‘the kiss’.  She made certain that she avoided Charlie and never went outside when he was home from work. It was seven o’clock in the evening and she knew Charlie was working the night shift at the plant.

Alma peeked out the front curtains. Chances are pretty good that I won’t run into him and if I don’t get out of the house, Alma thought, I’ll surely go crazy.  It’s probably safe enough to walk down to the laundry room. Even though it’s across the street from Cassandra and Charlie’s trailer, she reassured herself, Charlie’s at work by now. 

She stripped the sheets off her bed and gathered up the dirty clothes lying around and tossed them into a basket. Her mother’s loser boyfriend sprawled in a lounger, snoring in front of the television. 

Alma went to the tiny kitchen and took down the jar of quarters from the cabinet and stuffed a handful into her pocket.  She walked through the living room and out the front door. She purposely let the screen door slam.

“Huh? Wha?” the boyfriend jerked out of his chair.

The desert sun was setting and the temperature had dropped so it was a pleasant walk in spite of the heavy basket of dirty clothes she carried.  Alma opened the door to the laundry room and backed through it with the large basket held tightly in front of her. As she turned around she realized that the room was not empty.  Big as life, there was Cassandra cramming clothes into a machine. 

Isn’t this just great? Alma thought, can’t I catch a break, just once?

“Hi.” Alma said.

“Hi.” Cassandra said, not looking at Alma.

 “How’re things?” Alma asked.

“Maybe she’ll say something about Charlie.   Cassandra turned around and Alma saw that her eyes were puffy, her nose was red, and her skin was all blotchy.

 “Hey, what’s wrong?” Alma asked.

 “Nothin’!” Cassandra snapped. “Mind your own business.”

“Okay, sor-rey. I was just askin’. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

Alma began loading clothes into two machines and angrily fed quarters into the slots.

Cassandra looked over.  “Look, kid, I’m sorry, okay?”  Cassandra sniffled. “It’s just something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Guy trouble, huh?  You and Charlie have a fight or somethin’?” Alma asked, jealousy smeared all over her words.

Cassandra collapsed on a bench and began to cry.  “He’s gone,” she whispered.

“What?” Alma said.

“He left me.  Said he won’t be back.  I thought…” She began to cry harder.  “I thought we had somethin’.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Alma’s voice was too loud but she couldn’t seem to help it.

 “What don’t ya understand about the word ‘gone’, kid? Adios, vamoosed, vanished. Get it?”  Cassandra cried.  “He told me he couldn’t hang around anymore.  Told me it was great while it lasted. Basically, the bastard kissed me off!”  Cassandra replied. 

Alma stared at Cassandra for a few seconds, set her basket down carefully on top of the washing machine. She turned, and walked out the door of the laundry. In a daze, she walked down the road.  Charlie was gone?  Without telling me he was going? Why?  We’re friends.  How could he do this and not tell me?  How could he leave and not take me with him? She stumbled back to the trailer and up the stairs to the front door. As she entered the living room her mother’s boyfriend was awake and slugging down another beer. 

With a loud belch, he gazed up at Alma. “Hey, kid,  there’s a letter for you.  I think I put it here some- where.”  He patted his dirty wife beater undershirt as if the letter was lurking somewhere between his hairy chest and the large stomach that hung over his belt buckle.

He looked around and then laughed.  “Oh, yeah, here it is.  Guess I was usin’ it for a coaster last night.”  He sheepishly lifted his beer can off an envelope and wiped it against his T-shirt where the can had left a wet ring.  “Oops, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Gemme that!” Alma snatched the envelope out of his hand.

“Jesus, you don’t have to get so pissy,” he said.

Alma rushed down the hall to her bedroom. The letter had to be from Charlie. No one wrote to her.  She slammed her door shut, locked it and crawled onto her bed.  The envelope had only her name across the front; no return name or address and no stamp.  She carefully tore the end off and unfolded the single sheet. She quickly read the signature at the bottom.  She smiled.  It was from Charlie!  He hadn’t forgotten me totally.

‘Ladybug,
I’ll be gone when you read this. Gotta go, kid. Your first kiss was more than I bargained for and it would be a big mistake for me to hang around.’  Unshed tears filled her eyes, Alma read on.  ‘I’m not comin’ back and it would be better if you forgot about me. I’m sure gonna try to forget about you and that kiss.
Take care of yourself and remember what I said, about bein’ choosey.  
Your friend always, Charlie’

Alma read it again and then a third time.  She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.  The kiss meant as much to Charlie as it had to me.  He loves me.  But, he’s gone.  It doesn’t make any sense.  Why did he leave?  It’s because I’m a kid and he’s older.  But, doesn’t he know that I don’t care about that?

 “Oh, Charlie, how could you?” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.  She curled into a small ball with the letter clutched to her chest.  He was gone and her heart was broken. 

**** 

The next segment will appear this Friday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To recieve each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.  

 

 

Inspiration…sitting in traffic..ever happen to you?

                  I was sitting, in my car, on a freeway, (some might say a parking lot), stuck in traffic, not moving.  To while away the time I was reading the bumper stickers and signs in the back windows of other automobiles.  It suddenly struck me; the parallel between totems, talismans, and these stickers, magnets, paste-ons that modern man posts on his steel steed to declare his beliefs. Wondering if I’d ever get home.

Here is an excerpt of the poetry that was born while impatiently sitting in traffic.  Writing on a restaurant napkin, old receipt, the back of a grocery list… lest I forget my words~~~~

Totem and Talisman  ©

Totem. Storyteller of the tribe’s history and lore,

felled and carved in reverence, from the tree centuries old  sculpted in living wood;

a face, a fish, a spirit, a bear, the sun, the moon

Totems live on as statuary in the garden;  a wooden rooster tops the mail box.

A mural brushed upon a barn wall; the flag of a beloved country, the star of a lone state.

The Nations painted their sturdy, brave little horses before battle…

a circle of paint about the eye for truer vision, hand prints on shoulder

and flank to ward off the spear

Today’s tribes paint their vehicles with bumper stickers, magnetic ribbons,

and window decals. All proclaiming some truth, totems to tell other tribes what they believe.

Support this, hate that, down with this, up with that.  Proud to be a redneck,

a woman, a boater, a christian, a Viet Nam vet, proud to be a farmer,

a republican, a parent, a fisherman.  Prouder still to be a soldier,

a grandpa, a boy scout, a sailor, a golfer, an Irishman, a lover of guns.’ ©

Keep yourself open to inspiration…eyes, ears, brain and heart.  You will be inspired by strange and wonderful things and you will write strange and wonderful things. You will leave totems for following generations to read.

To read more of my poetry……..click here

Blogging My Book, “Women Outside the Walls” (part 1)

Nina Amir, writer for Writer’s Digest has written a book called, How to Blog a Book and I thought to myself, ‘what a great idea….share my novel by blogging it in segments over the next few months.’  So here it is, readers. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday there will be a new segment or chapter.  I hope you enjoy it!

WOMEN OUTSIDE the WALLS  (c)

               

A Novel by Trisha Sugarek

~Prologue~ 

Reno, Nevada

1992  

Scorching, desert sun soaked into the roof of the mobile homes, the aluminum so old and weathered that there was no reflection. Heat shimmered off the trailers, the rusted out cars parked in the weeds, and even the dirt. An abandoned tricycle laid on its side, the red paint worn away and one wheel missing.  A young girl bolted out the front door of one of the older trailers and scrambled down the four wooden steps to the road.

“You get back here, ya little bitch!” a male voice bellowed from inside. 

The girl sauntered down the street between other mobile homes just like hers.  A jaunty baseball cap shielded her face from the blinding light. Her sandals flapped on the hot pavement. She wore pristine white short shorts and a pink sleeveless blouse tied off at the waist.

As far as the eye could see were rust streaked, silver trailers with faded trim, red dirt and black sticky pavement with not a shrub or a flower in sight.  This was her life and she couldn’t wait to get out.

The few damp tendrils that had escaped her hat sparkled with fire where the sun touched them.  Even though Alma had just turned sixteen,  her body had  blossomed into that of a full grown beautiful woman. As she walked away she muttered to herself. 

It’ll be a cold day in you-know-where before I take orders from one of Mom’s boyfriends. How can she stand them? Ugh!  You’ll never catch me settling for some low life boyfriend.  I don’t take guff off nobody.  Especially not from some lousy, drunken, pig of a step-father, or ‘uncle’ or whatever the heck Mom’s calling this one.

Alma was concentrating on where she was going and what her future might hold when a deep voice called out.

“Hey, Lady Bug! Where you off to in such a hurry?” 

Alma’s head snapped up and when she recognized the voice calling from behind a screen door, a smile lit up her face. She slowed her angry march as she came up to the door of the neighboring trailer, accenting the sway of her hips. 

“Hey, Charlie!” Alma purred.  “Just goin’ for a stroll; wanna come along?”

“Sure, lemme get my beer.” the man replied as he stepped back into his door and almost instantly reappeared.  He joined Alma in the middle of the street and they began to walk. The man was in his early twenties, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in physique.

He was unbelievably handsome, with shaggy, light brown hair that just touched the collar of his shirt. His cobalt blue eyes, with silver flecks, sparkled when he looked at her.  As they walked down the middle of the road, Alma’s smile had slowly faded and she appeared deep in thought.

“Whas’ up?  You’re awful serious today.”

“It’s nothin’.” Alma said.“Come on now, tell Charlie what’s buggin’ ya,” he replied.

“It’s just that creep my Mom’s got livin’ with us.  What a loser!” Once Alma started the floodgates seemed to open.  Charlie was her best friend and always listened, really listened to her.

 “He lays around all day drinkin’ beer while she goes out to work.  Then when she comes home he claims he was out lookin’ for a job. She has a few beers with him and then the arguing begins. I don’t know why she keeps pickin’ these losers.” She sighed.

 “She moves one of ‘em in, pays the bills, and supports the bum. In the end it’s always the same; they fight every night and finally he smacks her around and she kicks ‘im to the curb. I am never gonna’ have a boy friend like that!  I’ve got plans, big plans, believe you me!”

Charlie stopped in the road and Alma walked a few steps before she realized he wasn’t beside her anymore. She stopped and looked around.

“What?” she asked.

“He’s not botherin’ you, is he?”

“What’d ya mean?”

“He’s not touchin’ ya?”

“Ha!  That’ll be the day!  Just let ‘im try somethin’ like that!  I’ll kill him!”

“You sure?” Charlie insisted.

“Wha’d  you care?” she asked.

Charlie scowled at her. “I thought we were friends, Alma.  Friends look out for friends.”

“Well, thanks, but you don’t need to worry. He wouldn’t dare try anything like that.  Besides, he’s not my type.”

“Oh, really? And what would be your type be, at the wise ol’ age of fifteen?” Charlie laughed.

“Sixteen!” she corrected him. “Last week and you know it. Anyway, my type is none of your beeswax.”

 “Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers….” Charlie cleared his throat realizing what he had been about to say. I’ve got no right to refer to a young girl’s knickers in any context. “Ah….I mean…don’t get all mad and everything.  I was just wondering.”

He paused, thinking about her turning sixteen.  “So…how does that old saying go? ‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.’ Would that describe you?”

Alma blushed at how close Charlie was to the truth.  Why does he only see a child when he looks at me?  What I want is for him to realize that I’m a woman now and that he’s my type. How can I convince him of that when he’s with Cassandra? She wondered to herself. How can I compete with a tall, willowy blonde waitress who works a real job at the diner? I have to do something.

As they walked along, Alma took off her cap and shook out her hair.  Reddish gold flared to life as the sun’s rays found her hair.

She smirked sideways at Charlie “You volunteering to be the first?” she asked.

“Me?!  No way. In case you haven’t noticed, kiddo, you’re jail bait.”

It‘s now or never. Alma decided. This is a perfect opportunity to get my first kiss and if I play it right, it could be with Charlie.

“’Cause if you are, volunteering that is, I wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

 Alma buried her face in the fall of her long hair.  She was dying of embarrassment. What if he turns me down?  I’ll lock myself in my bedroom and never come out.

They had walked past the mobile home park and out into the desert. The sun was cradled in the saddle of the distant mountains and everything was turning a soft purplish pink.  Charlie took her hand and led her off the road and into the shade of a mesquite tree. With his hand, he playfully dusted off a large flat rock.

 “Sit.” He ordered. “Okay, here’s the deal, Alma. We’re friends.  I hope you know I would never hurt you.  So, I’m gonna tell you a few home truths.  Don’t be in such a danged hurry to get your first kiss or… anything. You got lots of time. Be choosey.  Don’t go with the first guy who asks you.  And whatever you do, don’t sell yourself short or cheap.”

“Jeez, forget it! I don’t want your danged old kiss.  I was just seein’ if you would.”

Charlie scowled down at her. “You know I’m with Cassandra for however long it lasts and I’m a one-woman-at-a-time kinda guy.”

Tears glistened in Alma’s eyes.  “Are you sayin’ that I’m cheap?”

“God, no! I was just sayin’ slow down.”

 “Oh.” Alma thought that over. She looked up at Charlie through her long, brown eyelashes.

“You never gave me a birthday present, Charlie.”

Alma’s lightning change of subjects had Charlie scrambling to catch up with her. “Well, I’ve been busy with work and all…”

Alma’s eyes flashed with mischief.  “So, now I know what I want from you for my birthday.”

“And what’s that?” Charlie asked.

“My first kiss, from you…”

“Goddamnit! Alma, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been sayin’?”

Alma stood up. “Yes I have. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m now sixteen, have never been kissed and you owe me a birthday present.

Besides I feel safe with you.”

“Alma, don’t ask that of me.  It’s not right.  I’m twenty-three and you’re just a kid. I’m old enough to be your…” He fumbled for an example of a family member.

 “Older cousin?  Older ‘kissin’ cousin?” Alma grinned up into his face. “Come on, Charlie.  I want my first to be from someone I lo…like… Who’s a friend and who has some experience.  You do have experience, don’cha?”

“Knock it off, Bug.  A’course I got experience.  But the problem is, you don’t.  I would feel like a perv.”

Alma decided she had to take matters into her own hands.  Before Charlie knew what she was about to do, she grabbed his shirt front and mashed her body against his.  Wrapping her arms around his neck she rose up on the tips of her toes and put her lips against his, not certain what to do next. His lips were so soft and warm she thought her bones would melt.

There was an instant when the world stood still for both of them.  Then Charlie’s arm encircled Alma’s waist and his other hand cradled the back of her head.  He broke away an inch and looked into her eyes which had darkened from their usual coppery hue to a rich brandy color.

I am so going to regret this, Charlie thought. This is exactly what I have been trying to stay away from… she’s just a kid, for Chrissakes. Groaning, he bent down and kissed her mouth softly. 

Alma made a purring sound in the back of her throat.  Charlie lightly licked her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.  Her lips opened on a sigh. Need flooded Alma’s innocent body. A growl emitted from Charlie’s chest as his tongue played with hers. 

My God, some dark recess of Charlie’s brain still worked, this is so wrong. Why does this feel like it’s my first kiss? My heart feels too big for my chest and other parts of me are swiftly getting out of control. What the hell…? Space…lots of space between me and this young goddess is what I need.  He kissed her gently once more, then taking her firmly by her arms, set her away from him.

 “There ya go, Bug, your first kiss.”He laughed to cover the storm of emotions that were bubbling up inside him. What was going on here?This is just a kid, a girl, never in a million years is she right for me. He laughed again.

Alma flinched at Charlie’s laugh.  My first kiss ever and it’s more exciting than anything I’ve ever fantasized about and he stands there laughing? I won’t cry, I won’t!  At least not in front of him.

She flipped her hair back. “Yep!  And not half bad for an old guy,” she retorted.  “Thanks, Charlie.” 

Alma whirled around and ran down the road as if she was being chased by devils.  Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed out her hurt.  I’m in love for the first time and he laughs?

“Hey, Alma, wait a sec,” Charlie yelled after her.  “What the hell just happened?” he muttered to himself.

Alma ran all the way back to her trailer, pounded up the steps and through the front door. As she stumbled down the hallway a drunken voice followed her.

 “Hey, baby, get your Daddy a beer, would ya?”

“Fuck off!” Alma yelled back as she slammed her bedroom door and threw herself onto her bed in a torrent of tears.

* * * *

The next segment will appear this Wednesday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls….. 

To recieve each segment automatically sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks! 

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs. 

 

 

 

 

A foggy night, at a ferry landing, inspired me…(part 4)

I was sitting, late one night, at a ferry landing, waiting and watching the boats ferry back and forth until it was my turn to board.  Fog horns, misty fog, reflections on the black water, the screech of the gulls, and the silent hunting of the pelicans.

The wet air, the silence, the sound of a lone fog horn warning vessels of danger.  The fog smearing everything I looked at… I was inspired  to write poetry.  But the scene could have inspired a murder mystery writer to write about a body, weighted down, being slipped into the water;  or it could have inspired a romance writer to write about two lovers parting as the boat docked.  Never to be together again.  For me, it was poetry.  Here is an excerpt of what came out of that black night……..

FOGGY NIGHT  © 

The white orb, saturated with tidal flows 

peers through the veil, 

a ghost ship slips up the fog laden channel

 Night gulls’ sing with strident cries 

fog seeps in, the tide rolls out, 

day is gone, the night creeps on 

Trees, dressed in ebony, drift by 

water glistens, gold and wet 

Night is soft and tender, edges blurred 

damp seeps into cloth, hair, bone 

Fog casts tents of light over the landing 

Hunters of the sea know not day nor night 

Fishers all, white feathers stark 

against the night shadows 

Palm trees, silhouetted against the ochre gauze, 

brushes hardened with black paint……

I raced home as I had nothing to write with in the car.  Opening my front door, I dropped my keys and purse onto a chair, tore off my coat as I sped down the hall to my studio.  Waking up my computer, my fingers flew across the key board, lest I forget the words that were born in the night.

To read more click here for the book, "Butterflies and Bullets"

 

 

 

 

In remembrance….9.11.12

 I wrote this poetry (Haiku) after visiting the rebuilding site at ground zero September 2011.   The grief was still fresh but there was hope mixed in….   

Ground Zero 9.11.11 

Heartache fills the chest

Terrorists murdered thousands 

Pain is fresh and new 

Haunts walk the gardens 

Four hundred trees, firemen all 

the fountain of tears 

Green leafed trees stand tall 

Names carved never to forget 

Red, white, blue flies proud

and  

Anniversary 9.11.11 

I wait to exhale 

will terrorists celebrate 

with their big loud bang? 

walking among us 

to celebrate what they did 

murder innocence 

today, a grief day 

remember a bright, fall day 

ten short years ago