V.L. Locey's Blog, page 79
December 15, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Dance
Welcome back to Tuesday Tales! It's time for more romance. Today we have the rest of issue three for my multicultural romance serial Wind in White Birch. We pick up after Dana gets an unexpected phone call from Jonah.
Our word prompt this week is 'Dance.' Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Wind in White Birch
Oh God. The tingle grew into an erratic spasm of heart muscle. I gave him my personal number, hung up, and ran outside. My aunts and grandmother watched me dash past with various looks ranging from happiness to confusion to downright ire. Before I even had the door closed properly my What`s New Pussycatringtone erupted in my pocket. The wind tore through my slacks and thin green sweater. It was freezing out here. Maybe I should have gone down to the basement. Ah well, too late now. If I went back in my grandmother would be all over me like ugly on an ape for telling her and my aunts to shut up.
“Hey!” I said trying to sound chipper despite the minus seven wind chill.
“Hey, listen, are you doing anything this weekend?” Jonah asked. I heard an underlying river of excitement in his voice.
“Well, I have a family birthday party to go to tomorrow night but then I`m free. Why?” I turned away from the pedestrians and the arctic zephyrs roaring down 22ndStreet and started dancing to stay warm.
“How would you like to come up here for the weekend? I have something to show you.” I hesitated. He picked right up on it.“I swear I am not inviting you up here to try to lure you into bed,” he said and I believed him. He had been given a glowing chance to have his way with me back on that disastrous first date of ours. Jonah had been more than a gentleman, kindly and gently refusing to let things get out of hand when I was tipsy.
“I know. I was just hesitant because of Rhett.” I winced as it came out. Here it came. The reality finally sinking into the young man`s head that the older woman had a kid and that kid would muck up their plans. “His father is out of town for two weeks on a photo shoot and I can`t ask my grandmother to watch him for that long. He`d run her into a hole.”
“Rhett can come along. We`ve got snow up here. We`ll do some snowmobiling, if you`re cool with that?”
Okay. That muscle spasm in my heart I mentioned earlier? It was now more than a mere spasm. It was a full-fledged Charlie horse of girly coronary stimulation.
“You`re okay with Rhett coming.” I said it as a dull statement tinged with shock, not a question. I could almost see him rolling those ebony eyes at my slow-witted ways. “Are you for real?”
He laughed. The vibrations raced across phone lines and directly into my body, making all sorts of heat pool in very private places. Suddenly the wind and bitter temperatures didn`t feel so bad. It was actually kind of pleasant out here. Like a spring day!
“Yeah, I think I am anyway. So, what do you say? I`ll come down and get you and the midget tomorrow. I can peel out of work early and be at your place around seven?”
It was hard to put him off. His enthusiasm was contagious and I didn`t even know what had him so animated.
“I have that party,” I reminded him staring through the frosty glass on the door. “It starts at seven.”
“Oh, well how about I meet you there and then we can leave after you socialize for awhile? I mean, if that`s what you want to do. I don`t want you to feel like I`m pressuring you to spend time with me if you don`t-”
“No! I mean, no, I would love to spend the weekend with you. Where would we stay?”
“You can stay at my place, or, if that`s too uncomfortable for you, Andy has a huge house and he already said you were more than welcome.”
Okay. That sounded reasonable. Rhett and I would stay at Jonah`s grandfathers. That way no hint of hanky or panky could take place. I had to keep my foot firmly on the brake. It had been over a year since I had ‘been with’ a man. I didn`t want my lust to override my common sense if at all possible.
“Uhm, are you sure you want to spend a couple hours with my family?” I asked, my nose pressed to the cold pane of glass. My aunts and grandmother were in quite a heated conversation. When Aunt Mary saw me she smiled and waved. All the well lipsticked mouths clamped shut. Yep. They were talking about me.
“Dana, I`m fine with your family. I already know Miss Jo and her dog. How bad can the rest be?”
I caught the infrared glare from my grandmother. I blew on the glass to obliterate my face to those inside.
“Oh, you`d be amazed,” I sighed.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors. The Tuesday Tales authors are taking a small holiday break and will return, with more tales to warm your heart, on December 30th. Have a wonderful holiday season everyone!
Tuesday Tales
December 14, 2014
Caretaker, Forgive Thyself
Many of you know, but perhaps some do not, that I lost my father on November 12th. Pop had lived 89 wonderful years, and had battled cancer twice. The third time he just couldn`t beat that darn disease, and his health declined rapidly in little over three months. Things started going downhill after he went into renal failure in August. He rallied from that near-death experience but his mind was never the same. He had to go into a local nursing home for rehab in hopes he would return to his apartment, but that never came to fruition, sadly.
I'm not sharing all of this sadness to gain sympathy. We all have lost loved ones, and as adult children, we know someday we will bury our parents. The reason that I'm sharing this is to tell those of you who are trying to do your best in taking care of an elderly parent with mental issues that it is okay to feel angry or burdened. Those are normal emotions. They do not mean you love your parent any less. It simply means that at times, the responsibility will get to you, even if your loved one is in a nursing home. It is a terribly heavy burden for one person to carry. Yes, there were siblings that could have stepped up to help, but they did not. Again, I'm not here to rant or rail over that. We all have to look at ourselves in the mirror every day.
After talking with friends and loved ones during this trying time, it became clear to me that everyone must handle the heartache and heavy burden in their own way. For me it was to place my father in a care facility that had the 24-hour nursing he required. For someone else, the decision may be different. My house was not large enough for another person, and in all honesty, I knew I could not be his nurse. I did not have the training or the emotional strength needed. There were days when he would yell and call me names or accuse me of trampling his rights. I left the nursing home in tears many times as the father that I knew slipped further and further away.
There is no stock answer, no right or wrong when it comes to a decision about a loved one in that kind of situation. What works for one person may not for another. Don`t judge too harshly, my friends. Instead of speaking ill of a son or daughter who is struggling, perhaps give that caregiver a few warm words. Offer them some coffee and a nonjudgmental ear. Let them unburden themselves, because you may be the only person that poor soul has that will listen and care.
In addition, caregiver: daughter or son, step-son or step-daughter, grandson or granddaughter, please know that there are people who understand. Forgive yourself. You are doing the very best you can under terribly trying times. It's okay to feel mad, dejected, scared, abandoned, and confused. Those are your emotions and you are entitled to each one of them. Face each day as a new one, knowing that you are doing your best to make the last days of your loved one as safe and comfortable as you can, even if it seems that loved one is not aware of what it is you are doing. They know. Deep in that heart that may soon stop beating, they know, and they love you even more for being there with them when no other would.
December 10, 2014
Throwback Thursday Tune
One of my favorite snappy holiday tunes. Join me as we rock around the Christmas tree with the talented Brenda Lee!
The Futures So Bright I Have to Wear Skates!
Wait. I think that`s supposed to be shades. Oh well. In this case skates makes more sense. I have come incredible news to share with my friends and fans. Last night I signed on the dotted line with Secret Cravings Publishing to bring you a new erotic hockey romance series, the Venom series!
What is a bit different about the Philadelphia Venom series is that the books revolve around a women`s professional ice hockey team as opposed to the standard male hockey heroes. We get to see the team built from the ground up as Clean Sweep kicks off the proposed series with a tentative electronic release set for August 2015.
There are at least nine novels outlined for the Venom series so far, and are as follows: Clean Sweep, Twirly Girl, Tape to Tape, Angle Play, Blueline Blues, Long Change, Flow, Quick Whistle, and Visitor`s Bench.
You'll be able to meet the Venom`s new head coach, Jane Bratkowski, at the end of the Final Shifts, the last Wildcat novel. I think you'll like Jane, I know I do. She is one crusty cookie on the outside but inside . . . well, inside she`s a little softer than she would like to admit.
I am just over the moon and I hope my readers will enjoy the women of the Venom as much as they did the Wildcats. I guarantee you that my leading ladies will continue to be diverse, strong, realistic women who fit into no molds. And their leading men will always be the kind of men you fantasize about.
Thank you all for your support. If it weren`t for my family, friends and my fans none of this would be happening. I love you all. *hugs*
Let`s Go Wildcats!
Let`s Go Venom!
The Future`s So Bright I Have to Wear Skates!
Wait. I think that`s supposed to be shades. Oh well. In this case skates makes more sense. I have come incredible news to share with my friends and fans. Last night I signed on the dotted line with Secret Cravings Publishing to bring you a new erotic hockey romance series, the Venom series!
What is a bit different about the Philadelphia Venom series is that the books revolve around a women`s professional ice hockey team as opposed to the standard male hockey heroes. We get to see the team built from the ground up as Clean Sweep kicks off the proposed series with a tentative electronic release set for August 2015.
There are at least nine novels outlined for the Venom series so far, and are as follows: Clean Sweep, Twirly Girl, Tape to Tape, Angle Play, Blueline Blues, Long Change, Flow, Quick Whistle, and Visitor`s Bench.
You'll be able to meet the Venom`s new head coach, Jane Bratkowski, at the end of the Final Shifts, the last Wildcat novel. I think you'll like Jane, I know I do. She is one crusty cookie on the outside but inside . . . well, inside she`s a little softer than she would like to admit.
I am just over the moon and I hope my readers will enjoy the women of the Venom as much as they did the Wildcats. I guarantee you that my leading ladies will continue to be diverse, strong, realistic women who fit into no molds. And their leading men will always be the kind of men you fantasize about.
Thank you all for your support. If it weren`t for my family, friends and my fans none of this would be happening. I love you all. *hugs*
Let`s Go Wildcats!
Let`s Go Venom!
December 8, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt
Welcome back! It's time for more romance.
We have a picture prompt this week so the excerpt is written to reflect the image and must be three hundred words or under. This week we have the first three hundreds words of issue three, and next week we'll have the rest of this issue. Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Wind in White Birch
It`s so funny how the mind conjures up smells to tantalize and befuddle merely from hearing someone` s voice. Standing amid the carnage that is my family I could smell Jonah Big Deer. Yes, he was in a different state but my nose seemed to think he was right beside me. The dark spice and evergreen scent of the man nearly overwhelmed me. It stirred up a wintery scene in my mind, for I will always associate Jonah with nature, wood smoke, and the touch of snowflakes on the skin. Then reality barged in and opened a damned window. The sensual smell of sexy man was replaced with a cloud of dollar store perfume and Ben-Gay.
“Can you hold on for one minute?” I asked sweetly.
“Sure, sounds like your busy,” he said. That deep sinful bass rumbling out of the phone nearly gave me an eargasm.
“Sort of,” I smiled stupidly, placed the phone to my shoulder then spun around like a possessed woman. “Can you please shut up?” I shouted at the Zajac sisters.
All five women and one wiener dog fell into silence. My grandmother`s penciled eyebrows flew up to her red hairline. Shit. That outburst was going to cost me.
“Sorry honey,” Jo-Jo cooed, waddling over to fetch her dog. I nodded and lifted the phone. “Keep it down you old bats. That`s hot Jonah on the phone!”
My stomach lurched. Jo gave me a big thumbs ups. I could hear Jonah chuckling back in New York State.
“Can you call me on my cell?” I turned my back to the low whispers.
“Sure, can you give it to me again? I lost it. Do you know how many bookstores there are in Pittsburgh?” he inquired. Something tingled in my heart.
“You called them all?” I sighed like a tween spotting Justin Beiber.
“It was the only way to get in touch with you.”
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
We have a picture prompt this week so the excerpt is written to reflect the image and must be three hundred words or under. This week we have the first three hundreds words of issue three, and next week we'll have the rest of this issue. Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Wind in White Birch
It`s so funny how the mind conjures up smells to tantalize and befuddle merely from hearing someone` s voice. Standing amid the carnage that is my family I could smell Jonah Big Deer. Yes, he was in a different state but my nose seemed to think he was right beside me. The dark spice and evergreen scent of the man nearly overwhelmed me. It stirred up a wintery scene in my mind, for I will always associate Jonah with nature, wood smoke, and the touch of snowflakes on the skin. Then reality barged in and opened a damned window. The sensual smell of sexy man was replaced with a cloud of dollar store perfume and Ben-Gay.
“Can you hold on for one minute?” I asked sweetly.
“Sure, sounds like your busy,” he said. That deep sinful bass rumbling out of the phone nearly gave me an eargasm.
“Sort of,” I smiled stupidly, placed the phone to my shoulder then spun around like a possessed woman. “Can you please shut up?” I shouted at the Zajac sisters.
All five women and one wiener dog fell into silence. My grandmother`s penciled eyebrows flew up to her red hairline. Shit. That outburst was going to cost me.
“Sorry honey,” Jo-Jo cooed, waddling over to fetch her dog. I nodded and lifted the phone. “Keep it down you old bats. That`s hot Jonah on the phone!”
My stomach lurched. Jo gave me a big thumbs ups. I could hear Jonah chuckling back in New York State.
“Can you call me on my cell?” I turned my back to the low whispers.
“Sure, can you give it to me again? I lost it. Do you know how many bookstores there are in Pittsburgh?” he inquired. Something tingled in my heart.
“You called them all?” I sighed like a tween spotting Justin Beiber.
“It was the only way to get in touch with you.”
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
Language of Love Cover Reveal! Exclusive Excerpt!
Hold onto your helmets Wildcats fans! The sexy hot cover for Language of Love, book 5 of the To Love a Wildcat series, is here. I have some strong suspicions that Isabelle, aka Mama Wildcat, is not going to be happy that her only cub is in Petro`s arms and bed. Release day for Margarite`s book is 1/5/15!
Grab your spray bottles and get ready for the sizzle!
*~*~*
Life was so much easier for Margarite Lancourt before she had set eyes on Petro Shevenko. Her diploma to teach hearing impaired children would be in her hand within a year. Then she would find the right man, the right neighborhood, and bear the right children. Her deafness was not going to get in the way of her aspirations. But were they her dreams or her mother`s?
Now that she has met Petro, the Wildcats sexy new acquisition who has an unquenchable thirst for the wild side of life, Margarite`s nicely mapped out life is in chaos. Can she tame this unruly Russian Wildcat? Or will his family demons drag him, and Margarite, back into the darkness the couple have struggled to break free from?
*~*~*
How about an exclusive excerpt from Language of Love?
Placing my purse back on my shoulder, I turned the knob slowly. The aroma of stinky pads, sweaty skates, soap, unwashed man, and old socks hit my nose. I hurried to close the locker room door. If Petro were in there, he could stay in there. Rubbing at my affronted nose, I glanced back the way I came. Something wet hit my arm. I jumped in fright. Spinning around I saw him, leaning on the doorway of another room minus his skates and jersey. I threw a glare at the wet washcloth he had chucked at me. Then I grabbed it off the dirty floor and flung it back at him. It missed by ten feet or more. Petro laughed then stepped back into the open door behind him. Down the hall I went, my purse slapping my hip, my hair bouncing, my eyes locked on my goal.
I slammed into the training center. Massage tables, cold plunge tubs, and whirlpools greeted me, as did the Russian Romeo. Petro was shucking off his padding. The door drifted shut. He threw his shoulder pads to the floor. My mouth filled with saliva. I swallowed roughly then stood there, rooted to the spot, as he worked on divesting himself of every damn bit of gear he had on. When he got down to his compression shorts, my legs grew a little rubbery. Down they came, as did his cup. I ogled his ass. He gave me a sly look over his shoulder before he walked toward a whirlpool. He took just a moment to turn the jets on then he stepped down into the frothy water.
"Come," he called over the rumble of the whirlpool. I chewed my lip with indecision. Dare I?
December 5, 2014
Wounded Warrior Blog Hop
Hello, and welcome to my blog. Thank you for participating in the Secret Cravings Publishing Wounded Warrior Blog Hop. My name is V. L. Locey and I write erotic hockey romances for SCP. I'm honored to be able to take part in such a worthwhile cause, and encourage everyone to do what they can for veterans this holiday season, and throughout the year. Each author participating in this blog has made a holiday donation to the Wounded Warrior Foundation.
I was lucky enough to have a wonderful Navy veteran in my life. Pop just passed away on November 12th, and while going through his papers I found something that I thought would be interesting to share during our hop. Imagine my surprise to find my father`s original discharge papers!
As you can see the envelope is a bit ragged, but the honorable discharge form is still in perfect condition. On the back of the form is listed all the important information about Pop`s service time - 8/23/43 to 5/30/45 - and the various vessels and stations he served on. Also listed on the back are his monthly rate of pay when discharged, which was $66.00, and the fact that Pop had been furnished a travel allowance of 5 cents per mile from Mare Island, CA to Philadelphia, PA, which was where he lived.
Finding these papers was a lovely way to share the past with my daughter. I hope you enjoyed this peek into the past of a World War II Navy veteran and a truly great man, husband, and father. Tell me about the vet in your life in the comment section below for a chance to win a free digital copy of any of my Secret Cravings Books. I'll pick one random winner from among the comments, so please make sure to leave contact information. Without it I can't contact you to give you your prize!
Thank you for dropping by and may you and yours have a wonderful holiday season. Don`t forget to hop back to the main blog and visit the other SCP authors who are taking part. There are tons of prizes to be won!
Secret Cravings Blog
December 4, 2014
Throwback Thursday Tune
Isn`t this just a gas? I dare you not to sing this song all day now. So many of Neil Sedaka`s songs were catchy. Do you have a favorite?
December 1, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Raid
Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!
It's time for more romance. Today we have the second issue of my multicultural romance serial Wind in White Birch. Our word prompt this week is 'Raid.' Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I apologize for the wonky formatting. Blogger decided to act up this week.
Wind in White Birch
My ass met the stool soundly. There they were. The five women who had shaped me into the round-bottomed, halushki-loving person I am. First in the door, as always, came the leader of the Clairton Corp despite being the third youngest of the five sisters. My grandmother Helen: the woman that raised me after my parents had been killed in a car crash. Grandma always entered any place first. How do I describe my grandmother? Have you ever seen Endora on Bewitched? My grandmother could be Agnes Moorehead`s stunt double, right down to the waspish attitude, red hair and love of eye shadow and false eyelashes. She also has as much time for my ex Rhick as Endora did for Derwood. Today she was dressed in purple from her eggplant hued snow boots to her plum eye shadow. Next in the round little Polish woman parade was Aunt Anne. Aunt Anne is the tallest of the sisters (coming in at a gargantuan five foot four) the second oldest, and the one who bakes the best pies. Just ask, she`ll tell you. And if you don`t ask for some odd reason, she`ll tell you anyway. Aunt Anne is a stately woman with silver curls, serious blue eyes, and a rather gruff attitude. She was in varying shades of teal and white. My aunt Elizabeth came in next, her elbow held by my beloved Aunt Josephine. Actually Aunt Jo`s dachshund Leopold G. Poopbottom came in next after wriggling out of Aunt Jo`s zebra skin tote bag (to match her zebra leggings and coat)on the way up the six outside steps. Four little feet hit the floor. Bongo Cat took one look at the dog and climbed the nearest wooden shelving unit like a streak, never stopping until he sat over above us like a vulture hoping for a wiener dog death to occur. Aunt Bitty, as we call her, is the oldest of the Zajac girls and just celebrated her ninety-first birthday. Aunt Bitty weighs about eighty pounds, has glasses as thick as saltshakers and suffers from memory loss. Aunt Jo, the youngest of the sisters, is a tomato-shaped woman with the glint of Lucifer in her eyes. She is never happier than when she is tormenting the living piss out of my grandmother. Aunt Mary came hurrying in, short of breath and unable to see due to foggy bifocals. “I ran out of nickels,” Mary said, stumbling towards the sounds of her sisters with one arm in front of her like a blind zombie. “Helen, do you have any more nickels?” “There`s enough nickels in the damn meter, Mary. We could be safely parked out there until the end of days, I`m sure,” Aunt Anne sniped. “Leopold, get your little ass back here!” Jo-Jo shouted. The dog was dancing on his back feet under the baleful glare of Bongo Drum. “Josephine, for the love of God, would you get that dog under control before he pees on the floor!” That last comment was from my grandmother. There is no worse happenstance than pee on the floor. Humanity as we know it will hang in the balance until the hypothetical piddle puddle is cleaned up. “Oh lighten up, Helen, it`s only pee,” Jo-Jo said, leading Aunt Bitty past the bouncing dachshund in a hand-knitted yellow sweater. Herr Poopbottom had the yellow sweater. Aunt Bitty`s was green and inside out. Where Aunt Bitty`s coat was remained a secret. “What if the police come and see our time ran out?” Mary fretted, pulling out a stool for Elizabeth. Aunt Mary was a lean woman, with strands of silver in her still dark hair. She was the bead worker of the group and made the most beautiful holiday ornaments for the church`s Christmas bazaar every year. “I think I have bookwork to do,” Katie mumbled, grabbed another slice then made her escape just like her tuxedo cat. “Coward,” I called over my shoulder as the office door clicked shut. “I wager they`ll be more upset over Helen`s parking Mary,” Jo said, coming around the counter for a kiss and a hug. “You heard from Jonah this week?” she whispered when I bent down to hug her. I shook my head as I moved through the throng of old women, pecking wrinkled cheeks. “Well he`s probably busy with something. He`ll call, don`t you worry!”“Who`ll call?” Aunt Bitty inquired, looking around the store in confusion. “Some Indian boy from up North that Josephine fixed Dana up with. Are you sure about the meter?” Aunt Mary was back at the door, her mittens cupped around her glasses, staring at the lop-sided Caddy. “Uncle Rodney played a raiding Indian once in a movie, didn`t he Helen?” Bitty smiled as I patted her trembling hand. “No, he went to an Indian`s game with Hans and Roy,” Grandma corrected, “I remember it because Hans kept saying the Pirates were going to beat the Indians, and my Roy would say no way the Pirates would beat the Indians.”“What the hell are you talking about, Helen?” Aunt Anne snapped. I felt a large vein in my left temple begin to throb. “The Pirates are in the National League and the Indian`s are in the American League.”“I don`t think so, Anne. See, this is why you get the football things all confused,” my grandmother argued. “Me? At least I still have my Bradshaw jersey. Not like some people who gave it to Goodwill.”“He retired almost thirty years ago. You want I should sleep in it like you do?” Grandma fired back.Annnnnnd they were off….The vein was throbbing with more veracity. This had been every day for me until I moved out of my grandmother`s row home after squeaking through high school. See, not only do the five sisters find no greater joy than arguing, one-upping, and busting each other’s balls, they all live within two blocks of each other. My Aunt Jo lives right next door to my grandmother just for pure spite I think. They maintain that they all stayed in Clairton in case of sickness and/or emergency. While that`s part of it undoubtedly, I think the real reason they live so close is to ensure that they all know what the other is doing. Then it`s just a short shuffle down the hill to State Street for someone to bitch at.Well, all except Aunt Elizabeth bless her. She spends more and more time with her husband Robert who passed away fifteen years ago. I made my way back to the pizza and the relative safety of the counter and the cash register. Maybe someone would come in and buy a book. That would be nice. “Dana, did you find the stuff for Friday?” Aunt Mary asked. I startled from my fantasy of customers and muscular Seneca males. “I`m sorry, what`s happening on Friday?” I asked, reaching down to lift Herr Poopbottom to my lap. He lunged at my pizza. I barely got my bottle of pop out of the way before the food was gobbled up.“Damn dog,” Aunt Mary chided, looking at a book about southern cooking while she talked. “We`re renting out the church hall for Bobby`s sixty-fifth birthday. You did say you and Rhett would help decorate.”Ah, yes, Aunt Elizabeth`s son Robert Jr. and his birthday extravaganza. How could I forget?“Sure, we`ll be there. I`ll have to work until five but I can be in Clairton by six if traffic isn`t too bad. What did you need again?” I asked, pushing the dog`s pointed nose away from the remaining pizza in the box.The store phone rang. I put the dachshund to the floor, wiped my fingers on my napkin, which now was covered with brown Leopold fur, and grabbed the phone.“Tomes A ‘Plenty. Your fiction is our addiction!” I shouted to be heard over the din of the Hobbits in babushkas’ gang and barking wiener mutts. “Hey Dana,” he said. All the background clatter faded away. “Hi Jonah,” I said with a smile. “Anyone who`s a true Steelers fan wouldn`t give the Blond Bomber`s jersey away!”Saints preserve me.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
It's time for more romance. Today we have the second issue of my multicultural romance serial Wind in White Birch. Our word prompt this week is 'Raid.' Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I apologize for the wonky formatting. Blogger decided to act up this week.
Wind in White Birch
My ass met the stool soundly. There they were. The five women who had shaped me into the round-bottomed, halushki-loving person I am. First in the door, as always, came the leader of the Clairton Corp despite being the third youngest of the five sisters. My grandmother Helen: the woman that raised me after my parents had been killed in a car crash. Grandma always entered any place first. How do I describe my grandmother? Have you ever seen Endora on Bewitched? My grandmother could be Agnes Moorehead`s stunt double, right down to the waspish attitude, red hair and love of eye shadow and false eyelashes. She also has as much time for my ex Rhick as Endora did for Derwood. Today she was dressed in purple from her eggplant hued snow boots to her plum eye shadow. Next in the round little Polish woman parade was Aunt Anne. Aunt Anne is the tallest of the sisters (coming in at a gargantuan five foot four) the second oldest, and the one who bakes the best pies. Just ask, she`ll tell you. And if you don`t ask for some odd reason, she`ll tell you anyway. Aunt Anne is a stately woman with silver curls, serious blue eyes, and a rather gruff attitude. She was in varying shades of teal and white. My aunt Elizabeth came in next, her elbow held by my beloved Aunt Josephine. Actually Aunt Jo`s dachshund Leopold G. Poopbottom came in next after wriggling out of Aunt Jo`s zebra skin tote bag (to match her zebra leggings and coat)on the way up the six outside steps. Four little feet hit the floor. Bongo Cat took one look at the dog and climbed the nearest wooden shelving unit like a streak, never stopping until he sat over above us like a vulture hoping for a wiener dog death to occur. Aunt Bitty, as we call her, is the oldest of the Zajac girls and just celebrated her ninety-first birthday. Aunt Bitty weighs about eighty pounds, has glasses as thick as saltshakers and suffers from memory loss. Aunt Jo, the youngest of the sisters, is a tomato-shaped woman with the glint of Lucifer in her eyes. She is never happier than when she is tormenting the living piss out of my grandmother. Aunt Mary came hurrying in, short of breath and unable to see due to foggy bifocals. “I ran out of nickels,” Mary said, stumbling towards the sounds of her sisters with one arm in front of her like a blind zombie. “Helen, do you have any more nickels?” “There`s enough nickels in the damn meter, Mary. We could be safely parked out there until the end of days, I`m sure,” Aunt Anne sniped. “Leopold, get your little ass back here!” Jo-Jo shouted. The dog was dancing on his back feet under the baleful glare of Bongo Drum. “Josephine, for the love of God, would you get that dog under control before he pees on the floor!” That last comment was from my grandmother. There is no worse happenstance than pee on the floor. Humanity as we know it will hang in the balance until the hypothetical piddle puddle is cleaned up. “Oh lighten up, Helen, it`s only pee,” Jo-Jo said, leading Aunt Bitty past the bouncing dachshund in a hand-knitted yellow sweater. Herr Poopbottom had the yellow sweater. Aunt Bitty`s was green and inside out. Where Aunt Bitty`s coat was remained a secret. “What if the police come and see our time ran out?” Mary fretted, pulling out a stool for Elizabeth. Aunt Mary was a lean woman, with strands of silver in her still dark hair. She was the bead worker of the group and made the most beautiful holiday ornaments for the church`s Christmas bazaar every year. “I think I have bookwork to do,” Katie mumbled, grabbed another slice then made her escape just like her tuxedo cat. “Coward,” I called over my shoulder as the office door clicked shut. “I wager they`ll be more upset over Helen`s parking Mary,” Jo said, coming around the counter for a kiss and a hug. “You heard from Jonah this week?” she whispered when I bent down to hug her. I shook my head as I moved through the throng of old women, pecking wrinkled cheeks. “Well he`s probably busy with something. He`ll call, don`t you worry!”“Who`ll call?” Aunt Bitty inquired, looking around the store in confusion. “Some Indian boy from up North that Josephine fixed Dana up with. Are you sure about the meter?” Aunt Mary was back at the door, her mittens cupped around her glasses, staring at the lop-sided Caddy. “Uncle Rodney played a raiding Indian once in a movie, didn`t he Helen?” Bitty smiled as I patted her trembling hand. “No, he went to an Indian`s game with Hans and Roy,” Grandma corrected, “I remember it because Hans kept saying the Pirates were going to beat the Indians, and my Roy would say no way the Pirates would beat the Indians.”“What the hell are you talking about, Helen?” Aunt Anne snapped. I felt a large vein in my left temple begin to throb. “The Pirates are in the National League and the Indian`s are in the American League.”“I don`t think so, Anne. See, this is why you get the football things all confused,” my grandmother argued. “Me? At least I still have my Bradshaw jersey. Not like some people who gave it to Goodwill.”“He retired almost thirty years ago. You want I should sleep in it like you do?” Grandma fired back.Annnnnnd they were off….The vein was throbbing with more veracity. This had been every day for me until I moved out of my grandmother`s row home after squeaking through high school. See, not only do the five sisters find no greater joy than arguing, one-upping, and busting each other’s balls, they all live within two blocks of each other. My Aunt Jo lives right next door to my grandmother just for pure spite I think. They maintain that they all stayed in Clairton in case of sickness and/or emergency. While that`s part of it undoubtedly, I think the real reason they live so close is to ensure that they all know what the other is doing. Then it`s just a short shuffle down the hill to State Street for someone to bitch at.Well, all except Aunt Elizabeth bless her. She spends more and more time with her husband Robert who passed away fifteen years ago. I made my way back to the pizza and the relative safety of the counter and the cash register. Maybe someone would come in and buy a book. That would be nice. “Dana, did you find the stuff for Friday?” Aunt Mary asked. I startled from my fantasy of customers and muscular Seneca males. “I`m sorry, what`s happening on Friday?” I asked, reaching down to lift Herr Poopbottom to my lap. He lunged at my pizza. I barely got my bottle of pop out of the way before the food was gobbled up.“Damn dog,” Aunt Mary chided, looking at a book about southern cooking while she talked. “We`re renting out the church hall for Bobby`s sixty-fifth birthday. You did say you and Rhett would help decorate.”Ah, yes, Aunt Elizabeth`s son Robert Jr. and his birthday extravaganza. How could I forget?“Sure, we`ll be there. I`ll have to work until five but I can be in Clairton by six if traffic isn`t too bad. What did you need again?” I asked, pushing the dog`s pointed nose away from the remaining pizza in the box.The store phone rang. I put the dachshund to the floor, wiped my fingers on my napkin, which now was covered with brown Leopold fur, and grabbed the phone.“Tomes A ‘Plenty. Your fiction is our addiction!” I shouted to be heard over the din of the Hobbits in babushkas’ gang and barking wiener mutts. “Hey Dana,” he said. All the background clatter faded away. “Hi Jonah,” I said with a smile. “Anyone who`s a true Steelers fan wouldn`t give the Blond Bomber`s jersey away!”Saints preserve me.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
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