The "P" Words
"P" words a plump and juicy and all around wonderful.
Here are some of my favorites:
Words with two "P's"
pompous
pupate
pumpernickel
poop
puppy
populace
poppy
pimple
purple
plump
pop
pippin
precipitate
porpoise
purpose
preppy
peptic
pompus
peppy
precipice
Words with one "P"
pontificate
pulchritudinous
puss
piss
pustule
purge
pathetic
paranoid
parameter
pickle
puck
pancreas
poignant
prodigious
palindrome
placebo
plasma
prolapse
pendantic
proctologist
pork
In Praise of Yiddish Words
I have no ear for languages. But if I could go to sleep one night and miraculously wake up the next morning speaking a new language, it would be Yiddish. Why you ask? For the simple reason that it is THE singularly most onomatopoeia-Esq language in the world. For instance, you don't need to know the literal definition of a schmuck to know that its not a word you want to be called. And if something is so funny you could plotz? You don't have to know what plotz means to get a visual. Here are a few of my faves:
bubkes/bopkes (derived from the Slavic root for "bean"; literally: beans): something trivial; nothing; (as an exclamation) "nonsense!" I am slavic which must be why this word just resonates with me.
chutzpah/chutzpa/chutspa (from late Hebrew huspah): self-confidence, audacity, and arrogance (3-in-1); gall; "guts". To say this word right, you almost have to hock the first syllable.
mensch/mensh/mench (from German Mensch = person): a person of honor and integrity, of rectitude and dignity.
meshugge/meshuga/meshug(g)ah (from Hebrew meshugga): something absurd, crazy, or wildly extravagant.
nebach/neb(b)ech/nebbich/neb(b)ish (related to Polish nieboze = poor thing): a hapless, weak, and helpless individual, a "nobody"; sometimes used as an exclamation, as in the poor thing!
oy (as in oy vey! and oy gevalt!): a protean exclamation in Yiddish, used to express a vast gamut of negative feelings, ranging from surprise, incredulity, and shock to dismay, anxiety, and pain. In oy vey, vey is believed to derive from the German Weh (= pain; cf. English woe). In oy gevalt, gevalt is cognate with the German Gewalt (= force, violence)
shiksa/shikseh (the feminine of Yiddish shaygets (gentile boy), from Hebrew sheques = blemish, defect): a non-Jewish woman, especially a young one.
shlep/schlep (Yiddish shlepn, from German schleppen = to drag): to carry something very heavy, usually over a long distance.
shlock/schlock/schlack (from the Yiddish verb shlogn (to hit), derived from the German schlagen = to hit; cf. the English verb slay): originally, shlock meant damaged merchandise; now it means "junk", i.e. cheap and trashy merchandise. (Hence shlockmeister = somebody who sells cheap, shoddy goods.)
shtick/shtik/schtick (from German Stueck = piece, play): an entertainer's routine or somebody's particular talent; gimmick; bag of tricks.
schmuck jerk (form the Yiddish meaning penis.)
On a final note, if you're ever invited to my parent's house, pour a couple of high-balls down our throats and my entire family will reenact a very boisterous, goyish rendition of Fiddler on the Roof for your enjoyment.
Reccommended Reading
The Other Boleyn Girl
This book is so full of intrigue and nefarious plotting that I was sucked in immediately! I had never read a Phillipa Gregory book until this one and now I believe it's safe to say that I'm hooked. History is just plain SO much more interested when scripted in novel form. I can't wait for the movie.
*interesting fact: Anne Boleyn had six fingers on her left hand.
Bright Lights Big Ass
Jen Lancaster is queen of her world! She is totally and thoroughly who she is and happy with the results. You'll laugh out loud at her brand of in your face living. This spunky, curvy, smart-mouthed Republican will have you longing to include her at your next dinner party. I personally related to her penchant for Ralph Lauren and pearls. And of course sometimes you have to call homeland security on your neighbors. Any true patriot would.
*Jen Lancaster has a new book out: Bitter is the New Black
Haven't read it yet but its on my nightstand.
The Kite Runner
I read this book at a time when I was totally avoiding depressing thoughts. Bad timing, right? Except the book was so beautifully written and engaging that I was sucked in. We are all so imperfect in this life and we struggle to make sense of the chaos. But just when it seems that there is no rhyme or reason, there come moments that are so divine it seems that there must be some kind of plan after all. This book captured me completely and I felt that I could relate to many of the human behaviors even though I could not relate to the culture.
I closed the book with a smile and an enormous gratitude for the life that I have.
This book is so full of intrigue and nefarious plotting that I was sucked in immediately! I had never read a Phillipa Gregory book until this one and now I believe it's safe to say that I'm hooked. History is just plain SO much more interested when scripted in novel form. I can't wait for the movie.
*interesting fact: Anne Boleyn had six fingers on her left hand.
Bright Lights Big Ass
Jen Lancaster is queen of her world! She is totally and thoroughly who she is and happy with the results. You'll laugh out loud at her brand of in your face living. This spunky, curvy, smart-mouthed Republican will have you longing to include her at your next dinner party. I personally related to her penchant for Ralph Lauren and pearls. And of course sometimes you have to call homeland security on your neighbors. Any true patriot would.
*Jen Lancaster has a new book out: Bitter is the New Black
Haven't read it yet but its on my nightstand.
The Kite Runner
I read this book at a time when I was totally avoiding depressing thoughts. Bad timing, right? Except the book was so beautifully written and engaging that I was sucked in. We are all so imperfect in this life and we struggle to make sense of the chaos. But just when it seems that there is no rhyme or reason, there come moments that are so divine it seems that there must be some kind of plan after all. This book captured me completely and I felt that I could relate to many of the human behaviors even though I could not relate to the culture.
I closed the book with a smile and an enormous gratitude for the life that I have.
Words I Love (that are sorely underused)
As a writer, I obviously love words. Yet, I feel that as a people we don't even begin to utilize the really cool verbiage at our disposal. Hence, I'm sharing some of my very favorite words that I try to drop into conversation every now and again, just to keep life interesting.
fruition
The condition of bearing fruit.
fecund
To be productive or able to produce live gametes or offspring, bearing, pregnant fecundity, fertile; fertility, potent.
bedazzle
To dazzle so completely as to make blind.
jejune
Not interesting; dull.
germane
relevant
pulchritude (I also love pulchritudinous.)
That quality of appearance which pleases the eye; beauty; comeliness; grace; loveliness.
putrid
Tender to the touch; susceptible of pain from pressure; inflamed; painful; -- said of the body or its parts; as, a sore hand.
sobriquet
(so-brik-kay', so-brik-ket') a descriptive name or epithet, a nickname. [from French
fug
(fugg) n. an odorous emanation, especially, the stuffy atmosphere of a poorly ventilated space. adj. fuggy. v.i. to loll indoors in a stuffy atmosphere. v.t. to make fuggy.
naff
(naff) adj. 1: unstylish, clichéd, or outmoded. 2: to fool around or go about. naff off rude imperative. go away! [British slang.]
oikology ) or (or oinkology as I prefer to call it.)
(oy-koll'-uh-jee) n. the study, or science of housekeeping. [from Greek oikos "house, dwelling."]
pelf
(pelf) n. money, riches. [from Middle French pelfre "booty".]
foofaraw (This must be where froo froo comes from.)
foo'-fa-raw) n. 1: frills and fancy finery. 2: a disturbance or to-do over a trifle.
lubricious
(loob-rish'-us) adj. 1: having a smooth or slippery quality. 2: marked by wantonness; salacious.
jactation (Doesn’t this sound dirty?)
(jack-tay'-shun) n. boasting; bragging
weazen
(wee'-zen) v.i. to shrink or shrivel, to cause to shrink.
pawky
(paw'-kee) adj. artfully shrewd; canny.
petard ( brings to mind Hamlet, “hoist on my own petard!”)
(pet-tard') n. 1: a small bell-shaped bomb used to breach a gate or wall. 2: a loud firecracker. [from French pétard "a fart", or a type of bomb, from Old French pet "a fart," from Latin pdere "to fart," from the Indo-European root pezd "fart"].
dingle
(ding'-gull) or dimble (dim'-bull) n. a narrow wooded dale or valley between hills; a small secluded valley.
pyknic (I guess if he’s tall and skinny you could say, “He was no pyknic!)
(pik'-nik) adj. characterized by shortness of stature; broadness of girth, and powerful muscularity; endomorphic. [from Greek pyknos "dense, stocky"].
hoyden
(hoy'-den) n. a girl or woman of saucy, boisterous or carefree behavior.
peculate
(peck'-yuh-late) v.t. embezzle
juggernaut
(jug'-er-not) n. 1: a massive inexorable force that crushes whatever is in its path. 2: (chiefly Brit.) a large heavy truck. 3: (an older definition from the OED) (figurative) an institution, practice, or notion to which persons blindly devote themselves, or are ruthlessly sacrificed. [all these derived from the first OED definition 4: in Hindu mythology, a title of Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu; specifically, the idol of this deity, annually dragged in procession on an enormous car, under the wheels of which many devotees would throw themselves to be crushed.]
salubrious
(sal-oo'-bree-us) adj. favorable to or promoting health or well being.
zaftig (Juicy! Succulent! Is it any wonder I LOVE this word?)
(zoff'-tig) adj. (of a woman) having a full rounded figure; pleasingly plump [from Yiddish zaftik "juicy, succulent"].
fungible
(fun'-ji-bul) adj. 1: of such a kind or nature that one specimen or part may be used in place of another specimen or equal part in the satisfaction of an obligation. 2: interchangeable.
famulus (My poor famulus would have to do the oikology… if I had one.)
(fam'-yuh-lus) n. a private secretary or attendant.
fruition
The condition of bearing fruit.
fecund
To be productive or able to produce live gametes or offspring, bearing, pregnant fecundity, fertile; fertility, potent.
bedazzle
To dazzle so completely as to make blind.
jejune
Not interesting; dull.
germane
relevant
pulchritude (I also love pulchritudinous.)
That quality of appearance which pleases the eye; beauty; comeliness; grace; loveliness.
putrid
Tender to the touch; susceptible of pain from pressure; inflamed; painful; -- said of the body or its parts; as, a sore hand.
sobriquet
(so-brik-kay', so-brik-ket') a descriptive name or epithet, a nickname. [from French
fug
(fugg) n. an odorous emanation, especially, the stuffy atmosphere of a poorly ventilated space. adj. fuggy. v.i. to loll indoors in a stuffy atmosphere. v.t. to make fuggy.
naff
(naff) adj. 1: unstylish, clichéd, or outmoded. 2: to fool around or go about. naff off rude imperative. go away! [British slang.]
oikology ) or (or oinkology as I prefer to call it.)
(oy-koll'-uh-jee) n. the study, or science of housekeeping. [from Greek oikos "house, dwelling."]
pelf
(pelf) n. money, riches. [from Middle French pelfre "booty".]
foofaraw (This must be where froo froo comes from.)
foo'-fa-raw) n. 1: frills and fancy finery. 2: a disturbance or to-do over a trifle.
lubricious
(loob-rish'-us) adj. 1: having a smooth or slippery quality. 2: marked by wantonness; salacious.
jactation (Doesn’t this sound dirty?)
(jack-tay'-shun) n. boasting; bragging
weazen
(wee'-zen) v.i. to shrink or shrivel, to cause to shrink.
pawky
(paw'-kee) adj. artfully shrewd; canny.
petard ( brings to mind Hamlet, “hoist on my own petard!”)
(pet-tard') n. 1: a small bell-shaped bomb used to breach a gate or wall. 2: a loud firecracker. [from French pétard "a fart", or a type of bomb, from Old French pet "a fart," from Latin pdere "to fart," from the Indo-European root pezd "fart"].
dingle
(ding'-gull) or dimble (dim'-bull) n. a narrow wooded dale or valley between hills; a small secluded valley.
pyknic (I guess if he’s tall and skinny you could say, “He was no pyknic!)
(pik'-nik) adj. characterized by shortness of stature; broadness of girth, and powerful muscularity; endomorphic. [from Greek pyknos "dense, stocky"].
hoyden
(hoy'-den) n. a girl or woman of saucy, boisterous or carefree behavior.
peculate
(peck'-yuh-late) v.t. embezzle
juggernaut
(jug'-er-not) n. 1: a massive inexorable force that crushes whatever is in its path. 2: (chiefly Brit.) a large heavy truck. 3: (an older definition from the OED) (figurative) an institution, practice, or notion to which persons blindly devote themselves, or are ruthlessly sacrificed. [all these derived from the first OED definition 4: in Hindu mythology, a title of Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu; specifically, the idol of this deity, annually dragged in procession on an enormous car, under the wheels of which many devotees would throw themselves to be crushed.]
salubrious
(sal-oo'-bree-us) adj. favorable to or promoting health or well being.
zaftig (Juicy! Succulent! Is it any wonder I LOVE this word?)
(zoff'-tig) adj. (of a woman) having a full rounded figure; pleasingly plump [from Yiddish zaftik "juicy, succulent"].
fungible
(fun'-ji-bul) adj. 1: of such a kind or nature that one specimen or part may be used in place of another specimen or equal part in the satisfaction of an obligation. 2: interchangeable.
famulus (My poor famulus would have to do the oikology… if I had one.)
(fam'-yuh-lus) n. a private secretary or attendant.
Bourbon Creek Excerpt
Novel in the works...
Chapter 1
Ella Morgan rolled over in bed and languorously stretched all the parts of her body that could be stretched, from the tips of her toes to the tops of her eyebrows. The sun shone brilliantly on her white duvet, car horns honked madly, and if she listened closely, she could hear Mr. Fratinelli singing in the shower. This morning he serenaded the world with a rousing rendition of Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore;” “Whennnnnaaa the moona hitsa youra eyea lika bigga pizza pie, that’s amore…” Mr. Fratinelli liked the last lines in the first verse more than the others and Ella was used to hearing them sung with exuberance. “Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling and you'll sing V-i-t-a B-e-l-l-a! Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay like a gay t-a-r-a-n-t-e-l-l-a!!!” Ella threw back her covers and for the four millionth time wondered what the heck a gay tarantella was. She would have to ask Mr. Fratinelli the next time she ran into him in the elevator.
Ella started a pot of Vienna roast and silently dedicated it to the singing Italian that lived in the apartment beneath hers. Then she pulled on a robe, slid into a pair of ratty house slippers and walked out her front door. Letting herself into her neighbor’s apartment, she called out, “Fifi, where are you? I’m here for breakfast…”Fifi never deigned to show her fluffy face, so Ella simply opened a can of Fancy Feast ocean white fish and then headed back to her own apartment.
Cher (not as in Sunny and…) was in the Hampton’s for the weekend with her boyfriend. As it was universally known by everyone in the building that Ella had no social life, she became the feeder to a great number of cats, fish, and hamsters. She didn’t mind helping out, she just wished that once she could say, “Feed Flipper? I’d love to but I’m off to Rome for the next three weeks.” Although, until that day came, she vowed to go ahead and help others so they could have the life that she didn’t. Cher’s dating escapades would have to be enough vicarious fodder for her to live on.
After her second cup of coffee and blueberry scone, Ella changed into her running shorts and left her apartment for a morning jog. The elevator careened down twenty-two floors, making her think that it just might be time for a repair. When the retracting doors opened, she charged through and ran smack into one of the buildings many doormen.
Edgar was diminutive to say the least. In fact, Ella was pretty sure that he was within an inch of holding the title of “little person.” He was also inordinately proper and reserved. He took his job so seriously, that one might think he was guarding the national treasury instead of a building full West Side Manhatanites. Ella apologized to Edgar for the run-in and then tried to scoot around him. But he bodily blocked her progress, which was a pretty bold move considering she hovered nearly two feet above him in the ethos.
While holding his ground, he declared, “Madam…”
In exasperation, Ella interrupted, “Edgar, when you call me madam, you make me feel about a hundred and eighty years old.” Then she begged, “For the umpteenth time, please call me Ella.”
Keeping his game face, Edgar tried again, “Ma’am…” a sharp look indicated this wasn’t any better so he settled on, “Miss, I have a telegram for you.” Then he thrust a bright yellow envelope at her and sure enough it said “Ella Morgan” right on the front.
Ella hesitantly reached for the envelope and asked, “Edgar, what year is it?”
“2008 Mad… Ma’am…Miss.”
Ella nodded her head and replied, “Exactly what I thought. So my question is who sends telegrams in 2008? I thought they went the way of W.W. II.” Instead of commenting, Edgar merely cocked his head to the side before returning to his post on the south entrance to the building.
Ella plopped down on one of the overstuffed chairs in the lobby and regarded the missive in her hands. She mused that a telegram delivered at 7:02 on a Saturday morning in 1947 might automatically be construed as bad new. But here in the new millennium, she had absolutely no idea what kind of information it might contain. Then a thought hit her out of left field and she wondered if perhaps it was from Ed McMahon. A telegram sounded like something Publisher’s Clearing House might use to contact a winner. She immediately became a bit giddy at the prospect. In fact, she might already be a millionaire! Unable to wait another second to learn the good news for herself, Ella tore open the seal and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper. While disappointed to discover that she was not in fact independently wealthy, she was delighted to find that the archaic form of correspondence was from her Great Aunt Claire.
Aunt Claire was one of those colorful characters that seemed to be at the heart of every memorable moment in her family’s history. Not only was she the sister to Ella’s maternal grandmother but she was also the only grandmother figure Ella had ever known; her own nana having died when she was only two. As a remnant from another time, it made perfect sense to Ella that Aunt Claire would be the most obvious choice as sender of a telegram.
Aunt Claire embraced every new level of technology with the same degree of leeriness that one might use when hugging an angry tiger. Take flying for example; Ella was convinced that the only way her Aunt would ever actually fly through the air would be if she sprouted wings or was hurled out of the business end of live canon. And as far as communication went, her preferred method of correspondence was letter writing (even though she did deign to pick up the phone every Sunday in order to hear Lila’s voice.) After all she conceded, “The phone was invented before my time, so it must be a keeper.”
Ella would then offer, “I believe the airplane was invented before your time too…”
Aunt Claire’s only response to this bit of information was to snap, “Don’t get fresh with me Ella Morgan! I could still put you over my knee.” Not that she had ever done any such thing but Ella didn’t doubt she could do it if she put her feisty octogenarian mind to it.
Ella looked forward to every letter that she received from her aunt with the same degree of excitement that one reserved for the next new episode of their favorite television program. She had volumes of chatty missives (secured in a shoe box under her bed) filled to capacity with juicy bits of gossip about everyone that Aunt Claire had ever met. Lila knew so much about the citizens of Bourbon Creek, Missouri, that she was convinced that she could recognize anyone in town by the sound of their voice alone; even though she had only ever heard their voices in her head; unhealthy as that sounded.
Ella didn’t grow up in Bourbon Creek but through her Aunt’s letters she felt like she had. She had only visited a couple times when she was very young so she didn’t have many organic memories of her own. But Aunt Claire painted such a rich and vibrant portrait of her world that Ella already knew that she loved it as well as many of the people in it.
Her eyes finally began to scan the message in the telegram. It took her a couple of beats to process what it said as it was such a surprising note. It read:
To: Ella Morgan
261 Central Park West
Apt. 22A
New York, N.Y. 10022
From: Claire Perry
3 Magnolia Lane
Bourbon Creek, Mo. 11111
Come to Bourbon Creek today. Stop. Don’t take the bus. Stop. Fly! Stop. Don’t call. Stop. Just hurry!!!
Ella immediately collected herself, stood up, and then raced to the elevator with the thoughts of phoning Aunt Claire to find out what the emergency was. But her aunt specifically instructed her not to call. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. By one thing was certain, she couldn’t go out for her morning run, so, she concluded, she had better go back to her apartment and decide what comes next.
Once Ella walked through her door she picked up the phone to call her mother to see if she had any clue what was going on. Her parent’s answer machine picked up after the third ring and her mom’s cheery voice announced, “You’ve reached the home of Lyle and Maggie Morgan. We are out of town until June 30th, so call us back then!”
Ella rolled her eyes and was amazed that her mother didn’t include their social security numbers and the location of the spare key nestled under the fake rock in the back yard. Her parents simply had no concept that the world was a dangerous place. After all when you announce to the free world that you’re leaving your house vacant for three weeks, you are effectively laying down the welcome mat for grand larceny.
Upon hearing the message, Ella remembered that her parents had left the day before on an Alaskan cruise. She dropped onto her sofa and thought, “Am I really thinking about hopping on an airplane, destination: The Show Me State, without even knowing why?” Ella decided to look for divine inspiration in the shower and the answer she got was, “Go!”
Ella taught fourth grade at The Graham Academy for girls and summer break had started four days earlier. While she normally worked at a friend’s art gallery during the summer months, this year she had opted out. She planned on spending her hiatus making much needed home improvements on the apartment that she had bought five years earlier; as she was still living with the horrendous color chouses of the previous owners. For some reason that she couldn’t fathom, the Tompkins’s had had a real fondness for day glow colors. Walking through her front door for the first time was an experience akin to an acid flashback.
Ella’s first course of action upon moving in was to slipcover all of her furniture in white and hang gauzy sheer draperies. A couple months earlier she had finally realized that no amount of counter-decorating was going to make the color any more palatable. So she took the summer off and the only item on her agenda was to paint the hideous walls in her apartment. In the shower, she realized that the only thing holding her back from flying to Bourbon Creek, was Benjamin Moore’s Summer Mist and that could wait.
After drying herself off, Ella got on line and bought herself the cheapest ticket that she could find; which turned out to be $387.99 with an open ended return. She packed enough for a two week stay, although she had no idea how long she’d be gone, then called Cher’s cell phone to let her know that she’d put out extra dry food for Fifi. At 9:42 a.m., she walked out her door for the second time that morning and by 10:00 a.m. she was in a cab crossing the 125th Street Bridge on her way to LaGuardia.
Chapter 1
Ella Morgan rolled over in bed and languorously stretched all the parts of her body that could be stretched, from the tips of her toes to the tops of her eyebrows. The sun shone brilliantly on her white duvet, car horns honked madly, and if she listened closely, she could hear Mr. Fratinelli singing in the shower. This morning he serenaded the world with a rousing rendition of Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore;” “Whennnnnaaa the moona hitsa youra eyea lika bigga pizza pie, that’s amore…” Mr. Fratinelli liked the last lines in the first verse more than the others and Ella was used to hearing them sung with exuberance. “Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling and you'll sing V-i-t-a B-e-l-l-a! Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay like a gay t-a-r-a-n-t-e-l-l-a!!!” Ella threw back her covers and for the four millionth time wondered what the heck a gay tarantella was. She would have to ask Mr. Fratinelli the next time she ran into him in the elevator.
Ella started a pot of Vienna roast and silently dedicated it to the singing Italian that lived in the apartment beneath hers. Then she pulled on a robe, slid into a pair of ratty house slippers and walked out her front door. Letting herself into her neighbor’s apartment, she called out, “Fifi, where are you? I’m here for breakfast…”Fifi never deigned to show her fluffy face, so Ella simply opened a can of Fancy Feast ocean white fish and then headed back to her own apartment.
Cher (not as in Sunny and…) was in the Hampton’s for the weekend with her boyfriend. As it was universally known by everyone in the building that Ella had no social life, she became the feeder to a great number of cats, fish, and hamsters. She didn’t mind helping out, she just wished that once she could say, “Feed Flipper? I’d love to but I’m off to Rome for the next three weeks.” Although, until that day came, she vowed to go ahead and help others so they could have the life that she didn’t. Cher’s dating escapades would have to be enough vicarious fodder for her to live on.
After her second cup of coffee and blueberry scone, Ella changed into her running shorts and left her apartment for a morning jog. The elevator careened down twenty-two floors, making her think that it just might be time for a repair. When the retracting doors opened, she charged through and ran smack into one of the buildings many doormen.
Edgar was diminutive to say the least. In fact, Ella was pretty sure that he was within an inch of holding the title of “little person.” He was also inordinately proper and reserved. He took his job so seriously, that one might think he was guarding the national treasury instead of a building full West Side Manhatanites. Ella apologized to Edgar for the run-in and then tried to scoot around him. But he bodily blocked her progress, which was a pretty bold move considering she hovered nearly two feet above him in the ethos.
While holding his ground, he declared, “Madam…”
In exasperation, Ella interrupted, “Edgar, when you call me madam, you make me feel about a hundred and eighty years old.” Then she begged, “For the umpteenth time, please call me Ella.”
Keeping his game face, Edgar tried again, “Ma’am…” a sharp look indicated this wasn’t any better so he settled on, “Miss, I have a telegram for you.” Then he thrust a bright yellow envelope at her and sure enough it said “Ella Morgan” right on the front.
Ella hesitantly reached for the envelope and asked, “Edgar, what year is it?”
“2008 Mad… Ma’am…Miss.”
Ella nodded her head and replied, “Exactly what I thought. So my question is who sends telegrams in 2008? I thought they went the way of W.W. II.” Instead of commenting, Edgar merely cocked his head to the side before returning to his post on the south entrance to the building.
Ella plopped down on one of the overstuffed chairs in the lobby and regarded the missive in her hands. She mused that a telegram delivered at 7:02 on a Saturday morning in 1947 might automatically be construed as bad new. But here in the new millennium, she had absolutely no idea what kind of information it might contain. Then a thought hit her out of left field and she wondered if perhaps it was from Ed McMahon. A telegram sounded like something Publisher’s Clearing House might use to contact a winner. She immediately became a bit giddy at the prospect. In fact, she might already be a millionaire! Unable to wait another second to learn the good news for herself, Ella tore open the seal and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper. While disappointed to discover that she was not in fact independently wealthy, she was delighted to find that the archaic form of correspondence was from her Great Aunt Claire.
Aunt Claire was one of those colorful characters that seemed to be at the heart of every memorable moment in her family’s history. Not only was she the sister to Ella’s maternal grandmother but she was also the only grandmother figure Ella had ever known; her own nana having died when she was only two. As a remnant from another time, it made perfect sense to Ella that Aunt Claire would be the most obvious choice as sender of a telegram.
Aunt Claire embraced every new level of technology with the same degree of leeriness that one might use when hugging an angry tiger. Take flying for example; Ella was convinced that the only way her Aunt would ever actually fly through the air would be if she sprouted wings or was hurled out of the business end of live canon. And as far as communication went, her preferred method of correspondence was letter writing (even though she did deign to pick up the phone every Sunday in order to hear Lila’s voice.) After all she conceded, “The phone was invented before my time, so it must be a keeper.”
Ella would then offer, “I believe the airplane was invented before your time too…”
Aunt Claire’s only response to this bit of information was to snap, “Don’t get fresh with me Ella Morgan! I could still put you over my knee.” Not that she had ever done any such thing but Ella didn’t doubt she could do it if she put her feisty octogenarian mind to it.
Ella looked forward to every letter that she received from her aunt with the same degree of excitement that one reserved for the next new episode of their favorite television program. She had volumes of chatty missives (secured in a shoe box under her bed) filled to capacity with juicy bits of gossip about everyone that Aunt Claire had ever met. Lila knew so much about the citizens of Bourbon Creek, Missouri, that she was convinced that she could recognize anyone in town by the sound of their voice alone; even though she had only ever heard their voices in her head; unhealthy as that sounded.
Ella didn’t grow up in Bourbon Creek but through her Aunt’s letters she felt like she had. She had only visited a couple times when she was very young so she didn’t have many organic memories of her own. But Aunt Claire painted such a rich and vibrant portrait of her world that Ella already knew that she loved it as well as many of the people in it.
Her eyes finally began to scan the message in the telegram. It took her a couple of beats to process what it said as it was such a surprising note. It read:
To: Ella Morgan
261 Central Park West
Apt. 22A
New York, N.Y. 10022
From: Claire Perry
3 Magnolia Lane
Bourbon Creek, Mo. 11111
Come to Bourbon Creek today. Stop. Don’t take the bus. Stop. Fly! Stop. Don’t call. Stop. Just hurry!!!
Ella immediately collected herself, stood up, and then raced to the elevator with the thoughts of phoning Aunt Claire to find out what the emergency was. But her aunt specifically instructed her not to call. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. By one thing was certain, she couldn’t go out for her morning run, so, she concluded, she had better go back to her apartment and decide what comes next.
Once Ella walked through her door she picked up the phone to call her mother to see if she had any clue what was going on. Her parent’s answer machine picked up after the third ring and her mom’s cheery voice announced, “You’ve reached the home of Lyle and Maggie Morgan. We are out of town until June 30th, so call us back then!”
Ella rolled her eyes and was amazed that her mother didn’t include their social security numbers and the location of the spare key nestled under the fake rock in the back yard. Her parents simply had no concept that the world was a dangerous place. After all when you announce to the free world that you’re leaving your house vacant for three weeks, you are effectively laying down the welcome mat for grand larceny.
Upon hearing the message, Ella remembered that her parents had left the day before on an Alaskan cruise. She dropped onto her sofa and thought, “Am I really thinking about hopping on an airplane, destination: The Show Me State, without even knowing why?” Ella decided to look for divine inspiration in the shower and the answer she got was, “Go!”
Ella taught fourth grade at The Graham Academy for girls and summer break had started four days earlier. While she normally worked at a friend’s art gallery during the summer months, this year she had opted out. She planned on spending her hiatus making much needed home improvements on the apartment that she had bought five years earlier; as she was still living with the horrendous color chouses of the previous owners. For some reason that she couldn’t fathom, the Tompkins’s had had a real fondness for day glow colors. Walking through her front door for the first time was an experience akin to an acid flashback.
Ella’s first course of action upon moving in was to slipcover all of her furniture in white and hang gauzy sheer draperies. A couple months earlier she had finally realized that no amount of counter-decorating was going to make the color any more palatable. So she took the summer off and the only item on her agenda was to paint the hideous walls in her apartment. In the shower, she realized that the only thing holding her back from flying to Bourbon Creek, was Benjamin Moore’s Summer Mist and that could wait.
After drying herself off, Ella got on line and bought herself the cheapest ticket that she could find; which turned out to be $387.99 with an open ended return. She packed enough for a two week stay, although she had no idea how long she’d be gone, then called Cher’s cell phone to let her know that she’d put out extra dry food for Fifi. At 9:42 a.m., she walked out her door for the second time that morning and by 10:00 a.m. she was in a cab crossing the 125th Street Bridge on her way to LaGuardia.
Two Months in Atlantis
Book 5 in the Willy and Tommy Series
ZACHAR
Wilhelmina Snodrgrass found herself falling through the sky with her best friend, Tomasina Andretti and the hateful, Zach Grimstein. When they landed on the ground, all three of them let out a loud, oooomph! sound as the air was forced out of their lungs. Willy rolled onto her back to catch her breath when she noticed what was happening in the sky above her. The time portal she had just fallen through was sealing shut.
“Noooooo!” Willy screamed. “Open up,” she begged, “I want to go home!”
Tommy saw what her friend was screaming at and demanded, “Why does this stuff keep happening to us?” Then she turned to look at Zach Grimstein and accused, “This is your fault. If you weren’t so worried about getting your precious crystals, we wouldn’t be the new residents of Atlantis.”
Dripping with sarcasm, Willy added, “And in case you’ve forgotten, that’s not Atlantis, Texas. That’s Atlantis, thirteen thousand years in the past!”
Zach’s story was very convoluted. From outward appearances, he seemed to be a nice enough man in his twenties. You’d never guess that he was born on the island of Atlantis over thirteen thousand years in the past. Which just so happens to be where he discovered the opening in time that led him to the future. The rip in the space-time continuum was located in a field right outside of Atlantis’s capital city. And Zach, or Zachar, as he was known on Atlantis, was always one for adventure. One day, Zach discovered that five strangers had mysteriously appeared on their island claiming to have come from different times in the future. No one on Atlantis believed the story the newcomers told, except for him.
Atlantis had been at war with itself for years. The island had been divided into two opposing sides. The Brigat’s were the side Zach was on, as his father was their commander. The Brigat’s had righteously protested the greed and gluttony of the king of Atlantis. But instead of staying and helping to change the society from within, they became outlaws. They left the capital city and began their campaign to change Atlantis through acts of terror. They were the faction that captured and imprisoned the men from the future, thinking they were spies sent from the king.
The other side was known as the Glutanas. Their leader was the king, himself. They lived only to amass riches. The Capitol City, which was once so beautiful, had become almost painful to look at during mid-day. There was so much gold and polished silver everywhere that the glare was nearly blinding. In their pursuit of greater wealth, the Glutanas even cut down the trees so there was more room to build their palaces.
Zach was tired of fighting this war at his father’s side. So when the men came from the future, he made sure to visit them everyday and learn as much as he could about their time. They told him the most glorious stories about their lives. Even though their ways seemed almost primitive compared to Atlantian society, Zach longed for that kind of simplicity.
Atlantis was a very technologically advanced society and from what Zach had learned from the prisoners, the future wasn’t. He wondered how that could be. One would think that the future would be exceedingly more progressive than the past. When Zachar asked his friends from the future about this, he learned that Atlantis had been destroyed in an enormous flood. They didn’t know anything more though, as in there time, Atlantis was only a myth. The destruction had been so devastating that no signs of the original civilization remained for future generations to study.
The prisoners from the future marveled that they had lived so many years apart in modern days, yet had all landed in the same time in the past. As much as they discussed the science of it all, none of them were able to figure out why that was. This discussion got Zach to wondering what year he would arrive in if he journeyed through the tear in time. He began obsessing about living in another time, until one day, he borrowed the clothes from the prisoner who was closest in size to him and ventured out to the deserted field just outside of the Capitol City.
Zach knew that none of the other Brigat’s had ever seen the rip in time. He also knew the only reason he was able to see it was because of the magical purple crystals that his mother had given him when he was a boy. His mother was not from Atlantis. She was from a neighboring Island called Lemuria, where the people were only half human. Their other half was pure, magical, angel.
The purple crystals were a powerful tool that the Lemurians used for a variety of purposes. But being that Zach was only half Lemurian, the rocks didn’t do that much for him He primarily kept them out of sentimentality as they were the only thing he had left from his mother. However, when he went out to the field where the prisoners arrived, Zach discovered that the crystals enabled him to see the entrance to the other world; a world that existed thousands of years in the future.
Once Zach learned about the flood that would destroy his home, he decided to travel through the tear in time for himself. His intention was to merely visit and then return to Atlantis before making his final decision about whether or not he wanted to stay. That was why Zachar only had the clothes on his back and the six purple crystals his mother gave to him the day he left Atlantis. He didn’t think he’d need anything else because he wasn’t going to stay permanently.
But Zach did stay. He walked through tear time and found himself in the year 1940. He was in a very small town called Watusi, in the state of Texas. Zach was enchanted by the quaintness of the people and the simplicity of their lives. But he soon learned that he would need modern currency in order to survive in this town. That didn’t turn out to be a problem though. His mother’s crystals, that didn’t do much for him on Atlantis, worked very well in the future. Every night when Zach went to bed, his shoes would fill with money. And after a week, he decided that he never wanted to see Atlantis again. Watusi, Texas was his home now.
ZACHAR
Wilhelmina Snodrgrass found herself falling through the sky with her best friend, Tomasina Andretti and the hateful, Zach Grimstein. When they landed on the ground, all three of them let out a loud, oooomph! sound as the air was forced out of their lungs. Willy rolled onto her back to catch her breath when she noticed what was happening in the sky above her. The time portal she had just fallen through was sealing shut.
“Noooooo!” Willy screamed. “Open up,” she begged, “I want to go home!”
Tommy saw what her friend was screaming at and demanded, “Why does this stuff keep happening to us?” Then she turned to look at Zach Grimstein and accused, “This is your fault. If you weren’t so worried about getting your precious crystals, we wouldn’t be the new residents of Atlantis.”
Dripping with sarcasm, Willy added, “And in case you’ve forgotten, that’s not Atlantis, Texas. That’s Atlantis, thirteen thousand years in the past!”
Zach’s story was very convoluted. From outward appearances, he seemed to be a nice enough man in his twenties. You’d never guess that he was born on the island of Atlantis over thirteen thousand years in the past. Which just so happens to be where he discovered the opening in time that led him to the future. The rip in the space-time continuum was located in a field right outside of Atlantis’s capital city. And Zach, or Zachar, as he was known on Atlantis, was always one for adventure. One day, Zach discovered that five strangers had mysteriously appeared on their island claiming to have come from different times in the future. No one on Atlantis believed the story the newcomers told, except for him.
Atlantis had been at war with itself for years. The island had been divided into two opposing sides. The Brigat’s were the side Zach was on, as his father was their commander. The Brigat’s had righteously protested the greed and gluttony of the king of Atlantis. But instead of staying and helping to change the society from within, they became outlaws. They left the capital city and began their campaign to change Atlantis through acts of terror. They were the faction that captured and imprisoned the men from the future, thinking they were spies sent from the king.
The other side was known as the Glutanas. Their leader was the king, himself. They lived only to amass riches. The Capitol City, which was once so beautiful, had become almost painful to look at during mid-day. There was so much gold and polished silver everywhere that the glare was nearly blinding. In their pursuit of greater wealth, the Glutanas even cut down the trees so there was more room to build their palaces.
Zach was tired of fighting this war at his father’s side. So when the men came from the future, he made sure to visit them everyday and learn as much as he could about their time. They told him the most glorious stories about their lives. Even though their ways seemed almost primitive compared to Atlantian society, Zach longed for that kind of simplicity.
Atlantis was a very technologically advanced society and from what Zach had learned from the prisoners, the future wasn’t. He wondered how that could be. One would think that the future would be exceedingly more progressive than the past. When Zachar asked his friends from the future about this, he learned that Atlantis had been destroyed in an enormous flood. They didn’t know anything more though, as in there time, Atlantis was only a myth. The destruction had been so devastating that no signs of the original civilization remained for future generations to study.
The prisoners from the future marveled that they had lived so many years apart in modern days, yet had all landed in the same time in the past. As much as they discussed the science of it all, none of them were able to figure out why that was. This discussion got Zach to wondering what year he would arrive in if he journeyed through the tear in time. He began obsessing about living in another time, until one day, he borrowed the clothes from the prisoner who was closest in size to him and ventured out to the deserted field just outside of the Capitol City.
Zach knew that none of the other Brigat’s had ever seen the rip in time. He also knew the only reason he was able to see it was because of the magical purple crystals that his mother had given him when he was a boy. His mother was not from Atlantis. She was from a neighboring Island called Lemuria, where the people were only half human. Their other half was pure, magical, angel.
The purple crystals were a powerful tool that the Lemurians used for a variety of purposes. But being that Zach was only half Lemurian, the rocks didn’t do that much for him He primarily kept them out of sentimentality as they were the only thing he had left from his mother. However, when he went out to the field where the prisoners arrived, Zach discovered that the crystals enabled him to see the entrance to the other world; a world that existed thousands of years in the future.
Once Zach learned about the flood that would destroy his home, he decided to travel through the tear in time for himself. His intention was to merely visit and then return to Atlantis before making his final decision about whether or not he wanted to stay. That was why Zachar only had the clothes on his back and the six purple crystals his mother gave to him the day he left Atlantis. He didn’t think he’d need anything else because he wasn’t going to stay permanently.
But Zach did stay. He walked through tear time and found himself in the year 1940. He was in a very small town called Watusi, in the state of Texas. Zach was enchanted by the quaintness of the people and the simplicity of their lives. But he soon learned that he would need modern currency in order to survive in this town. That didn’t turn out to be a problem though. His mother’s crystals, that didn’t do much for him on Atlantis, worked very well in the future. Every night when Zach went to bed, his shoes would fill with money. And after a week, he decided that he never wanted to see Atlantis again. Watusi, Texas was his home now.
Operation W.iG. C.H.eeS.e
Book 4 in the Willy and Tommy Series
THE PRICE TO PAY
Wilhelmina Snodgrass’ best friend was Tomasina Andretti. They were in the seventh grade at “Watusi Junior High” in Watusi, Texas. Willy had just gotten back from the Sadie Hawkins Dance with her good friend and seventh grade heartthrob, Jamie Armstrong. She figured if having a great best friend and a gorgeous, almost boyfriend weren’t enough she also had one of the coolest jobs in town. She and Tommy worked in the coffee bar at the very glam “Watusi Wig Factory,” owned and operated by Willy’s Great Aunt Georgie. Life had been incredibly kind to Willy since her move to Texas only a few short months ago. Of course, there was a small price to pay. As her Mom’s Great Aunt Jezebel used to say, “Nothing is free.” That sure was the truth. But at the moment, it seemed worth it.
Since the Snodgrass’ move to Texas, Willy and Tommy’s lives had been a storm of bizarre, other worldly, phenomenon. In fact, it started just before the move, when Willy’s family was very happily living in Mason, Illinois. Three of her ancestors, who just happened to be ghosts, arranged for her Dad to get a promotion, in order to get her family to Watusi. It seems that the ghosts or guardian angels, as they preferred to be called, needed Willy’s help.
The ghosts were Georgianna Carbunkle’s (otherwise known as Aunt Georgie’s) Great Grandmother, Grandmother, and Mother. There names were Bella, Aurelia, and Athena. Their mission was to get Aunt Georgie to reopen the family business that Bella had founded in 1889.
At first, the spirits would show up out of nowhere, and only in the factory. It was quite alarming to walk around a corner and run smack into apparitions, even if you knew them. Once their mission was complete and the business was up and running, Bella, Aurelia, and Athena stopped coming to the factory and met with Willy and Tommy in their dreams. But they didn’t leave without installing their representative, Harvey Stingle.
Harvey led the girls through a strange and often terrifying journey back into time where they unearthed a hidden treasure. They were instructed to bring the treasure to Aunt Georgie, where it was to be used for the good of the town. What they didn’t know was that when the gold coins or “The Great Equalizers,” came into the factory, they opened up a tear in the fabric of time, as the coins tried to get back to their own world. The opening was located behind the basement door. In the history of the business, five employees had been lost through it. The most recent man to vanish was their friend and co-worker, Lawrence Fenworthy.
If events weren’t weird enough, they learned that the tear led to an island called Atlantis that existed thirteen thousand years in the past. Willy and Tommy were visited one night by the high priestess of Atlantis’ neighboring island, Lemuria. Her name was Marianus and she instructed them how to return the treasure so that the missing men would go back to their own eras and the tear would be permanently repaired.
Marianus gave them copper wigs to wear that helped them in their journey. They wore the wigs when they were transported back to 1887 in order to dig the treasure up. They were told that they had to unearth the treasure before Willy’s ancestors did, in order to keep their own world from altering. Neither one of them really understood everything that was happening with the time/space continuum, but they experienced enough bizarre things that they were willing to do what they were told. Some things in life, you just had to take on faith.
While the girls were in 1887, however, they stumbled across an old drunk man who thought they were copper haired ghosts. Willy and Tommy decided to have some fun with him and told him that if he didn’t quit drinking, they would take him with them to the after life. The man not only quit drinking, but he erected a statue of the copper haired ghosts in the Watusi Public Park, in honor of them. When the girls got back to their own time, they learned that they, as the copper hair ghosts, had become a Watusi legend.
The friends successfully returned the treasure to thirteen thousand years in the past. Just before the tear in time was sewn shut, they heard Marianus yell something to them. She called out, “I forgot to tell you, but don’t forget to…” and then the rip closed. Neither, girl heard the rest of the sentence, which worried them. Were they supposed to do something else in order to keep their time safe? They simply didn’t know.
Willy lay on her bed staring at the copper wig on her dresser. She kept running through the events of their last adventure. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of what else Marianus wanted them to do. She closed her eyes and put all the crazy events behind her. All she wanted to do was relive the night she just had, dancing with Jamie Armstrong.
After all, adventures seemed to follow her and Tommy. No matter what they did, they were always in the center of a new mystery.
THE PRICE TO PAY
Wilhelmina Snodgrass’ best friend was Tomasina Andretti. They were in the seventh grade at “Watusi Junior High” in Watusi, Texas. Willy had just gotten back from the Sadie Hawkins Dance with her good friend and seventh grade heartthrob, Jamie Armstrong. She figured if having a great best friend and a gorgeous, almost boyfriend weren’t enough she also had one of the coolest jobs in town. She and Tommy worked in the coffee bar at the very glam “Watusi Wig Factory,” owned and operated by Willy’s Great Aunt Georgie. Life had been incredibly kind to Willy since her move to Texas only a few short months ago. Of course, there was a small price to pay. As her Mom’s Great Aunt Jezebel used to say, “Nothing is free.” That sure was the truth. But at the moment, it seemed worth it.
Since the Snodgrass’ move to Texas, Willy and Tommy’s lives had been a storm of bizarre, other worldly, phenomenon. In fact, it started just before the move, when Willy’s family was very happily living in Mason, Illinois. Three of her ancestors, who just happened to be ghosts, arranged for her Dad to get a promotion, in order to get her family to Watusi. It seems that the ghosts or guardian angels, as they preferred to be called, needed Willy’s help.
The ghosts were Georgianna Carbunkle’s (otherwise known as Aunt Georgie’s) Great Grandmother, Grandmother, and Mother. There names were Bella, Aurelia, and Athena. Their mission was to get Aunt Georgie to reopen the family business that Bella had founded in 1889.
At first, the spirits would show up out of nowhere, and only in the factory. It was quite alarming to walk around a corner and run smack into apparitions, even if you knew them. Once their mission was complete and the business was up and running, Bella, Aurelia, and Athena stopped coming to the factory and met with Willy and Tommy in their dreams. But they didn’t leave without installing their representative, Harvey Stingle.
Harvey led the girls through a strange and often terrifying journey back into time where they unearthed a hidden treasure. They were instructed to bring the treasure to Aunt Georgie, where it was to be used for the good of the town. What they didn’t know was that when the gold coins or “The Great Equalizers,” came into the factory, they opened up a tear in the fabric of time, as the coins tried to get back to their own world. The opening was located behind the basement door. In the history of the business, five employees had been lost through it. The most recent man to vanish was their friend and co-worker, Lawrence Fenworthy.
If events weren’t weird enough, they learned that the tear led to an island called Atlantis that existed thirteen thousand years in the past. Willy and Tommy were visited one night by the high priestess of Atlantis’ neighboring island, Lemuria. Her name was Marianus and she instructed them how to return the treasure so that the missing men would go back to their own eras and the tear would be permanently repaired.
Marianus gave them copper wigs to wear that helped them in their journey. They wore the wigs when they were transported back to 1887 in order to dig the treasure up. They were told that they had to unearth the treasure before Willy’s ancestors did, in order to keep their own world from altering. Neither one of them really understood everything that was happening with the time/space continuum, but they experienced enough bizarre things that they were willing to do what they were told. Some things in life, you just had to take on faith.
While the girls were in 1887, however, they stumbled across an old drunk man who thought they were copper haired ghosts. Willy and Tommy decided to have some fun with him and told him that if he didn’t quit drinking, they would take him with them to the after life. The man not only quit drinking, but he erected a statue of the copper haired ghosts in the Watusi Public Park, in honor of them. When the girls got back to their own time, they learned that they, as the copper hair ghosts, had become a Watusi legend.
The friends successfully returned the treasure to thirteen thousand years in the past. Just before the tear in time was sewn shut, they heard Marianus yell something to them. She called out, “I forgot to tell you, but don’t forget to…” and then the rip closed. Neither, girl heard the rest of the sentence, which worried them. Were they supposed to do something else in order to keep their time safe? They simply didn’t know.
Willy lay on her bed staring at the copper wig on her dresser. She kept running through the events of their last adventure. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of what else Marianus wanted them to do. She closed her eyes and put all the crazy events behind her. All she wanted to do was relive the night she just had, dancing with Jamie Armstrong.
After all, adventures seemed to follow her and Tommy. No matter what they did, they were always in the center of a new mystery.
Beware of the Basement
Book 3 in the Willy and Tommy Series
BACKGROUND
Wilhelmina Snodgrass has a great life. She lives in Watusi, Texas with her Mom, Dad, and little brother Wendell. Willy, as she prefers to be called, also has a best friend, Tomasina (a.k.a. Tommy) Andretti and a date to the movies with seventh grade heartthrob, Jamie Armstrong.
Willy was lying on her bed thinking about all the strange twists and turns her life had taken in the last four months since her family moved to Watusi from Illinois. She left Mason, kicking and screaming, convinced that her life would never be the same. Well, she was right. Her life would certainly never be the same, but so far, all the changes seemed to be for the better, with the small exception of Tiffany Petersen, but that’s another story.
Over the summer, Willy met her best friend Tommy, who introduced her to a wonderful old lady by the name of Georgianna Carbunkle. Through a convoluted array of events, she learned that she and Mrs. Carbunkle were in fact related. She also learned that her family’s move to Texas was orchestrated by three of her dead ancestors! Willy was convinced that there wasn’t a normally named person in her entire family tree as the ghost’s were named Bella, Aurelia, and Athena. Those were certainly not names you heard everyday.
Bella was the oldest of the three and also Aunt Georgie’s Great Grandmother. Aurelia was her Grandmother, and Athena her Mother. Whenever the girls saw their other worldly friends, they each appeared at the age they were when they began working at the family business, “The Watusi Wig Factory.” Bella was thirty-six at the time and Aurelia and Athena, both twelve. It took a while for the girls to think of Athena, who looked their age, as the Mother of their eighty-three year old friend. But, they supposed stranger things could happen, and did, to them.
Willy never believed in ghosts until she moved to Texas and now they were just an everyday part of her life. Over the summer she and Tommy seemed to meet and talk with them on a regular basis. But being that their initial mission to reopen the wig factory was successfully completed, they started communicating with them in their dreams. Actually, they weren’t dreams at all being that Tommy would remember having the very same experiences and conversations as Willy. So now, not only did Willy and Tommy see each other everyday at school and at their jobs working at the coffee bar in the factory, they also saw each other in their sleep when meeting with Willy’s dead ancestors.
Four months ago, if anyone told her that she would have a friendship with ghosts she would have laughed right in their faces. Two weeks ago, if anyone told her that she would be time traveling on a regular basis, she would have called the loony bin to come get them. But that is exactly what happened.
Once the wig factory was open, Willy and Tommy discovered that one of the employees, Harvey Stingle, could also communicate with her dead ancestors. In fact, Bella told them that if they ever needed her in a hurry they should tell Harvey. He would pass along the message. So this is how the first adventure of opening the wig factory led to the second adventure of finding out who the heck Harvey Stingle was.
It was the second adventure they just completed not even a week ago. It was that same quest that included the time travel and resulted in the discovery of the buried treasure. Willy thought she should start writing all this in a diary. There was no way anyone other than Tommy would ever believe it. One day she might write a series of books about all the adventures she had in Watusi. Of course, she would have to write the books under the guise of fiction. There would be no use in trying to explain to people that these exploits really happened.
As Willy dozed off a little, she continued to think about the last two weeks. Finding out the truth about Harvey Stingle was beyond shocking. And then she and Tommy learned about the other Harvey during their time travels…Really, she had to write these stories down someday.
The long and the short of it was that the Harvey Stingle they knew in their own time was in fact another guardian angel who was sent to Watusi on a mission. His mission was to get the girls to discover the treasure that had been hidden in the secret panel in Bella’s house during the other Harvey’s time.
The girls were barely able to retrieve the treasure without getting caught, as Bella’s house had become ‘The Watusi Public Library.” Once they accomplished the task, they were granted one final ‘awake’ visit with Bella, where she asked them to take the gold along with the letter she wrote over a hundred years earlier to Aunt Georgie. The note was addressed to her “Dearest Family Member” and requested that the gold be used for the good of the town of Watusi.
The girls asked Bella how they were going to explain to Aunt Georgie how they found the treasure. Bella told them to simply inform her that they discovered the cache in the basement of the wig factory. She told the girls that her family rarely went into the lower level so Georgie would have never known it was down there. Willy and Tommy asked why no one went into the basement and were told that they didn’t want to know. They were warned not to go down there themselves.
Willy was curious about what was in the basement, but after their last two adventures, she wasn’t interested enough to actually venture down to find out for herself. After all, having experienced ghosts and time travel in the last few months, she really wasn’t that anxious to encounter what was next. Willy was absolutely, definitely, without a doubt, NOT going to set foot in the wig factory basement. Or so she thought…
BACKGROUND
Wilhelmina Snodgrass has a great life. She lives in Watusi, Texas with her Mom, Dad, and little brother Wendell. Willy, as she prefers to be called, also has a best friend, Tomasina (a.k.a. Tommy) Andretti and a date to the movies with seventh grade heartthrob, Jamie Armstrong.
Willy was lying on her bed thinking about all the strange twists and turns her life had taken in the last four months since her family moved to Watusi from Illinois. She left Mason, kicking and screaming, convinced that her life would never be the same. Well, she was right. Her life would certainly never be the same, but so far, all the changes seemed to be for the better, with the small exception of Tiffany Petersen, but that’s another story.
Over the summer, Willy met her best friend Tommy, who introduced her to a wonderful old lady by the name of Georgianna Carbunkle. Through a convoluted array of events, she learned that she and Mrs. Carbunkle were in fact related. She also learned that her family’s move to Texas was orchestrated by three of her dead ancestors! Willy was convinced that there wasn’t a normally named person in her entire family tree as the ghost’s were named Bella, Aurelia, and Athena. Those were certainly not names you heard everyday.
Bella was the oldest of the three and also Aunt Georgie’s Great Grandmother. Aurelia was her Grandmother, and Athena her Mother. Whenever the girls saw their other worldly friends, they each appeared at the age they were when they began working at the family business, “The Watusi Wig Factory.” Bella was thirty-six at the time and Aurelia and Athena, both twelve. It took a while for the girls to think of Athena, who looked their age, as the Mother of their eighty-three year old friend. But, they supposed stranger things could happen, and did, to them.
Willy never believed in ghosts until she moved to Texas and now they were just an everyday part of her life. Over the summer she and Tommy seemed to meet and talk with them on a regular basis. But being that their initial mission to reopen the wig factory was successfully completed, they started communicating with them in their dreams. Actually, they weren’t dreams at all being that Tommy would remember having the very same experiences and conversations as Willy. So now, not only did Willy and Tommy see each other everyday at school and at their jobs working at the coffee bar in the factory, they also saw each other in their sleep when meeting with Willy’s dead ancestors.
Four months ago, if anyone told her that she would have a friendship with ghosts she would have laughed right in their faces. Two weeks ago, if anyone told her that she would be time traveling on a regular basis, she would have called the loony bin to come get them. But that is exactly what happened.
Once the wig factory was open, Willy and Tommy discovered that one of the employees, Harvey Stingle, could also communicate with her dead ancestors. In fact, Bella told them that if they ever needed her in a hurry they should tell Harvey. He would pass along the message. So this is how the first adventure of opening the wig factory led to the second adventure of finding out who the heck Harvey Stingle was.
It was the second adventure they just completed not even a week ago. It was that same quest that included the time travel and resulted in the discovery of the buried treasure. Willy thought she should start writing all this in a diary. There was no way anyone other than Tommy would ever believe it. One day she might write a series of books about all the adventures she had in Watusi. Of course, she would have to write the books under the guise of fiction. There would be no use in trying to explain to people that these exploits really happened.
As Willy dozed off a little, she continued to think about the last two weeks. Finding out the truth about Harvey Stingle was beyond shocking. And then she and Tommy learned about the other Harvey during their time travels…Really, she had to write these stories down someday.
The long and the short of it was that the Harvey Stingle they knew in their own time was in fact another guardian angel who was sent to Watusi on a mission. His mission was to get the girls to discover the treasure that had been hidden in the secret panel in Bella’s house during the other Harvey’s time.
The girls were barely able to retrieve the treasure without getting caught, as Bella’s house had become ‘The Watusi Public Library.” Once they accomplished the task, they were granted one final ‘awake’ visit with Bella, where she asked them to take the gold along with the letter she wrote over a hundred years earlier to Aunt Georgie. The note was addressed to her “Dearest Family Member” and requested that the gold be used for the good of the town of Watusi.
The girls asked Bella how they were going to explain to Aunt Georgie how they found the treasure. Bella told them to simply inform her that they discovered the cache in the basement of the wig factory. She told the girls that her family rarely went into the lower level so Georgie would have never known it was down there. Willy and Tommy asked why no one went into the basement and were told that they didn’t want to know. They were warned not to go down there themselves.
Willy was curious about what was in the basement, but after their last two adventures, she wasn’t interested enough to actually venture down to find out for herself. After all, having experienced ghosts and time travel in the last few months, she really wasn’t that anxious to encounter what was next. Willy was absolutely, definitely, without a doubt, NOT going to set foot in the wig factory basement. Or so she thought…
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http://www.traphimfeedhimkeephim.com/
where writing co-hort, Liria Mersini and I help you wage and win the war on happily-ever-after. Through our own brand of hilarious relationship advice and culinary creations you'll be laughing the whole way to the kitchen!
Who the Heck is Harvey Stingle? Excerpt
Book 2 in the Willy and Tommy Series
SUMMER
Wilhelmina Snodgrass and her best friend Tomasina Andretti were laying on their backs in Willy’s front yard watching the clouds roll by. Summer was coming to a quick end and school would start in just two more days. Both girls were going into the seventh grade at Watusi Junior High in Watusi, Texas.
Willy had recently moved to Texas three months earlier and immediately made friends with her new neighbor, Tommy. Both the Snodgrass and Andretti families lived on Mongoose Road which was a lovely street located on the perimeter of town. The houses were all old farm-style homes with huge yards and great big front porches. Texas summers could be so hot that once the cool evenings came, the residents liked nothing better than to sit on their porch swings and sip sweet iced-tea while catching a cool breeze. The front porch is where many families caught up on the busy goings on of their summer lives. Kids talked about swimming, bike riding and little league, while mothers and fathers talked about their jobs, the heat, and how they wished they could be kids again for just one summer.
Willy and Tommy had just had the most wonderful summer of their lives. They spent most of their days helping Willy’s great Aunt Georgie clean up an old wig factory that she had run until she’d closed it down in the 1960’s. Even Tommy, who lived in Watusi most of her life, never heard about the factory until Aunt Georgie told the girls about it in June. With the help of three ghosts (would you believe), the girls were able to convince Georgianna Carbunkle that the citizens of Watusi needed her and the wig factory. Aunt Georgie was delighted to reopen the factory now that she had her great niece, Willy, and her good friend Tommy to help out.
Watusi never looked as good as it did in the last two weeks. Even Belinda Smoot from the pharmacy looked like a fashion plate, what with her new, sleek, auburn wig. Ladies from towns as far away as Smithville were looking pretty snappy, all thanks to the reopening of “The Watusi Wig Factory.”
You might be wondering about the ghosts who not only helped the girls, but also recruited them. In the first place, their names were Bella Bennet, the original proprietor of “The Watusi Wig Factory” and great grandmother to Aunt Georgie. Then there was Bella’s daughter Aurelia, and Aurelia’s daughter Athena, who happened to be Aunt Georgie’s Mom. These spirits were at the center of all the summer’s activities. They didn’t actually haunt the factory. According to Aurelia, they were more like angels who were sent on a mission to help their beloved family member, Georgianna, get purpose back in her life. The only people who ever saw them were Willy and Tommy, that is until two days ago when the angelic trio were bidding farewell to the girls. It was then that they discovered Bella, Aurelia, and Athena had another helper by the name of Harvey Stingle.
Harvey was one of the employees at the factory and as far as Willy and Tommy knew, that’s all he was. It wasn’t until they came upon him actually talking with Willy’s other worldly relatives that they really noticed him. Before that moment they thought he was just a quiet, balding, chubby guy from New York who looked remarkably like the George character from that old TV show “Seinfeld.” Now they had to wonder who he really was. When Bella bid farewell to the girls she told them that if they ever needed her, Aurelia, or Athena, they should tell Harvey and he would get the message to them. What?! Why Harvey? But Bella wouldn’t tell them. She merely said that if they wanted to know Harvey’s story, they would have to get it from him.
So now, not only were Willy and Tommy going into a new grade and had great new jobs working the coffee bar in the front room of the wig factory, they also had a mystery to solve. Before the year was out, they were going to discover the answer to the biggest conundrum they had ever encountered. Who the heck was Harvey Stingle?
SUMMER
Wilhelmina Snodgrass and her best friend Tomasina Andretti were laying on their backs in Willy’s front yard watching the clouds roll by. Summer was coming to a quick end and school would start in just two more days. Both girls were going into the seventh grade at Watusi Junior High in Watusi, Texas.
Willy had recently moved to Texas three months earlier and immediately made friends with her new neighbor, Tommy. Both the Snodgrass and Andretti families lived on Mongoose Road which was a lovely street located on the perimeter of town. The houses were all old farm-style homes with huge yards and great big front porches. Texas summers could be so hot that once the cool evenings came, the residents liked nothing better than to sit on their porch swings and sip sweet iced-tea while catching a cool breeze. The front porch is where many families caught up on the busy goings on of their summer lives. Kids talked about swimming, bike riding and little league, while mothers and fathers talked about their jobs, the heat, and how they wished they could be kids again for just one summer.
Willy and Tommy had just had the most wonderful summer of their lives. They spent most of their days helping Willy’s great Aunt Georgie clean up an old wig factory that she had run until she’d closed it down in the 1960’s. Even Tommy, who lived in Watusi most of her life, never heard about the factory until Aunt Georgie told the girls about it in June. With the help of three ghosts (would you believe), the girls were able to convince Georgianna Carbunkle that the citizens of Watusi needed her and the wig factory. Aunt Georgie was delighted to reopen the factory now that she had her great niece, Willy, and her good friend Tommy to help out.
Watusi never looked as good as it did in the last two weeks. Even Belinda Smoot from the pharmacy looked like a fashion plate, what with her new, sleek, auburn wig. Ladies from towns as far away as Smithville were looking pretty snappy, all thanks to the reopening of “The Watusi Wig Factory.”
You might be wondering about the ghosts who not only helped the girls, but also recruited them. In the first place, their names were Bella Bennet, the original proprietor of “The Watusi Wig Factory” and great grandmother to Aunt Georgie. Then there was Bella’s daughter Aurelia, and Aurelia’s daughter Athena, who happened to be Aunt Georgie’s Mom. These spirits were at the center of all the summer’s activities. They didn’t actually haunt the factory. According to Aurelia, they were more like angels who were sent on a mission to help their beloved family member, Georgianna, get purpose back in her life. The only people who ever saw them were Willy and Tommy, that is until two days ago when the angelic trio were bidding farewell to the girls. It was then that they discovered Bella, Aurelia, and Athena had another helper by the name of Harvey Stingle.
Harvey was one of the employees at the factory and as far as Willy and Tommy knew, that’s all he was. It wasn’t until they came upon him actually talking with Willy’s other worldly relatives that they really noticed him. Before that moment they thought he was just a quiet, balding, chubby guy from New York who looked remarkably like the George character from that old TV show “Seinfeld.” Now they had to wonder who he really was. When Bella bid farewell to the girls she told them that if they ever needed her, Aurelia, or Athena, they should tell Harvey and he would get the message to them. What?! Why Harvey? But Bella wouldn’t tell them. She merely said that if they wanted to know Harvey’s story, they would have to get it from him.
So now, not only were Willy and Tommy going into a new grade and had great new jobs working the coffee bar in the front room of the wig factory, they also had a mystery to solve. Before the year was out, they were going to discover the answer to the biggest conundrum they had ever encountered. Who the heck was Harvey Stingle?
Wilhelmina and the Watuisi Wig Factory Excerpt
Book 1 in the Willy and Tommy Series
Prologue
The three co-conspirators sat in the Victorian parlor on the third floor of the old brick building at the end of Walnut Alley. The youngest member of the group was named Athena and while she looked like a young girl of about twelve, she would have been well past one hundred years old, were she still alive. She exclaimed, “I’m so relieved that we’ve finally found a member of our family who can help us! When is she due to arrive?”
Her Grandmother Bella, who strangely looked to be only in her mid-thirties answered, “Patience Athena. I’ve only just arranged for her father to be offered the job in Watusi. Now we have to wait and hope he accepts it.”
Aurelia, the third member of the party, looked like another twelve-year-old. Oddly, she was also Athena’s Mother. She added, “I hope he does. It’s not like we can’t enlist the help of Tomasina Andretti. It’s just that this plan really should involve one of our own.”
Athena sighed, “My poor Georgie. Who would have thought that she would have closed the factory down when I died? I only wish she’d had a daughter to pass things on to.”
Aurelia contributed, “That would have been ideal but it wasn’t meant to be. Now all we can do is wait. But with a little luck on our side, Wilhelmina Snodgrass will be here soon, and with her comes the future of ‘The Watusi Wig Factory.’
Bella agreed, “Yes, we’ll wait for a bit, but if things don’t work out with Wilhelmina we’ll have to come up with a different plan fast. I just learned that there’s another reason this factory has to reopen by the end of the summer. Someone very important will need our help.”
Aurelia stood up and walked over to the tea cart. She refilled her cup before saying, “We had better get in touch with our other helper then. Is everything set?”
Her daughter Aurelia answered, “Yes. He’s got everything under control. He’s just waiting to hear from us.”
Bella smiled at her daughter and granddaughter. “What a life we’ve had, girls!”
Smiling, Aurelia added, “Not to mention, what an afterlife…”
With those words, the three family members sat down and finalized their plan.
Willy
Wilhelmina Snodgrass has red hair she hates, freckles she loathes, and with a name like Wilhelmina Snodgrass, why not just paint a target on her forehead and back and be done with it? Willy, as her friends call her, just moved to Watusi, Texas with her Mom, Dad, and little brother, Wendell. The first eleven-and-a-half years of her life were spent in a small farming town in central Illinois where the Snodgrass family was well known and well-liked, so much so that no one in Mason even thought Snodgrass was a funny name anymore. Willie’s Dad worked for the John Deere tractor company in Mason, but curse her luck, he got a promotion that moved them all to Texas. Did anyone ask Willy if she wanted to move? Nooooo. Did anyone think how hard it was going to be to make new friends in the summer time? Nooooo. It was like her vote didn’t count for anything. So much for democracy, she fumed.
Willy was sitting on the stoop in front of her new house sad, rejected, and madder than a wet hornet. The more she thought of it all, the madder she got. Wendell was already making new friends with a couple of boys down the street. But you know how boys are; they are not in the least discriminating with their taste in friends. Boys will play with anything having two hands, two feet, and a head, and in the case of Robbie Jakes back in Mason, one hand. To this day, Wendell won’t even think of playing with fireworks. Such is the effect that Robbie’s misadventure had on him.
Willy sat on the stoop watching the movers unload the truck with a feeling of dread. Why did they have to move? Her life in Mason was just perfect. She had two best friends, Betsy and Nettie. She had a great bedroom and she was a shoo-in for the summer swim team. She had been practicing her backstroke for the past six months at the high school swimming pool and was better than any of the freshman, and here she was just going into the seventh grade.
Was there a worse time to move than the seventh grade? If there was, Willy couldn’t imagine it. In Mason, the seventh and eighth grades were in their own building. Willy couldn’t wait to go to the Junior High, directly across the street from the high school. But here in Watusi, the sixth, seventh and eighth grades shared a building. Being new, she was sure everyone would think she was a sixth grader. Red hair, freckles, unfortunately named, and mistaken for a sixth grader? Life couldn’t possibly be any worse!
Emma Jean Snodgrass watched her daughter mope on the front stoop. She was quite sympathetic to her. A move was hard at any age, but eleven she thought, was a particularly difficult time in a girl’s life. Not quite a child and not quite a teen, those tween years were a killer. She remembered all too well. Maybe she would take Willy to the mall and get her some new play clothes for the summer. That ought to cheer her up. When Emma Jean suggested shopping for them to Willy, she responded with “Geez Mom, I’m almost twelve. We don’t call them play clothes anymore.”
“Okay hon, let me rephrase. Would you like to go shopping with your thoroughly ignorant, un-hip Mom and buy some cool new summer threads?”
Willy rolled her eyes, “Sure, why not. It’s not like I have any friends to hang out with.” So off they went, Mother and daughter on an expedition to make life better through shopping. The movers continued to move and John Snodgrass, Willy’s Dad, continued to direct the action. Wendell ran around the yard with his new friends screaming like a herd of banshees. Life in Watusi, Texas was now a reality.
On the drive through town, Willy realized two things. First off, Watusi wasn’t that different from Mason. Both towns were pretty small, under three thousand people. Both towns had a bunch of churches, a park with a swimming pool, and the roads on both main streets were made of brick, from back in the horse and buggy days. Just as she was starting to feel a little at home, Willy realized the second thing. As familiar as the town looked, she didn’t know a soul in it. It was like an episode of that old show on cable that her parents loved, “The Twilight Zone” everything the same, but totally different. “Doo doo doo doo,” she heard the show’s theme song running through her head and she imagined a funny man in a dark suit walking out from behind a building saying, “You have now entered the Twilight Zone.”
Willy’s Mom parked their station wagon on the street right in front of a store called ‘The Glad Bag.’ The store looked pretty cool with a collection of low slung jeans in the window, belly shirts, and lots of fun jewelry. Willy started to think the outing wasn’t going to be so bad. When they walked in, a blast of cold air hit them and ever so slightly cooled her bad mood. A radically dressed teenager introduced herself as Charlene and told them that if they needed any direction with sizes and the like that she would be happy to help. Just when they started toward a rack of denim, Charlene looked Willy up and down and said, “Hey Red, that is some of the coolest looking hair I’ve ever seen. That your real color or do you rinse it in henna?”
Shocked and pleased by the attention, Willy fibbed, “It’s a henna rinse. I’m really a blonde.” Emma Jean looked at her daughter like she had grown a second head, but kept quiet and watched as her tween and this wild teenager continued their dialogue.
“No way, that is soooo cool! I love to do stuff with my hair. I just dyed my sister’s hair blue with blueberry Jello and it’s totally radical. Tommy’s about your age. What are you, twelve?”
Willy answered, “I’ll be twelve in October. I’m going into the seventh-grade in September.”
Charlene brightened and said, “Then you must know Tommy. She’s going to be in the seventh grade too.”
“Well,” Willy explained, “we just moved here from Illinois, so I don’t actually know anybody yet.”
Charlene started to refold some sweaters and said, “Listen Red, you gotta meet Tommy then. She is one of the hippest kids in the junior high. She knows all the ins and outs and she’ll give you the scoop on the Watusi social scene. Where do you live, anyway?”
Willy looked at her Mom and answered, “We live on Mongoose Road, but I don’t remember the house number.”
Emma Jean cut in, “We live at number 231. It’s the two story white farm house with the wrap-around porch.”
Charlene interrupted with a, “NO WAY..... We live at 238 Mongoose! Oh well, that just settles it. I’m gonna have Tommy come over this afternoon to introduce herself. You guys’ll hit it off like crazy.”
All of a sudden, Willy felt like there might be hope for her in Watusi, Texas. She and her Mom spent the next 45 minutes shopping for summer clothes. In the end she took home a new hot pink bikini, two pairs of cropped pants, a belly shirt, and even a fake bellybutton ring. It was the bellybutton ring that made her realize that her Mom felt bad for her about the move. If they still lived in Mason, there was no way she would have approved that purchase.
Wilhelmina Rhonda Snodgrass started to think that there may, just may, be a light at the end of the tunnel.
Prologue
The three co-conspirators sat in the Victorian parlor on the third floor of the old brick building at the end of Walnut Alley. The youngest member of the group was named Athena and while she looked like a young girl of about twelve, she would have been well past one hundred years old, were she still alive. She exclaimed, “I’m so relieved that we’ve finally found a member of our family who can help us! When is she due to arrive?”
Her Grandmother Bella, who strangely looked to be only in her mid-thirties answered, “Patience Athena. I’ve only just arranged for her father to be offered the job in Watusi. Now we have to wait and hope he accepts it.”
Aurelia, the third member of the party, looked like another twelve-year-old. Oddly, she was also Athena’s Mother. She added, “I hope he does. It’s not like we can’t enlist the help of Tomasina Andretti. It’s just that this plan really should involve one of our own.”
Athena sighed, “My poor Georgie. Who would have thought that she would have closed the factory down when I died? I only wish she’d had a daughter to pass things on to.”
Aurelia contributed, “That would have been ideal but it wasn’t meant to be. Now all we can do is wait. But with a little luck on our side, Wilhelmina Snodgrass will be here soon, and with her comes the future of ‘The Watusi Wig Factory.’
Bella agreed, “Yes, we’ll wait for a bit, but if things don’t work out with Wilhelmina we’ll have to come up with a different plan fast. I just learned that there’s another reason this factory has to reopen by the end of the summer. Someone very important will need our help.”
Aurelia stood up and walked over to the tea cart. She refilled her cup before saying, “We had better get in touch with our other helper then. Is everything set?”
Her daughter Aurelia answered, “Yes. He’s got everything under control. He’s just waiting to hear from us.”
Bella smiled at her daughter and granddaughter. “What a life we’ve had, girls!”
Smiling, Aurelia added, “Not to mention, what an afterlife…”
With those words, the three family members sat down and finalized their plan.
Willy
Wilhelmina Snodgrass has red hair she hates, freckles she loathes, and with a name like Wilhelmina Snodgrass, why not just paint a target on her forehead and back and be done with it? Willy, as her friends call her, just moved to Watusi, Texas with her Mom, Dad, and little brother, Wendell. The first eleven-and-a-half years of her life were spent in a small farming town in central Illinois where the Snodgrass family was well known and well-liked, so much so that no one in Mason even thought Snodgrass was a funny name anymore. Willie’s Dad worked for the John Deere tractor company in Mason, but curse her luck, he got a promotion that moved them all to Texas. Did anyone ask Willy if she wanted to move? Nooooo. Did anyone think how hard it was going to be to make new friends in the summer time? Nooooo. It was like her vote didn’t count for anything. So much for democracy, she fumed.
Willy was sitting on the stoop in front of her new house sad, rejected, and madder than a wet hornet. The more she thought of it all, the madder she got. Wendell was already making new friends with a couple of boys down the street. But you know how boys are; they are not in the least discriminating with their taste in friends. Boys will play with anything having two hands, two feet, and a head, and in the case of Robbie Jakes back in Mason, one hand. To this day, Wendell won’t even think of playing with fireworks. Such is the effect that Robbie’s misadventure had on him.
Willy sat on the stoop watching the movers unload the truck with a feeling of dread. Why did they have to move? Her life in Mason was just perfect. She had two best friends, Betsy and Nettie. She had a great bedroom and she was a shoo-in for the summer swim team. She had been practicing her backstroke for the past six months at the high school swimming pool and was better than any of the freshman, and here she was just going into the seventh grade.
Was there a worse time to move than the seventh grade? If there was, Willy couldn’t imagine it. In Mason, the seventh and eighth grades were in their own building. Willy couldn’t wait to go to the Junior High, directly across the street from the high school. But here in Watusi, the sixth, seventh and eighth grades shared a building. Being new, she was sure everyone would think she was a sixth grader. Red hair, freckles, unfortunately named, and mistaken for a sixth grader? Life couldn’t possibly be any worse!
Emma Jean Snodgrass watched her daughter mope on the front stoop. She was quite sympathetic to her. A move was hard at any age, but eleven she thought, was a particularly difficult time in a girl’s life. Not quite a child and not quite a teen, those tween years were a killer. She remembered all too well. Maybe she would take Willy to the mall and get her some new play clothes for the summer. That ought to cheer her up. When Emma Jean suggested shopping for them to Willy, she responded with “Geez Mom, I’m almost twelve. We don’t call them play clothes anymore.”
“Okay hon, let me rephrase. Would you like to go shopping with your thoroughly ignorant, un-hip Mom and buy some cool new summer threads?”
Willy rolled her eyes, “Sure, why not. It’s not like I have any friends to hang out with.” So off they went, Mother and daughter on an expedition to make life better through shopping. The movers continued to move and John Snodgrass, Willy’s Dad, continued to direct the action. Wendell ran around the yard with his new friends screaming like a herd of banshees. Life in Watusi, Texas was now a reality.
On the drive through town, Willy realized two things. First off, Watusi wasn’t that different from Mason. Both towns were pretty small, under three thousand people. Both towns had a bunch of churches, a park with a swimming pool, and the roads on both main streets were made of brick, from back in the horse and buggy days. Just as she was starting to feel a little at home, Willy realized the second thing. As familiar as the town looked, she didn’t know a soul in it. It was like an episode of that old show on cable that her parents loved, “The Twilight Zone” everything the same, but totally different. “Doo doo doo doo,” she heard the show’s theme song running through her head and she imagined a funny man in a dark suit walking out from behind a building saying, “You have now entered the Twilight Zone.”
Willy’s Mom parked their station wagon on the street right in front of a store called ‘The Glad Bag.’ The store looked pretty cool with a collection of low slung jeans in the window, belly shirts, and lots of fun jewelry. Willy started to think the outing wasn’t going to be so bad. When they walked in, a blast of cold air hit them and ever so slightly cooled her bad mood. A radically dressed teenager introduced herself as Charlene and told them that if they needed any direction with sizes and the like that she would be happy to help. Just when they started toward a rack of denim, Charlene looked Willy up and down and said, “Hey Red, that is some of the coolest looking hair I’ve ever seen. That your real color or do you rinse it in henna?”
Shocked and pleased by the attention, Willy fibbed, “It’s a henna rinse. I’m really a blonde.” Emma Jean looked at her daughter like she had grown a second head, but kept quiet and watched as her tween and this wild teenager continued their dialogue.
“No way, that is soooo cool! I love to do stuff with my hair. I just dyed my sister’s hair blue with blueberry Jello and it’s totally radical. Tommy’s about your age. What are you, twelve?”
Willy answered, “I’ll be twelve in October. I’m going into the seventh-grade in September.”
Charlene brightened and said, “Then you must know Tommy. She’s going to be in the seventh grade too.”
“Well,” Willy explained, “we just moved here from Illinois, so I don’t actually know anybody yet.”
Charlene started to refold some sweaters and said, “Listen Red, you gotta meet Tommy then. She is one of the hippest kids in the junior high. She knows all the ins and outs and she’ll give you the scoop on the Watusi social scene. Where do you live, anyway?”
Willy looked at her Mom and answered, “We live on Mongoose Road, but I don’t remember the house number.”
Emma Jean cut in, “We live at number 231. It’s the two story white farm house with the wrap-around porch.”
Charlene interrupted with a, “NO WAY..... We live at 238 Mongoose! Oh well, that just settles it. I’m gonna have Tommy come over this afternoon to introduce herself. You guys’ll hit it off like crazy.”
All of a sudden, Willy felt like there might be hope for her in Watusi, Texas. She and her Mom spent the next 45 minutes shopping for summer clothes. In the end she took home a new hot pink bikini, two pairs of cropped pants, a belly shirt, and even a fake bellybutton ring. It was the bellybutton ring that made her realize that her Mom felt bad for her about the move. If they still lived in Mason, there was no way she would have approved that purchase.
Wilhelmina Rhonda Snodgrass started to think that there may, just may, be a light at the end of the tunnel.
Secrets Excerpt
Chapter 1
Camille Brinkman sat on the floor of her walk-in closet surrounded by copious amounts of designer clothes. The shelves full of cashmere and the drawers overflowing with La Perla. The revolving shoe rack holding no less than fifty pairs of assorted Christian Louboutin, Prada, and Stuart Weitzman heels. The antique French chandelier hanging above the accessory island twinkled brilliantly over an impressive assortment of jewels. Necklaces, earrings, and bracelets all nestled in midnight blue velvet under the glass topped safe, not unlike a Tiffany’s display.
The closet had always been Camille’s favorite place to seek refuge. To her, it was a return trip to the womb, a place to feel safe and secure, surrounded by all of the material possessions she had worked so hard to acquire. She went there every time life threatened to overwhelm her with its endless details; the very details that had just multiplied tenfold.
Camille slid down the wall and rolled onto her side resting her cheek against the plush cream colored carpeting. With tears streaming down her face she let her mind go blank. Now if she could just stay like that, in a semi coma, until everything had sorted itself out. Yet somewhere deep inside her brain she heard the austere voice of Mr. Binks, her junior year Major British Writer’s teacher, solemnly quoting the Merchant of Venice:
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
That’s when it hit Camille. Her closet was no longer her safe haven; it was a worm filled tomb, suffocating the life right out of her. She had sold herself too cheaply and now she was paying the price. If only she could go back in time and make better choices. If only she could have had more confidence in her abilities, her life could have turned out so differently.
* * * * *
Cammy Kelly couldn’t believe that she had finally saved enough money to buy her first Ralph Lauren outfit. She’d been hoarding her babysitting money for the better part of six weeks and after last night’s marathon stint with the Cooper kids she was ready to take the train into the city to Lord and Taylor’s and make the eventful purchase.
Cammy planned to blow her hair out just so, pulling the side of her wavy auburn tresses back in a slim barrette, just like the model in the Polo ads. Then she would apply the right amount of shimmering pink lip gloss and a touch of mascara. After all, she didn’t want the sales lady to know that this was her first time buying designer. She wanted to look like she had been born rich when she handed over her hard earned two hundred plus dollars. She wanted to feel the power that the popular girls felt every time they went shopping, which appeared to be the very second that Ralph created anything new. The “in” crowd purchased the latest designer looks the day they arrived in the store. She knew for a fact that Tricia Conroy’s mother made sure that her daughter’s sizes were held in the back every time a new shipment came in. That way Tricia could have any little thing that caught her fancy.
Unlike Mrs. Conroy, Mrs. Kelly did the majority of her shopping at Sears. Much to Cammy’s chagrin, she was never going to fit in if she looked like the working class daughter of a plumber; which was exactly what she was. So far she had managed to keep that information to herself but only because she didn’t have any friends to share it with.
Cammy was in her Junior year at Bloomfield Valley High School. Her family had just moved to the upper crust Chicago suburb the summer before and even though she had been at her new school for three months, she still ate lunch all by herself everyday. She couldn’t figure out why no one ever sat down with her or why they hadn’t invited her to join them at their tables. Even the townies ignored her. God knew Cammy didn’t want to sit with the unpopular townies, but you’d think that at least they would welcome a new member to their ranks.
That’s when Cammy started her scientific assessment of the popular crowd. She paid close attention to what they wore, ate, and even how they did their makeup. If she was ever going to consider herself a part of their group, she was going to have to know how they operated, from the inside out. She became fixated on Trica Conroy, Brooke Dunkin, and Annabelle Locke. They were the girls she wanted to be friends with because they were the girls who acted like they owned the world. Cammy knew that if she could just befriend those three, she could accomplish anything.
As she set the kitchen table for dinner, Cammy wondered how she would ever be able to invite her new friends to her house. The Formica table was about a million years old and every chair wobbled except her fathers. All the appliances in the kitchen were outdated; the olive green vinyl was peeling off the floors and the kitchen actual appeared to be on a slant. Once a week, she and her mom had to push the table back up against the wall where it belonged. And that was just the kitchen!
The only reason Cammy’s family even moved to Bloomfield Valley was because her great Aunt Edna had died leaving her nephew, Cammy’s dad, all of her worldly possessions. As the Kelly’s had been renting an apartment in a much less affluent suburb, this archaic residence on Chestnut Street in Bloomfield Valley looked like a the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It was a pot of tin as far as Cammy was concerned. Their old place might not have been in a totally safe neighborhood, and her school may not have been the best but at least she had friends there. None of her old friends had ever even taken the train to visit her because now that she lived in Bloomfield Valley, they were convinced that she had become the epitome of a stuck up preppy. If only!
Cammy’s mom walked into the room carrying her youngest son Collin, on her hip. “Thanks for setting the table, hon. Would you mind changing the baby’s diaper and then calling every one in for dinner?”
Cammy took her little brother and proceeded to remove the filthiest diaper that she had yet to encounter. Swallowing down a burst of nausea, she wondered why her parents kept having children. It’s not that she didn’t love her brothers and sisters; it’s just that six kids were expensive and the Kelly’s never had that much in the way of spare cash. Cammy swore that if she ever had children she would make sure that she would be rich enough to hire a nanny. With five younger siblings, she had changed enough diapers for one lifetime.
Cammy spent the entire meal lost in the fantasy world in her head, a world where she could have all the Ralph Lauren outfits that she wanted, a world where she had more friends than she knew what to do with.
* * * * *
Camille finally dragged herself off the closet floor when she heard the maid coming down the hall. It wouldn’t do to have Maria reporting to Russ that she was acting oddly. After all, if she had any hopes of coming out of this situation unscathed she couldn’t afford to tip her husband off.
Chapter 2
Tricia Conroy had noticed the new girl on her first day of school but she didn’t bother speaking to her for two reasons. Number one, Cammy Kelly was prettier than she was and while Tricia was very pretty in her own right, she was also hell bent on getting a date with Troy Morgan. For that reason alone, she didn’t want to surround herself with anyone as stunning as Cammy.
The second reason was that Cammy appeared to be poor. That is if her clothes were anything to go by. Tricia didn’t personally care that she was poor but the other girls in her clique definitely would and she wasn’t about to be nice to a poor kid if it meant pissing off the friends that she already had. Then of course there was her mother. Louise Conroy paid close attention to who Tricia’s friends were. She wanted to make sure that her daughter was cultivating the right kind of alliances. Tricia was pretty sure that Cammy’s parents didn’t belong to the best country club or any country club for that matter. Hence, she would never pass inspection. So why bother getting to know her?
Tricia tied her pink sweater over her shoulders and checked her makeup in the mirror hanging on the side of her locker before grabbing her books and heading off for sixth period. Sixth period was Major British Writers and while Tricia was a very good student, for some reason Mr. Binks seemed to have it in for her. No matter how much she tried to participate in class or how hard she worked on her papers, she could never bring her grade up beyond a B. It was infuriating because if she was ever going to get into Northwestern, she couldn’t afford to get B’s in anything.
Tricia took her seat between Brook and Annabelle three seconds before the final bell rang. Mr. Binks eyed her as he stood up from his desk. Regardless of the fact that two other students were just walking through the door, he raised his left eyebrow and scolded, “Cutting a bit close, weren’t you Miss Conroy?”
Tricia wanted to scream, “at least I’m in my chair, asshole!” Of course she didn’t. She just glanced at the other late comers to make her point.
Annabelle leaned over and whispered, “He treats you like that because he wants you.”
Tricia rolled her eyes and stuck her finger down her throat as if the thought was enough to make her puke. Mr. Binks wasn’t that old, maybe thirty or so. He was tall and not totally repulsive looking but he acted like such a dick that Tricia couldn’t help but be revolted at the thought of him wanting her as Annabelle put it.
Mr. Binks started to read from The Merchant of Venice. Tricia paid close attention in a vain attempt to bring her grade up. Brooke kicked off her penny loafers and closed her eyes, thinking the pose made her look like she was deeply entranced in the dialogue. When in fact it just made her look like she was asleep, which she probably was. And Annabelle spent the fifty two minutes of class planning her seventeenth birthday bash.
Just as Tricia tried to stifle a yawn, Mr. Binks stopped reading and addressed the class, “I want a show of hands, who thinks that’s Shylock is a sympathetic character?” A smattering of hands shot up. “Now, who doesn’t think that he’s a sympathetic character?” The majority of the class raised their hands in response. Mr. Binks looked right at Tricia and asked, “Miss Conroy, why don’t you think that Shylock is sympathetic?”
Tricia answered, “Well, he killed Antonio didn’t he?” She added, “I don’t normally find murderers worthy of compassion, do you?”
Mr. Binks smiled at her in a condescending way without responding. Then he turned to Cammy and asked, “Miss Kelly, you thought Shylock was sympathetic, why?”
Cammy turned bright red and fought every impulse to get up and run out of the room. The last thing that she wanted was for the entire class to focus their attention on her, especially when she was disagreeing with Tricia Conroy. After what felt like hours, she finally answered, “I just think that because Shylock had been persecuted so horribly by the Christians that it’s hard not to feel for that all he’s had to endure.”
Mr Binks asked, “Even though he’s a murderer?”
Quietly, Cammy answered, “We’re all the product of our experience. I just think that if he hadn’t been mistreated, maybe he wouldn’t have become a murderer at all.”
Without opening her eyes, Brooke leaned over to Tricia and whispered, “We better keep an eye on that one. I bet she’s the type that would snap and slaughter her whole family in their sleep.”
Annabelle overheard and laughed out loud before she could stop herself. Mr. Binks glared at her and demanded, “Miss Locke, what is so funny?”
Annabelle, ever the calm cookie replied, “I was just thinking about a joke I heard in gym.”
Mr. Binks replied, “Why don’t you share it with us Miss Locke? I’m sure the class would appreciate a good laugh.”
Without missing a beat Annabelle launched into a tale about a horse with three penises. Mr. Binks immediately cut her off, “I’ll see you in detention this afternoon, Miss Locke.”
Annabelle countered, “I don’t see why, I was just doing what you told me to do.”
“Would you like detention tomorrow too?”
Annabelle fumed, “I didn’t want it today! Look Mr. Binks, it seems to me that I shouldn’t be punished for just doing what I was told.”
Mr. Binks slammed his book down, “I did not tell you to tell the class a dirty joke Miss Locke!”
“Actually sir, you told me to tell them the joke that made me laugh and that’s exactly what I was doing.”
Mr. Binks exclaimed, “Enough! You’ll report to detention this afternoon and that’s all there is to it.”
Brooke chose that moment to pipe in, “You’re being totally unfair, Mr. Binks. After all, she only did what she was told,”
“Your point is taken Miss Dunkin. I will expect you in detention as well.” Then he looked out at the class and asked, “Anyone else want to defend Miss Locke?” When no one answered, he looked at Tricia and asked, “How about you Miss Conroy. Don’t you want to stick up for your friend?”
Tricia crunched down in her seat, “No sir.”
Mr. Binks persisted, “Anyone else?”
Cammy saw this as the perfect opportunity to get in good with Annbelle and Brooke so she tentatively raised her hand. The way she figured it, if she could support them by staying after in detention with them, maybe they would have a chance to talk and she would be one step closer to becoming friends with them. She knew it wasn’t a great plan but it was more than she had to go on up until that point.
Mr. Binks stared at Cammy and said, “You can’t be serious, Miss Kelly.”
Cammy responded, “Well sir, actually I am. It seems to me that if this issue were before the debate team, Annabelle would have won her argument. I mean, she did do exactly as you told her to. She told you the story that made her laugh.”
Mr. Binks interrupted, “So you’re saying that it was my fault?”
“Technically, yes.”
Mr. Binks asked, “You’re saying that I should have asked Miss Locke if the story that made her laugh was a dirty one before she started telling it?”
Cammy cleared her throat, “Well, we are in high school sir. Chances are that if one of us laughs out loud in the middle of class at a story we remembered hearing in gym class, it has a pretty good chance of being a little off colored.”
Mr. Binks stared at Cammy and then surprised the entire class by laughing. After a moment he announced, “No detention for any of you. But heed my warning, no more dirty jokes or I’ll make the whole class stay.” Then he looked at Tricia and declared, “Miss Conroy, it seems to me that if you were any kind of friend to Miss Locke, you would have offered to defend her as well as Miss Kelly did.”
Tricia wanted to scream! What in the heck? If she had opened her mouth to so much as breathe, she would have gotten detention until senior year. Now Stinky Binky wanted her to actually disagree with him and think that he would have rewarded her for it? God, life was unfair! Using every last shred of strength in her body, Tricia managed to keep herself from storming up to Mr. Binks and ripping his larynx out with her bare hands, the bastard.
Cammy couldn’t believe that by speaking up she had actually gotten Annabelle and Brooke sprung from detention. In a way she was thrilled but then how was she ever going to actually get a chance to talk to them if she didn’t spend time with them? She’d have to go back to the drawing board on that one. She hoped that Tricia wasn’t mad at her for Mr. Binks’s crack that she should have been the one to stand up for her friends. After all, everyone knew that their teacher hated Tricia. If she had said anything he probably would have had her expelled.
When the bell rang announcing the end of sixth period, Cammy gathered her books and stood up. As she walked by Tricia, Annabelle, and Brooke on the way to the door, Annabelle called out to her, “Hey thanks for your help.”
Cammy smiled back and casually answered, “No problem,” when she really wanted to jump up and down from excitement. This was the first time anyone from the “in” crowd had ever so much as looked at her let alone thanked her. This day was turning out better than she could have ever anticipated.
Chapter 3
Camille ran into Maria as she exited the closet. The maid smiled at her and continued carrying a stack of extra thick butter yellow bath sheets into the master bath. When she emerged she asked, “Mr. Russ says dinner need to start at seven, yes?” “That’s right Maria. The guests will arrive by six-thirty but Mr. Brinkman wants you to have the first course ready by seven. Dessert should be served by eight and with any luck everyone will be gone by nine-thirty”
Maria nodded her head, “Okay Mrs. Russ. I tell Raul.”
The maid left the master suite with the lady of the house at her heels. Camille never tired of the beauty of her home. The grand stair case that swept up three flights, the hand carved banisters, the chandeliers that lit every room, the antiques and all of the lovely art work; most of it museum quality. She never would have believed that she would be living in a twelve thousand square foot mansion with so many opulent possessions, a handsome husband, and four live in servants. Camille briefly thought of her childhood and sighed. She now had everything that she ever dreamed of but nothing was turning out the way it was supposed to.
Camille walked into her robin’s egg blue and white sitting room and went straight to her nineteenth century Mahogany Carlton House desk. She loved her desk and never sat down at it without visualizing all of the ladies that must have spent hours sitting exactly where she did, accepting and declining invitations or writing to family members that had been left behind in some distant English shire. But today she didn’t spare them a second thought. She merely opened the center drawer and pulled out her black kid leather address book. Picking up the phone she punched in the number of one of her closest friends. After three rings she heard, “Anne Lockwood’s residence, how may I help you?”
Camille recognized the voice of her friend’s personal assistant, “Jenny, its Camille Brinkman. Is she in?”
“No Mrs. Brinkman, she’s not. She’s shooting on location today. Why don’t you try her cell phone?” Camille answered, “Thanks Jenny, I’ll do that.” Then she looked up her friend’s mobile number and punched it in. After barely one ring, the familiar voice of Annabelle Locke, a.k.a. Anne Lockwood asked, “Cammy, what’s wrong?”
Camille broke down, “Oh Annabelle, things are spinning out of control. Is the invitation still open to visit next week?”
Annabelle answered, “Absolutely! In Fact I just heard back from Tricia and she was able to get her mom to stay with the kids so she’ll be coming on the same flight as Brooke.” Concerned by her friend’s tears, Annabelle asked, “What happened, Cammy?”
Camille sobbed, “I can’t tell you over the phone.” Then she whispered, “I’ll tell all of you when I arrive on Friday, okay?”
Annabelle answered soothingly, “Okay honey, you just get here safely. Call if you need anything.”
Camille agreed and then hung up the phone. Now all she had to do was get through a dinner with Russ and the board of directors of Brinkman Pharmaceuticals. Then she could kiss her husband goodbye in the morning knowing that she would be long gone before he got back from his trip to Tokyo. Of course she had no intention of telling him that she was going away too. In fact part of her thought that she might never see him again after tomorrow.
Stopping off at the wet bar in Russ’s office, Camille poured herself a great big gin and tonic for strength and popped a Xanax for courage. Surely she could get through one more night, like so many before, without showing her hand. If only she could pretend that she hadn’t just learned that her husband of ten years was plotting to have her killed. But she couldn’t let herself get caught up in the emotions of her newfound knowledge. She needed to act as if all was well and then, next week, with the help of her friends she could start to plan her revenge.
* * * * *
Cammy floated home on cloud nine. Today was the best day in her entire three months at Bloomfield Valley High School. As soon as she sat down at her tiny little lunch table for two, she noticed Brooke Dunkin walking towards her. Cammy briefly glanced behind her to see if Brooke was on her way to see someone at another table. But there were only townies behind her. When Brooke stopped right in front of her, Cammy thought she might pass out.
Brooke smiled and said, “I really appreciate what you did for Annabelle and me in Major British Writers yesterday.”
Trying to sound calm, Cammy replied, “It was nothing, really.”
Brooke suggested, “Hey if you’re not eating lunch with anyone today, why don’t you come over and sit with us?” Cammy was so thrilled with the invitation that she thought she’d fall over if she stood up. She finally managed, “Really?”
Brooke responded, “Sure, unless you’re meeting someone.”
Cammy risked fainting and bolted to her feet. She grabbed her straw book bag and her tray and said, “No, not meeting anyone else. So, I guess I’d be happy to join you.”
Brooke knew that Cammy had sat at that very lunch table all by herself for the last three months so there was no way that she was meeting anyone. But she appreciated the new girl’s ability to make it sound like it was a possibility. Brooke would have gone ahead and let Cammy eat alone for the next six months as well if she hadn’t jumped in and helped her out in class. It’s not that one day of detention would have been such a big deal to Brooke; it’s just that she admired people who stood up for a cause, especially when she happened to be that cause.
On the way over to the popular table, Cammy was struck by the sheer terror of sitting with the cool kids. After all, it was one thing to be asked to join them once. It would be a completely different story to make their lunch table her permanent dining address.
Annabelle noticed Cammy coming towards them and scooted over to make room for her. She smiled, “Well if it isn’t the girl with the brass balls.”
Cammy smiled, “It was no big deal.”
Tricia had not been too keen on the idea of asking Cammy to join them. She interjected, “Well according to Binks it was a big deal. So much so that he thought I should have been the one to stand up for Brooke and Annabelle.”
Cammy sensed that her response to Tricia would be a test that she had to pass with flying colors if she had any intention of continuing to eat with them. So she took a deep breath and forged ahead, “I don’t want to sound mean Tricia, but if you would have stood up to Mr. Binks and said what I did, he would have sent you to detention for life. I mean, the man positively hates you!”
Tricia threw her hands up in the air, “I knew it was obvious! How can everyone in class know that creep has it out for me and yet he still gets away with it? I’m never going to get him to give me the A that I deserve.”
Annabelle blurted out, “I told you Tricia, he does it because he has a crush on you.”
Tricia disagreed, “If he liked me, don’t you think he’d be nicer to me?”
Cammy replied, “Actually Tricia, if he has a crush on you then his behavior makes a lot of sense. Chances are that you’re a lot like a girl that he liked when he was in high school. And if he was as big of a dweeb then as he is now, she probably turned him down flat.”
Tricia rolled her eyes and sarcastically drawled, “Well that’s fair, being punished because someone else bagged on him a million years ago when he was a kid.”
Cammy confided, “It happened to my mom. She went to high school with the butcher in our old neighbor. Mr. Schwimer asked her to the prom when they were seniors and my mom said no. So, when he became a butcher, he used to give her the worst cuts of meat. It got so bad that my mom had to change stores.”
Tricia slammed her hand on the table and declared, “I want revenge!” She looked at Cammy, “For me and your mom. Your mom got sucky meat and I’m getting a sucky grade. There has to be a way that I can get even.”
A devious smile crossed Annabelle’s face, “How badly do you want it?”
Tricia confirmed, “I would do anything.”
Annabelle smiled, “Good, because I have a plan.”
Camille Brinkman sat on the floor of her walk-in closet surrounded by copious amounts of designer clothes. The shelves full of cashmere and the drawers overflowing with La Perla. The revolving shoe rack holding no less than fifty pairs of assorted Christian Louboutin, Prada, and Stuart Weitzman heels. The antique French chandelier hanging above the accessory island twinkled brilliantly over an impressive assortment of jewels. Necklaces, earrings, and bracelets all nestled in midnight blue velvet under the glass topped safe, not unlike a Tiffany’s display.
The closet had always been Camille’s favorite place to seek refuge. To her, it was a return trip to the womb, a place to feel safe and secure, surrounded by all of the material possessions she had worked so hard to acquire. She went there every time life threatened to overwhelm her with its endless details; the very details that had just multiplied tenfold.
Camille slid down the wall and rolled onto her side resting her cheek against the plush cream colored carpeting. With tears streaming down her face she let her mind go blank. Now if she could just stay like that, in a semi coma, until everything had sorted itself out. Yet somewhere deep inside her brain she heard the austere voice of Mr. Binks, her junior year Major British Writer’s teacher, solemnly quoting the Merchant of Venice:
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
That’s when it hit Camille. Her closet was no longer her safe haven; it was a worm filled tomb, suffocating the life right out of her. She had sold herself too cheaply and now she was paying the price. If only she could go back in time and make better choices. If only she could have had more confidence in her abilities, her life could have turned out so differently.
* * * * *
Cammy Kelly couldn’t believe that she had finally saved enough money to buy her first Ralph Lauren outfit. She’d been hoarding her babysitting money for the better part of six weeks and after last night’s marathon stint with the Cooper kids she was ready to take the train into the city to Lord and Taylor’s and make the eventful purchase.
Cammy planned to blow her hair out just so, pulling the side of her wavy auburn tresses back in a slim barrette, just like the model in the Polo ads. Then she would apply the right amount of shimmering pink lip gloss and a touch of mascara. After all, she didn’t want the sales lady to know that this was her first time buying designer. She wanted to look like she had been born rich when she handed over her hard earned two hundred plus dollars. She wanted to feel the power that the popular girls felt every time they went shopping, which appeared to be the very second that Ralph created anything new. The “in” crowd purchased the latest designer looks the day they arrived in the store. She knew for a fact that Tricia Conroy’s mother made sure that her daughter’s sizes were held in the back every time a new shipment came in. That way Tricia could have any little thing that caught her fancy.
Unlike Mrs. Conroy, Mrs. Kelly did the majority of her shopping at Sears. Much to Cammy’s chagrin, she was never going to fit in if she looked like the working class daughter of a plumber; which was exactly what she was. So far she had managed to keep that information to herself but only because she didn’t have any friends to share it with.
Cammy was in her Junior year at Bloomfield Valley High School. Her family had just moved to the upper crust Chicago suburb the summer before and even though she had been at her new school for three months, she still ate lunch all by herself everyday. She couldn’t figure out why no one ever sat down with her or why they hadn’t invited her to join them at their tables. Even the townies ignored her. God knew Cammy didn’t want to sit with the unpopular townies, but you’d think that at least they would welcome a new member to their ranks.
That’s when Cammy started her scientific assessment of the popular crowd. She paid close attention to what they wore, ate, and even how they did their makeup. If she was ever going to consider herself a part of their group, she was going to have to know how they operated, from the inside out. She became fixated on Trica Conroy, Brooke Dunkin, and Annabelle Locke. They were the girls she wanted to be friends with because they were the girls who acted like they owned the world. Cammy knew that if she could just befriend those three, she could accomplish anything.
As she set the kitchen table for dinner, Cammy wondered how she would ever be able to invite her new friends to her house. The Formica table was about a million years old and every chair wobbled except her fathers. All the appliances in the kitchen were outdated; the olive green vinyl was peeling off the floors and the kitchen actual appeared to be on a slant. Once a week, she and her mom had to push the table back up against the wall where it belonged. And that was just the kitchen!
The only reason Cammy’s family even moved to Bloomfield Valley was because her great Aunt Edna had died leaving her nephew, Cammy’s dad, all of her worldly possessions. As the Kelly’s had been renting an apartment in a much less affluent suburb, this archaic residence on Chestnut Street in Bloomfield Valley looked like a the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It was a pot of tin as far as Cammy was concerned. Their old place might not have been in a totally safe neighborhood, and her school may not have been the best but at least she had friends there. None of her old friends had ever even taken the train to visit her because now that she lived in Bloomfield Valley, they were convinced that she had become the epitome of a stuck up preppy. If only!
Cammy’s mom walked into the room carrying her youngest son Collin, on her hip. “Thanks for setting the table, hon. Would you mind changing the baby’s diaper and then calling every one in for dinner?”
Cammy took her little brother and proceeded to remove the filthiest diaper that she had yet to encounter. Swallowing down a burst of nausea, she wondered why her parents kept having children. It’s not that she didn’t love her brothers and sisters; it’s just that six kids were expensive and the Kelly’s never had that much in the way of spare cash. Cammy swore that if she ever had children she would make sure that she would be rich enough to hire a nanny. With five younger siblings, she had changed enough diapers for one lifetime.
Cammy spent the entire meal lost in the fantasy world in her head, a world where she could have all the Ralph Lauren outfits that she wanted, a world where she had more friends than she knew what to do with.
* * * * *
Camille finally dragged herself off the closet floor when she heard the maid coming down the hall. It wouldn’t do to have Maria reporting to Russ that she was acting oddly. After all, if she had any hopes of coming out of this situation unscathed she couldn’t afford to tip her husband off.
Chapter 2
Tricia Conroy had noticed the new girl on her first day of school but she didn’t bother speaking to her for two reasons. Number one, Cammy Kelly was prettier than she was and while Tricia was very pretty in her own right, she was also hell bent on getting a date with Troy Morgan. For that reason alone, she didn’t want to surround herself with anyone as stunning as Cammy.
The second reason was that Cammy appeared to be poor. That is if her clothes were anything to go by. Tricia didn’t personally care that she was poor but the other girls in her clique definitely would and she wasn’t about to be nice to a poor kid if it meant pissing off the friends that she already had. Then of course there was her mother. Louise Conroy paid close attention to who Tricia’s friends were. She wanted to make sure that her daughter was cultivating the right kind of alliances. Tricia was pretty sure that Cammy’s parents didn’t belong to the best country club or any country club for that matter. Hence, she would never pass inspection. So why bother getting to know her?
Tricia tied her pink sweater over her shoulders and checked her makeup in the mirror hanging on the side of her locker before grabbing her books and heading off for sixth period. Sixth period was Major British Writers and while Tricia was a very good student, for some reason Mr. Binks seemed to have it in for her. No matter how much she tried to participate in class or how hard she worked on her papers, she could never bring her grade up beyond a B. It was infuriating because if she was ever going to get into Northwestern, she couldn’t afford to get B’s in anything.
Tricia took her seat between Brook and Annabelle three seconds before the final bell rang. Mr. Binks eyed her as he stood up from his desk. Regardless of the fact that two other students were just walking through the door, he raised his left eyebrow and scolded, “Cutting a bit close, weren’t you Miss Conroy?”
Tricia wanted to scream, “at least I’m in my chair, asshole!” Of course she didn’t. She just glanced at the other late comers to make her point.
Annabelle leaned over and whispered, “He treats you like that because he wants you.”
Tricia rolled her eyes and stuck her finger down her throat as if the thought was enough to make her puke. Mr. Binks wasn’t that old, maybe thirty or so. He was tall and not totally repulsive looking but he acted like such a dick that Tricia couldn’t help but be revolted at the thought of him wanting her as Annabelle put it.
Mr. Binks started to read from The Merchant of Venice. Tricia paid close attention in a vain attempt to bring her grade up. Brooke kicked off her penny loafers and closed her eyes, thinking the pose made her look like she was deeply entranced in the dialogue. When in fact it just made her look like she was asleep, which she probably was. And Annabelle spent the fifty two minutes of class planning her seventeenth birthday bash.
Just as Tricia tried to stifle a yawn, Mr. Binks stopped reading and addressed the class, “I want a show of hands, who thinks that’s Shylock is a sympathetic character?” A smattering of hands shot up. “Now, who doesn’t think that he’s a sympathetic character?” The majority of the class raised their hands in response. Mr. Binks looked right at Tricia and asked, “Miss Conroy, why don’t you think that Shylock is sympathetic?”
Tricia answered, “Well, he killed Antonio didn’t he?” She added, “I don’t normally find murderers worthy of compassion, do you?”
Mr. Binks smiled at her in a condescending way without responding. Then he turned to Cammy and asked, “Miss Kelly, you thought Shylock was sympathetic, why?”
Cammy turned bright red and fought every impulse to get up and run out of the room. The last thing that she wanted was for the entire class to focus their attention on her, especially when she was disagreeing with Tricia Conroy. After what felt like hours, she finally answered, “I just think that because Shylock had been persecuted so horribly by the Christians that it’s hard not to feel for that all he’s had to endure.”
Mr Binks asked, “Even though he’s a murderer?”
Quietly, Cammy answered, “We’re all the product of our experience. I just think that if he hadn’t been mistreated, maybe he wouldn’t have become a murderer at all.”
Without opening her eyes, Brooke leaned over to Tricia and whispered, “We better keep an eye on that one. I bet she’s the type that would snap and slaughter her whole family in their sleep.”
Annabelle overheard and laughed out loud before she could stop herself. Mr. Binks glared at her and demanded, “Miss Locke, what is so funny?”
Annabelle, ever the calm cookie replied, “I was just thinking about a joke I heard in gym.”
Mr. Binks replied, “Why don’t you share it with us Miss Locke? I’m sure the class would appreciate a good laugh.”
Without missing a beat Annabelle launched into a tale about a horse with three penises. Mr. Binks immediately cut her off, “I’ll see you in detention this afternoon, Miss Locke.”
Annabelle countered, “I don’t see why, I was just doing what you told me to do.”
“Would you like detention tomorrow too?”
Annabelle fumed, “I didn’t want it today! Look Mr. Binks, it seems to me that I shouldn’t be punished for just doing what I was told.”
Mr. Binks slammed his book down, “I did not tell you to tell the class a dirty joke Miss Locke!”
“Actually sir, you told me to tell them the joke that made me laugh and that’s exactly what I was doing.”
Mr. Binks exclaimed, “Enough! You’ll report to detention this afternoon and that’s all there is to it.”
Brooke chose that moment to pipe in, “You’re being totally unfair, Mr. Binks. After all, she only did what she was told,”
“Your point is taken Miss Dunkin. I will expect you in detention as well.” Then he looked out at the class and asked, “Anyone else want to defend Miss Locke?” When no one answered, he looked at Tricia and asked, “How about you Miss Conroy. Don’t you want to stick up for your friend?”
Tricia crunched down in her seat, “No sir.”
Mr. Binks persisted, “Anyone else?”
Cammy saw this as the perfect opportunity to get in good with Annbelle and Brooke so she tentatively raised her hand. The way she figured it, if she could support them by staying after in detention with them, maybe they would have a chance to talk and she would be one step closer to becoming friends with them. She knew it wasn’t a great plan but it was more than she had to go on up until that point.
Mr. Binks stared at Cammy and said, “You can’t be serious, Miss Kelly.”
Cammy responded, “Well sir, actually I am. It seems to me that if this issue were before the debate team, Annabelle would have won her argument. I mean, she did do exactly as you told her to. She told you the story that made her laugh.”
Mr. Binks interrupted, “So you’re saying that it was my fault?”
“Technically, yes.”
Mr. Binks asked, “You’re saying that I should have asked Miss Locke if the story that made her laugh was a dirty one before she started telling it?”
Cammy cleared her throat, “Well, we are in high school sir. Chances are that if one of us laughs out loud in the middle of class at a story we remembered hearing in gym class, it has a pretty good chance of being a little off colored.”
Mr. Binks stared at Cammy and then surprised the entire class by laughing. After a moment he announced, “No detention for any of you. But heed my warning, no more dirty jokes or I’ll make the whole class stay.” Then he looked at Tricia and declared, “Miss Conroy, it seems to me that if you were any kind of friend to Miss Locke, you would have offered to defend her as well as Miss Kelly did.”
Tricia wanted to scream! What in the heck? If she had opened her mouth to so much as breathe, she would have gotten detention until senior year. Now Stinky Binky wanted her to actually disagree with him and think that he would have rewarded her for it? God, life was unfair! Using every last shred of strength in her body, Tricia managed to keep herself from storming up to Mr. Binks and ripping his larynx out with her bare hands, the bastard.
Cammy couldn’t believe that by speaking up she had actually gotten Annabelle and Brooke sprung from detention. In a way she was thrilled but then how was she ever going to actually get a chance to talk to them if she didn’t spend time with them? She’d have to go back to the drawing board on that one. She hoped that Tricia wasn’t mad at her for Mr. Binks’s crack that she should have been the one to stand up for her friends. After all, everyone knew that their teacher hated Tricia. If she had said anything he probably would have had her expelled.
When the bell rang announcing the end of sixth period, Cammy gathered her books and stood up. As she walked by Tricia, Annabelle, and Brooke on the way to the door, Annabelle called out to her, “Hey thanks for your help.”
Cammy smiled back and casually answered, “No problem,” when she really wanted to jump up and down from excitement. This was the first time anyone from the “in” crowd had ever so much as looked at her let alone thanked her. This day was turning out better than she could have ever anticipated.
Chapter 3
Camille ran into Maria as she exited the closet. The maid smiled at her and continued carrying a stack of extra thick butter yellow bath sheets into the master bath. When she emerged she asked, “Mr. Russ says dinner need to start at seven, yes?” “That’s right Maria. The guests will arrive by six-thirty but Mr. Brinkman wants you to have the first course ready by seven. Dessert should be served by eight and with any luck everyone will be gone by nine-thirty”
Maria nodded her head, “Okay Mrs. Russ. I tell Raul.”
The maid left the master suite with the lady of the house at her heels. Camille never tired of the beauty of her home. The grand stair case that swept up three flights, the hand carved banisters, the chandeliers that lit every room, the antiques and all of the lovely art work; most of it museum quality. She never would have believed that she would be living in a twelve thousand square foot mansion with so many opulent possessions, a handsome husband, and four live in servants. Camille briefly thought of her childhood and sighed. She now had everything that she ever dreamed of but nothing was turning out the way it was supposed to.
Camille walked into her robin’s egg blue and white sitting room and went straight to her nineteenth century Mahogany Carlton House desk. She loved her desk and never sat down at it without visualizing all of the ladies that must have spent hours sitting exactly where she did, accepting and declining invitations or writing to family members that had been left behind in some distant English shire. But today she didn’t spare them a second thought. She merely opened the center drawer and pulled out her black kid leather address book. Picking up the phone she punched in the number of one of her closest friends. After three rings she heard, “Anne Lockwood’s residence, how may I help you?”
Camille recognized the voice of her friend’s personal assistant, “Jenny, its Camille Brinkman. Is she in?”
“No Mrs. Brinkman, she’s not. She’s shooting on location today. Why don’t you try her cell phone?” Camille answered, “Thanks Jenny, I’ll do that.” Then she looked up her friend’s mobile number and punched it in. After barely one ring, the familiar voice of Annabelle Locke, a.k.a. Anne Lockwood asked, “Cammy, what’s wrong?”
Camille broke down, “Oh Annabelle, things are spinning out of control. Is the invitation still open to visit next week?”
Annabelle answered, “Absolutely! In Fact I just heard back from Tricia and she was able to get her mom to stay with the kids so she’ll be coming on the same flight as Brooke.” Concerned by her friend’s tears, Annabelle asked, “What happened, Cammy?”
Camille sobbed, “I can’t tell you over the phone.” Then she whispered, “I’ll tell all of you when I arrive on Friday, okay?”
Annabelle answered soothingly, “Okay honey, you just get here safely. Call if you need anything.”
Camille agreed and then hung up the phone. Now all she had to do was get through a dinner with Russ and the board of directors of Brinkman Pharmaceuticals. Then she could kiss her husband goodbye in the morning knowing that she would be long gone before he got back from his trip to Tokyo. Of course she had no intention of telling him that she was going away too. In fact part of her thought that she might never see him again after tomorrow.
Stopping off at the wet bar in Russ’s office, Camille poured herself a great big gin and tonic for strength and popped a Xanax for courage. Surely she could get through one more night, like so many before, without showing her hand. If only she could pretend that she hadn’t just learned that her husband of ten years was plotting to have her killed. But she couldn’t let herself get caught up in the emotions of her newfound knowledge. She needed to act as if all was well and then, next week, with the help of her friends she could start to plan her revenge.
* * * * *
Cammy floated home on cloud nine. Today was the best day in her entire three months at Bloomfield Valley High School. As soon as she sat down at her tiny little lunch table for two, she noticed Brooke Dunkin walking towards her. Cammy briefly glanced behind her to see if Brooke was on her way to see someone at another table. But there were only townies behind her. When Brooke stopped right in front of her, Cammy thought she might pass out.
Brooke smiled and said, “I really appreciate what you did for Annabelle and me in Major British Writers yesterday.”
Trying to sound calm, Cammy replied, “It was nothing, really.”
Brooke suggested, “Hey if you’re not eating lunch with anyone today, why don’t you come over and sit with us?” Cammy was so thrilled with the invitation that she thought she’d fall over if she stood up. She finally managed, “Really?”
Brooke responded, “Sure, unless you’re meeting someone.”
Cammy risked fainting and bolted to her feet. She grabbed her straw book bag and her tray and said, “No, not meeting anyone else. So, I guess I’d be happy to join you.”
Brooke knew that Cammy had sat at that very lunch table all by herself for the last three months so there was no way that she was meeting anyone. But she appreciated the new girl’s ability to make it sound like it was a possibility. Brooke would have gone ahead and let Cammy eat alone for the next six months as well if she hadn’t jumped in and helped her out in class. It’s not that one day of detention would have been such a big deal to Brooke; it’s just that she admired people who stood up for a cause, especially when she happened to be that cause.
On the way over to the popular table, Cammy was struck by the sheer terror of sitting with the cool kids. After all, it was one thing to be asked to join them once. It would be a completely different story to make their lunch table her permanent dining address.
Annabelle noticed Cammy coming towards them and scooted over to make room for her. She smiled, “Well if it isn’t the girl with the brass balls.”
Cammy smiled, “It was no big deal.”
Tricia had not been too keen on the idea of asking Cammy to join them. She interjected, “Well according to Binks it was a big deal. So much so that he thought I should have been the one to stand up for Brooke and Annabelle.”
Cammy sensed that her response to Tricia would be a test that she had to pass with flying colors if she had any intention of continuing to eat with them. So she took a deep breath and forged ahead, “I don’t want to sound mean Tricia, but if you would have stood up to Mr. Binks and said what I did, he would have sent you to detention for life. I mean, the man positively hates you!”
Tricia threw her hands up in the air, “I knew it was obvious! How can everyone in class know that creep has it out for me and yet he still gets away with it? I’m never going to get him to give me the A that I deserve.”
Annabelle blurted out, “I told you Tricia, he does it because he has a crush on you.”
Tricia disagreed, “If he liked me, don’t you think he’d be nicer to me?”
Cammy replied, “Actually Tricia, if he has a crush on you then his behavior makes a lot of sense. Chances are that you’re a lot like a girl that he liked when he was in high school. And if he was as big of a dweeb then as he is now, she probably turned him down flat.”
Tricia rolled her eyes and sarcastically drawled, “Well that’s fair, being punished because someone else bagged on him a million years ago when he was a kid.”
Cammy confided, “It happened to my mom. She went to high school with the butcher in our old neighbor. Mr. Schwimer asked her to the prom when they were seniors and my mom said no. So, when he became a butcher, he used to give her the worst cuts of meat. It got so bad that my mom had to change stores.”
Tricia slammed her hand on the table and declared, “I want revenge!” She looked at Cammy, “For me and your mom. Your mom got sucky meat and I’m getting a sucky grade. There has to be a way that I can get even.”
A devious smile crossed Annabelle’s face, “How badly do you want it?”
Tricia confirmed, “I would do anything.”
Annabelle smiled, “Good, because I have a plan.”
The Reinvention of Mimi Finnigan Excerpt
Chapter 1
“A Bunion?” I shriek.
“It would appear so,” answers Dr. Foster, the podiatrist referred by my HMO
“Aren’t bunions something that old people get?”
“Yes,” he agrees. “That’s normally the case, but not always. Bunions grow after years of walking incorrectly or in some instances, not wearing the proper shoes.”
Still perplexed, I ask, “What am I doing with one then? I’m only thirty-four.”
He says that by the atypical location of my bunion, he can deduce that I have the tendency to walk on the outsides of my feet. He explains that while some people walk on the insides of their feet, giving them a knock kneed appearance, others, like myself, rotate their feet outward; causing a waddle if you will. I have a look of horror on my face when he says the word “waddle.” But before I can form a coherent response, he continues, “The extra, weight (and I’m sure that he pauses to emphasize the word) that the outside of the foot is forced to endure eventually causes it to grow an extra padding to help support the, load.” Am I wrong or does he pause again when he says the word load?
Playing dumb, I ask, “And I’m getting one so young, why?”
Clearing his throat, Dr. Foster answers, “Well, a lot of it has to do with genetics and the structure of your foot.” Then adds, “And a lot of it has to do with the extra, weight (pause and meaningful look) that you’re placing on it.”
I am so aghast by this whole conversation that I finally confess, “I have just lost forty pounds.” Which is a total lie by the way, in actuality I have just gained two. But I simply can’t bear the humiliation if him calling me fat, or what I perceive as him calling me fat.
The doctor smiles and declares that my previous poundage did not help the inflammation at all and announces that the loss of another twenty pounds would be very beneficial to my overall health. He checks his chart and declares, “I see that you’re a hundred and seventy pounds, now. At one fifty, you should be feeling a lot better.”
“But I’m 5’10,” I explain.
“Yes?”
“I’m big boned!”
He looks at me closely and says, “Actually, you’re not.” Picking up my wrist, he concludes, “I would say medium, which means that one hundred and fifty pounds would be ideal.”
All I can think is that I haven’t been one hundred and fifty pounds since high school. There is simply no way on earth I can lose twenty pounds. I want to tell him that he has no idea how much I deprive myself to weigh one-seventy. In order to actually lose weight, I’d only be able to ingest rice cakes and Metamucil. But I don’t say this because he’ll think that I’m weak and unmotivated and he’d be right too. Plus I just bragged that I lost a record forty pounds, so he already assumes that I am capable of losing weight; which of course would be the truth if it weren’t such an out-and-out lie.
The doctor writes a prescription for a special shoe insert that will help tip my foot into the correct walking position and then leaves, giving me privacy to cover my naked, misshapen appendage. As I put my sock back on I decide that I am not going to go on a diet. I’m happy, or happyish, with the way I look and that’s all there is to it. When I leave the room, Dr. Foster tells me to come back in two months so he can recheck my bunion. In my head I’m thinking, “Yeah right, buddy. Take a good look, cause this is the last time you’re ever going to see me or my growth.” I plan on wearing my shoe insert and never again speaking of my hideous deformity.
The true cruelty of this whole bunion fiasco is that I am the one in my family with the pretty feet. I have three sisters and we are all a year apart. Tell me that doesn’t make for a crazy upbringing. At any rate, the year we were all in high school at the same time, my sisters and I were sitting on my bed having a nice familial chat. Which was a rare occurrence as I’m sure you know that girls that age are abominable as a whole, but put them under the same roof fighting over bathroom time, make-up and let’s not forget, the all-important telephone, it was an ungodly ordeal to say the least.
My sisters, to my undying disgust, are all gorgeous and talented. Renee, the oldest one of the group is the unparalleled beauty of the family. Lest you think I’m bragging and she’s not really all that and a bag of chips; let me ask if the name Renee Finnegan means anything to you? Yes, that’s right, “The” Renee Finnegan, the same one that won the coveted Cover Girl contract when she was only seventeen, fresh out of high school. Try surviving two whole years at Pipsy High with people asking, “You’re Renee’s sister? Really?” The tone of incredulity more than I could bear.
Next is Ginger. She’s the brain; but please, before you picture an unfortunate looking nerd with braces and braids, I should tell you that she is only marginally less gorgeous than Renee. She was also the recipient of The Rhodes Scholarship, which funded her degree in the History of Renaissance Art, which she acquired at Oxford. Yes, Oxford, not the shoes, not the cloth, but the actual university, in England!
The youngest of our quartet is Muffy; born Margaret Fay, but abbreviated to Muffy when at the age of two she couldn’t pronounce Margaret Fay and began referring to herself as one might a forty-two-year old socialite. Muffy is the jock. She plays tennis and even enjoyed a run on the pro-circuit before a knee injury forced her to retire. She did however play Wimbledon three years in a row, and while never actually winning, the experience allows her to start sentences with, “Yes, well when I played Wimbledon...” And make pronouncements like, “There’s nothing like the courts at Wimbledon in the fall.” Muffy is now the tennis pro at The Langley Country Club. Her husband Tom is the men’s tennis pro, insuring that they are the tannest, most fit couple on the entire planet. They’re perfection is enough to make you want to barf.
I am the third child in my family; Christened Miriam May Finnegan which against my express consent got shortened to Mimi. For years I demanded, “Its Miriam, call me Miriam!” No one listened, as is the way in my family.
So, while sitting on my white quilted bedspread from JC Penny’s, my sisters, in a moment of domestic harmony, decided that we were all quite extraordinary. Renee was deemed the beautiful one, Ginger, the smart one, and Muffy, the athletic one. With those proclamations made, they appeared to be ready to switch topics when I demanded to know, “What am I?”
It’s not that my sisters don’t love me. I don’t think they thought that I was troll-like or stupid, it’s just that compared to them, I didn’t have any quality that outshone any one of theirs. So after much thoughtful consideration and examination, like a prized heifer at the state fair, Renee announced, “You have the prettiest feet.” Ginger and Muffy readily agreed.
Listen, I know you’re thinking that “prettiest feet” isn’t something that I should brag about. But in my family, I would have been thrilled to have the prettiest anything, and I am. They could have just as easily said that I had the most black-heads, or the worst split ends. But they didn’t, they awarded me prettiest feet and I was proud of it.
Until now, that is. Now I have a bunion.
As I sit in front of my car in front of the Chesterton Medical Center, I become undone by the horror that I have lost my identity in my family. “Who will I be now?” I wonder. Oh, wait, I know, I’ll be the spinster, or the one without naturally blonde hair; my true color hovering somewhere between bacon grease and baby poop. Hey wait, I know, I’ll be the one who needs to lose twenty pounds!
I turn on the ignition in my Honda and hop on the freeway heading for the Mercer Street exit. Yet somehow, I miss my turnoff and I’ve hit Randolph before I know it. With a will of its own, my car takes the exit and drives itself to the In-and-Out Burger a half mile down the road. I demand, “What did you do that for? This is no way to lose twenty pounds.” Not that I had agreed to do any such thing. But, I wasn’t looking to gain weight either.
Typically, my car doesn’t answer back, a fact for which I am eternally grateful. It simply makes its wishes known by transporting me to destinations of its choosing; In-and-Out Burger, Dairy Queen, Pizza Hut. I’ve actually thought about trading it in, in hopes of upgrading to a car that likes to go to the gym and health food stores. But, no, this is my car and as a faithful person by nature, I realize that I should do what it’s telling me.
As the car automatically unrolls the window and then accelerates to the take-out speaker, I hear the disembodied voice of a teenager say, “Welcome to In-and-Out, what can I get you today?”
Someone, who is surely not me answers, “I’d like a double-double with grilled onions, two orders of fries and a root beer, large.”
He asks, “Will that be all?”
Still not sure who’s answering, I hear myself say, “I’d like an extra bun too.”
“What do you mean an extra bun?” He squeaks “You mean with no burger on it or anything?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He informs me that he’ll have to charge me for a whole other burger even though I just want the bun. I tell him that’s no problem and agree to pay $1.75 for it. I’m not sure what causes me to order the extra bread but I think it boils down to my need for carbohydrates. I have either been on The South Beach Diet or Atkins for the better part of two years and I’ve become desperate for empty caloried, high glycemic index white bread.
You may be wondering how I could have been high protein dieting for two years and still need to lose twenty pounds. The truth is that I cheat, a lot. For two weeks I jump start the diet with the serious deprivation they encourage and then by week three when you’re allowed to start slowly adding carbs back into your life, I become the wildebeest of cheaters. They suggest you start with an apple or a quarter of a baked sweet potato. I start with an apple pie and three orders of French fries. I have been losing and gaining the same thirteen pounds for the last twenty-four months.
As soon as my food arrives, I pull over on a side street and inhale the heavenly aroma of danger. The fries call to me, the double-double begs to be devoured in two bites, but the bun screams loudest, “I have no redeeming nutritional value at all!” So I start with it. And it’s pure pleasure. Soft and white, clean and bright… it looks at me and sings, “You look happy to meet me.” But wait, this isn’t Edelweiss, this is a hamburger bun.
After the bun I eat a bag of fries, then the burger, then the other bag of fries, all the while slurping down my non-diet root beer. My tummy is cheering me on, “You go girl! That’s right, keep it coming…mmm hmm…faster…more.” From the floor boards I hear a small squeak, “Stop! You’re killing me…” It’s my bunion. I decide that its voice isn’t nearly as powerful as my stomach’s. While I’m masticating away I start to think about the word bunion. It’s kind of like bun and onion. B-U-N-I-O-N. That’s when I realize that I’ve just eaten a bun and a burger with onion. I start to feel nauseous. If you squish the words together, I’ve just eaten a bunion! Oh God, no. I think that this may have possibly put me off In-and-Out forever.
I have a long history of going off my food for various odd and sundry reasons. For instance in high school, Robby Blinken had the worst case of acne that I had ever seen. I mean it was so bad that his whole face looked like an inflamed open sore. I felt really sorry for him too because he was shy and awkward to begin with. Having bad skin, did nothing for his popularity. Then one day, Mike Pinker shouts across algebra to Robby, “Hey pizza face, that’s lots of pepperoni you’ve got!”
I cringed in disgust, looked over at poor Robby who’s face turned an even brighter shade of red, due to the public humiliation and bam… I was off pizza for a whole year. And pizza was one of my favorite foods too. It’s just that every time I looked at it or smelled it, I thought about Robby’s complexion and there was no going back.
Then there was the time I went off onions in college. A girl in my dorm was blind in one eye and there was this white kind of film covering her iris. Whenever I talked to her, I couldn’t help but stare right into the blind eye. I was drawn to it by a strange magnetic pull. Then one day it hits me, Vera’s pupil looks like a small piece of onion. I went off onions for three years.
Now at thirty-four, years since I’ve had a food repulsion, I realize that after my first bun in months, I may have gone off of them. The onions aren’t such a loss as I already have a history there, but buns? I love buns!
Around the second bag of fries, I unbutton my jeans. The soft white pillow of my stomach immediately pops out and makes itself more comfortable. Sitting in my Accord with my belly hanging out, sick at the thought that I just ate a bunion, I do what any reasonable person would do. I drive to the strip mall where the Weight Watchers sign flashes encouraging subliminal cheers to the masses. “Be thin, we’ll help!” “We love you!” “You can do it…you can do it…”
So like the little engine that could, I squeeze into a compact spot and walk through the front door before I can come out of my trance. Twelve dollars later, I’ve received an information package and a weigh-in book. Marge, my group leader, takes me in the back to weigh me. “One seventy-two,” she declares. I want to tell her that I was just one seventy at the doctor’s office but then I remember the bunion that I just ate. Marge continues, “Good for you for coming in before your weight got too out of hand. I bet we can get those pesky pounds off of you in no time.”
I smile and secretly dare her to try. No one seems to understand that I consider one seventy to be a very sexy weight on my body. No one seems to understand how much I deprive myself to be this weight. As I have shown up in between meeting times, Marge gives me the basics of the Weight Watcher’s program and encourages me to come to at least one meeting a week. She also suggests that I get weighed at the same time every week as the weight of the human body can vacillate up to six pounds during a twenty four hour period. “Consistency of weigh in times,” she claims, “is the answer.” I briefly wonder if Doctor Foster would have told me to lose weight if I had been only one hundred and sixty-four pounds. Crap.
“A Bunion?” I shriek.
“It would appear so,” answers Dr. Foster, the podiatrist referred by my HMO
“Aren’t bunions something that old people get?”
“Yes,” he agrees. “That’s normally the case, but not always. Bunions grow after years of walking incorrectly or in some instances, not wearing the proper shoes.”
Still perplexed, I ask, “What am I doing with one then? I’m only thirty-four.”
He says that by the atypical location of my bunion, he can deduce that I have the tendency to walk on the outsides of my feet. He explains that while some people walk on the insides of their feet, giving them a knock kneed appearance, others, like myself, rotate their feet outward; causing a waddle if you will. I have a look of horror on my face when he says the word “waddle.” But before I can form a coherent response, he continues, “The extra, weight (and I’m sure that he pauses to emphasize the word) that the outside of the foot is forced to endure eventually causes it to grow an extra padding to help support the, load.” Am I wrong or does he pause again when he says the word load?
Playing dumb, I ask, “And I’m getting one so young, why?”
Clearing his throat, Dr. Foster answers, “Well, a lot of it has to do with genetics and the structure of your foot.” Then adds, “And a lot of it has to do with the extra, weight (pause and meaningful look) that you’re placing on it.”
I am so aghast by this whole conversation that I finally confess, “I have just lost forty pounds.” Which is a total lie by the way, in actuality I have just gained two. But I simply can’t bear the humiliation if him calling me fat, or what I perceive as him calling me fat.
The doctor smiles and declares that my previous poundage did not help the inflammation at all and announces that the loss of another twenty pounds would be very beneficial to my overall health. He checks his chart and declares, “I see that you’re a hundred and seventy pounds, now. At one fifty, you should be feeling a lot better.”
“But I’m 5’10,” I explain.
“Yes?”
“I’m big boned!”
He looks at me closely and says, “Actually, you’re not.” Picking up my wrist, he concludes, “I would say medium, which means that one hundred and fifty pounds would be ideal.”
All I can think is that I haven’t been one hundred and fifty pounds since high school. There is simply no way on earth I can lose twenty pounds. I want to tell him that he has no idea how much I deprive myself to weigh one-seventy. In order to actually lose weight, I’d only be able to ingest rice cakes and Metamucil. But I don’t say this because he’ll think that I’m weak and unmotivated and he’d be right too. Plus I just bragged that I lost a record forty pounds, so he already assumes that I am capable of losing weight; which of course would be the truth if it weren’t such an out-and-out lie.
The doctor writes a prescription for a special shoe insert that will help tip my foot into the correct walking position and then leaves, giving me privacy to cover my naked, misshapen appendage. As I put my sock back on I decide that I am not going to go on a diet. I’m happy, or happyish, with the way I look and that’s all there is to it. When I leave the room, Dr. Foster tells me to come back in two months so he can recheck my bunion. In my head I’m thinking, “Yeah right, buddy. Take a good look, cause this is the last time you’re ever going to see me or my growth.” I plan on wearing my shoe insert and never again speaking of my hideous deformity.
The true cruelty of this whole bunion fiasco is that I am the one in my family with the pretty feet. I have three sisters and we are all a year apart. Tell me that doesn’t make for a crazy upbringing. At any rate, the year we were all in high school at the same time, my sisters and I were sitting on my bed having a nice familial chat. Which was a rare occurrence as I’m sure you know that girls that age are abominable as a whole, but put them under the same roof fighting over bathroom time, make-up and let’s not forget, the all-important telephone, it was an ungodly ordeal to say the least.
My sisters, to my undying disgust, are all gorgeous and talented. Renee, the oldest one of the group is the unparalleled beauty of the family. Lest you think I’m bragging and she’s not really all that and a bag of chips; let me ask if the name Renee Finnegan means anything to you? Yes, that’s right, “The” Renee Finnegan, the same one that won the coveted Cover Girl contract when she was only seventeen, fresh out of high school. Try surviving two whole years at Pipsy High with people asking, “You’re Renee’s sister? Really?” The tone of incredulity more than I could bear.
Next is Ginger. She’s the brain; but please, before you picture an unfortunate looking nerd with braces and braids, I should tell you that she is only marginally less gorgeous than Renee. She was also the recipient of The Rhodes Scholarship, which funded her degree in the History of Renaissance Art, which she acquired at Oxford. Yes, Oxford, not the shoes, not the cloth, but the actual university, in England!
The youngest of our quartet is Muffy; born Margaret Fay, but abbreviated to Muffy when at the age of two she couldn’t pronounce Margaret Fay and began referring to herself as one might a forty-two-year old socialite. Muffy is the jock. She plays tennis and even enjoyed a run on the pro-circuit before a knee injury forced her to retire. She did however play Wimbledon three years in a row, and while never actually winning, the experience allows her to start sentences with, “Yes, well when I played Wimbledon...” And make pronouncements like, “There’s nothing like the courts at Wimbledon in the fall.” Muffy is now the tennis pro at The Langley Country Club. Her husband Tom is the men’s tennis pro, insuring that they are the tannest, most fit couple on the entire planet. They’re perfection is enough to make you want to barf.
I am the third child in my family; Christened Miriam May Finnegan which against my express consent got shortened to Mimi. For years I demanded, “Its Miriam, call me Miriam!” No one listened, as is the way in my family.
So, while sitting on my white quilted bedspread from JC Penny’s, my sisters, in a moment of domestic harmony, decided that we were all quite extraordinary. Renee was deemed the beautiful one, Ginger, the smart one, and Muffy, the athletic one. With those proclamations made, they appeared to be ready to switch topics when I demanded to know, “What am I?”
It’s not that my sisters don’t love me. I don’t think they thought that I was troll-like or stupid, it’s just that compared to them, I didn’t have any quality that outshone any one of theirs. So after much thoughtful consideration and examination, like a prized heifer at the state fair, Renee announced, “You have the prettiest feet.” Ginger and Muffy readily agreed.
Listen, I know you’re thinking that “prettiest feet” isn’t something that I should brag about. But in my family, I would have been thrilled to have the prettiest anything, and I am. They could have just as easily said that I had the most black-heads, or the worst split ends. But they didn’t, they awarded me prettiest feet and I was proud of it.
Until now, that is. Now I have a bunion.
As I sit in front of my car in front of the Chesterton Medical Center, I become undone by the horror that I have lost my identity in my family. “Who will I be now?” I wonder. Oh, wait, I know, I’ll be the spinster, or the one without naturally blonde hair; my true color hovering somewhere between bacon grease and baby poop. Hey wait, I know, I’ll be the one who needs to lose twenty pounds!
I turn on the ignition in my Honda and hop on the freeway heading for the Mercer Street exit. Yet somehow, I miss my turnoff and I’ve hit Randolph before I know it. With a will of its own, my car takes the exit and drives itself to the In-and-Out Burger a half mile down the road. I demand, “What did you do that for? This is no way to lose twenty pounds.” Not that I had agreed to do any such thing. But, I wasn’t looking to gain weight either.
Typically, my car doesn’t answer back, a fact for which I am eternally grateful. It simply makes its wishes known by transporting me to destinations of its choosing; In-and-Out Burger, Dairy Queen, Pizza Hut. I’ve actually thought about trading it in, in hopes of upgrading to a car that likes to go to the gym and health food stores. But, no, this is my car and as a faithful person by nature, I realize that I should do what it’s telling me.
As the car automatically unrolls the window and then accelerates to the take-out speaker, I hear the disembodied voice of a teenager say, “Welcome to In-and-Out, what can I get you today?”
Someone, who is surely not me answers, “I’d like a double-double with grilled onions, two orders of fries and a root beer, large.”
He asks, “Will that be all?”
Still not sure who’s answering, I hear myself say, “I’d like an extra bun too.”
“What do you mean an extra bun?” He squeaks “You mean with no burger on it or anything?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He informs me that he’ll have to charge me for a whole other burger even though I just want the bun. I tell him that’s no problem and agree to pay $1.75 for it. I’m not sure what causes me to order the extra bread but I think it boils down to my need for carbohydrates. I have either been on The South Beach Diet or Atkins for the better part of two years and I’ve become desperate for empty caloried, high glycemic index white bread.
You may be wondering how I could have been high protein dieting for two years and still need to lose twenty pounds. The truth is that I cheat, a lot. For two weeks I jump start the diet with the serious deprivation they encourage and then by week three when you’re allowed to start slowly adding carbs back into your life, I become the wildebeest of cheaters. They suggest you start with an apple or a quarter of a baked sweet potato. I start with an apple pie and three orders of French fries. I have been losing and gaining the same thirteen pounds for the last twenty-four months.
As soon as my food arrives, I pull over on a side street and inhale the heavenly aroma of danger. The fries call to me, the double-double begs to be devoured in two bites, but the bun screams loudest, “I have no redeeming nutritional value at all!” So I start with it. And it’s pure pleasure. Soft and white, clean and bright… it looks at me and sings, “You look happy to meet me.” But wait, this isn’t Edelweiss, this is a hamburger bun.
After the bun I eat a bag of fries, then the burger, then the other bag of fries, all the while slurping down my non-diet root beer. My tummy is cheering me on, “You go girl! That’s right, keep it coming…mmm hmm…faster…more.” From the floor boards I hear a small squeak, “Stop! You’re killing me…” It’s my bunion. I decide that its voice isn’t nearly as powerful as my stomach’s. While I’m masticating away I start to think about the word bunion. It’s kind of like bun and onion. B-U-N-I-O-N. That’s when I realize that I’ve just eaten a bun and a burger with onion. I start to feel nauseous. If you squish the words together, I’ve just eaten a bunion! Oh God, no. I think that this may have possibly put me off In-and-Out forever.
I have a long history of going off my food for various odd and sundry reasons. For instance in high school, Robby Blinken had the worst case of acne that I had ever seen. I mean it was so bad that his whole face looked like an inflamed open sore. I felt really sorry for him too because he was shy and awkward to begin with. Having bad skin, did nothing for his popularity. Then one day, Mike Pinker shouts across algebra to Robby, “Hey pizza face, that’s lots of pepperoni you’ve got!”
I cringed in disgust, looked over at poor Robby who’s face turned an even brighter shade of red, due to the public humiliation and bam… I was off pizza for a whole year. And pizza was one of my favorite foods too. It’s just that every time I looked at it or smelled it, I thought about Robby’s complexion and there was no going back.
Then there was the time I went off onions in college. A girl in my dorm was blind in one eye and there was this white kind of film covering her iris. Whenever I talked to her, I couldn’t help but stare right into the blind eye. I was drawn to it by a strange magnetic pull. Then one day it hits me, Vera’s pupil looks like a small piece of onion. I went off onions for three years.
Now at thirty-four, years since I’ve had a food repulsion, I realize that after my first bun in months, I may have gone off of them. The onions aren’t such a loss as I already have a history there, but buns? I love buns!
Around the second bag of fries, I unbutton my jeans. The soft white pillow of my stomach immediately pops out and makes itself more comfortable. Sitting in my Accord with my belly hanging out, sick at the thought that I just ate a bunion, I do what any reasonable person would do. I drive to the strip mall where the Weight Watchers sign flashes encouraging subliminal cheers to the masses. “Be thin, we’ll help!” “We love you!” “You can do it…you can do it…”
So like the little engine that could, I squeeze into a compact spot and walk through the front door before I can come out of my trance. Twelve dollars later, I’ve received an information package and a weigh-in book. Marge, my group leader, takes me in the back to weigh me. “One seventy-two,” she declares. I want to tell her that I was just one seventy at the doctor’s office but then I remember the bunion that I just ate. Marge continues, “Good for you for coming in before your weight got too out of hand. I bet we can get those pesky pounds off of you in no time.”
I smile and secretly dare her to try. No one seems to understand that I consider one seventy to be a very sexy weight on my body. No one seems to understand how much I deprive myself to be this weight. As I have shown up in between meeting times, Marge gives me the basics of the Weight Watcher’s program and encourages me to come to at least one meeting a week. She also suggests that I get weighed at the same time every week as the weight of the human body can vacillate up to six pounds during a twenty four hour period. “Consistency of weigh in times,” she claims, “is the answer.” I briefly wonder if Doctor Foster would have told me to lose weight if I had been only one hundred and sixty-four pounds. Crap.
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