Tall, dark, handsome...and wildly messed up. Writing heroes women want to fix.

Good morning!

Now that I'm approaching my middle years...okay, now that I'm firmly ensconced in the tail end of my middle years, I look back and realize we women of a certain age share an interesting little quirk: Many of us spent years finding a husband, having children, and getting a house.  And now that we have all that, all we want to do is flee from all of them.

I'm not talking about walking out, of course not.  But be honest here ladies.  Don't we all sort of fantasize about a weekend where no one creates dirty laundry, no one leaves empty soda cans and water bottles on the counter and no one leaves dirty dishes all over the house?  That can't possibly be just me!

And yes, we love our husbands.  We adore our husbands.  And there are times we want our husbands to just go fishing/hunting/hiking/out of the country for a short period of time because, and I'm not alone here, we just want to sleep in the bed by ourselves.

Studies have shown that romance novels continue to sell at a ridiculous pace compared to every other kind of novel or book.  Some might think it's a conflict that the women who want their families to just LEAVE THEM ALONE for a couple days are the same people who buy and devour romance novels where the enjoy of the story is always a happily ever after.

I have zero issue accepting this as fact because I love to escape into a book where the hero saves the day and love conquers all.  And I'd like to read that book and have that escape alone, in my perfectly clean house.  I want to watch a romantic comedy and not be teased when I cry at the end.  I want to watch a huge war epic like Pearl Harbor or Titanic and get swept up in the love story without someone yelling, "OH COME ON! HE'S SHOOTING AT THE GUY WHILE THE SHIP IS SINKING?"  (Yeah, I'm talking to you, Bob and Brian at 1029TheHog.  Love your morning show, but I also love those movies.)

But mostly, and I know most of my female readers are going to agree with me on this one, don't we want to read a story where the hero is a work in progress and the woman gets to fix him?  Isn't THAT why we really watch romantic comedies and read romance novels?  We want some super hot wreck of a guy to realize that the only way he's ever going to be human is if he falls in love with some Ordinary Girl? (Love it when I can use a Rick Springfield song title.)


It's no surprise, then, that the heroes in my four romance novels are all works in progress. Take Jesse, the retired rock star, in Dream In Color.  He's a hot mess when it comes to his reputation with women, and even with his music career.  And then he meets Ramona, a full figured girl from Wisconsin.  

Or Bryan, from Lies in Chance. Bryan is definitely messed up, thanks to his ex wife, but he might be my most heroic hero.  He's a lost soul, but he covers pretty well, although he's given up on himself and any self worth he may have.  Enter the very unlikely heiress-murderess-nanny Shara.  There's a girl who needs a hero, and she knows, on a certain level, that it's going to have to be Bryan, no matter how hard he fights the idea.  


Then there's Quinn, from Fresh Ice..  Quinn is possibly the most messed up of my heroes.  I was not kind to Quinn when I wrote this former NHL bad boy.  He's definitely a project any women would want to try and fix, but that's one of his problems"  Quinn is way too attractive for his own good. He's clearly damned, especially in his own mind, although he does his darndest to redeem himself in a thousand ways, no of it holds any meaning for him, until he meets figure skater turned waitress, Izzy.  I had a hard time writing Izzy because I needed someone whose soul was clear enough to save Quinn, but who didn't come off as some sort of weird perfect angel.  I needed Helen Hunt from "As Good as it Gets."  

Finally, there's Collier from A Hero's Spark,, and he's interesting for a romance reader for a couple reasons.  First of all, he's blond.  He's my only blond.  And fun fact, Collier wasn't broken when I started writing him, unlike Jesse, Bryan, and Quinn.  When you first meet

Collier, in Fresh Ice, he's got a good life.  He's a musician, he's doing well, he's happy.  Oh, but he's in love with someone destined to be forever bonded to someone else.  BAM!  Poor Collier...I broke him.  I broke him on purpose because maybe I was in a bad mood.  We writers get that way sometimes.  We do horrible things to our characters just because we can. I broke Collier so bad people told me I HAD to give him a book.  So I did.  But first I broke him a bit more, made him more of a mess.  Then I introduced him to Mira, who was a hot mess all her own.  (I was pretty proud of myself with this book.  I was an equal opportunity mess maker!)



As writers, we do glean a certain perverted pleasure out of breaking our heroes and having the heroines build them back up.  As women, we read that sort of story because in our whole lives we always had a thing for the bad boys we just KNEW we could fix.  And as readers, well, hey, who doesn't want to just escape with someone tall, dark, handsome, and wildly messed up?  Even if it is for an afternoon while the husband and kids are out of the house?

For Vicki

Rick Springfield has a copy of my first novel, Dream in Color and that's due to a wonderful lady named Vicki.

I'm telling you this because Vicki passed away last week, ironically enough a short time, maybe hours,  before she was to see her beloved Rick Springfield in concert.


Though I'd only spoken to her a few times, I thought of Vicki as a friend.  She and her best friend, Wendy, were fellow fans of Rick Springfield and that is a sisterhood, for sure.

I met Vicki through Wendy.  Wendy, a few years ago, heard me talking on the radio about my book, a rock and roll romance with a Rick-like main character.  She and Vicki reached out to me and Vicki told me she knew Rick and that she could have me meet him.

I won't lie, I had my misgivings.  I mean, right, she really knew Rick Springfield.

Turns out, she did.  She was able to get a copy of my book to him, (so now he has an autographed copy of my book) and he signed one of my books for me.  (I keep it on my desk as a reminder that dreams can and do come true.)  She also made good on the promise for me to meet him, even though that darling woman had to all but tackle him in a bowling alley.  (And that's a great story, let me tell you!)  Thanks to Vicki, I was able to have the greatest thirty seconds of my life.

Vicki had been ill, but her dedication to all things Rick was undeterred and I envied Wendy and her as Wendy posted new pictures about their Rick adventures.  Vicki's smile and her spirit glowed in every one.

Vicki passed away late last week.  Wendy and I, it turned out, were at the same concert that night  (it was a big place, we didn't see each other).  On my way home I got a text from Wendy giving me the bad news.  My heart goes out to Wendy, who lost in Vicki a very dear friend and concert buddy.

In thinking about Vicki this week, I'm reminded how closely we are all connected in this life, even though we don't think we are.  If I hadn't written that book, if I hadn't done that radio interview, I would never have met Vicki and Wendy, and I sure would not have had that beautiful, awkward, hilarious moment with Rick Springfield.

It's those random connections we make, that matter.  Vicki made more of an impact on my life with one kind act than most of the people I've known for years.  She gave me more confidence in my writing life than any of my family members, and she did it just because she could and she wanted to.

We all have that person in our lives, or maybe if we don't, maybe we should be that person in someone else's life.  I know that since meeting my two "Rick Chick" friends I've been more aware of the people around me and what I can do to just make their lives.  I haven't found that amazing thing yet, but I know I will.  When I do, I will look heavenward and say, "this is for you, Vicki."

This isn't about charity or some big picture "tapestry of mankind" thing.  This is about looking around and seeing a moment when you can do something unexpected for someone, maybe even a complete stranger.  This is about doing something nice for someone...and you may not even realize the impact you have on their lives after that.

I call on all of you to take a moment and think about this:  Is there something you have or can do...no matter how small you think it is...that would change someone's life forever?

I challenge everyone who reads this to ponder it.  And when you find that thing, when you are able to give someone the best 30 seconds of their life, I want you to do it for Vicki.

Sneak Peak Sunday: DReam in Color

Hello all!  Today, I jumped ahead a bit in my first novel, Dream in Color.  To catch you up a little, Ramona is following her favorite retired rock star, Jesse Alexander, all over the country in the hope that she will meet him and make him fall in love with her.  Want more detail?  Buy the book! 

Enjoy!

The charm of traveling alone was gone.  While the idea of exploring strange towns every night was quite romantic, the reality of finding something, anything, to do in the long hours between concerts and driving was a little less than appealing.  Somewhere during the long, rain-soaked week in Indiana, Ramona lost all desire to eat at places with “local flavor” and in a late night run to a Wal-Mart, bought a hot plate and ten packages of ramen noodles. 

            The endless parades of county fair midways also lost their charm. While riding the Tilt-O-Whirl for the seventieth time in a month, Ramona realized she recognized the greasy carnie running the ride. Worse yet, he recognized her and gave her a toothless leer that made her skin crawl.

            Ramona checked in with Neil every couple of days, letting him know where she was, but always careful to be upbeat in the face of his almost matronly concern for her well-being.  She made a point, however, of not calling home more than once a week, and then only to make sure Leo wasn’t snacking too much.  Her own trim waistline held in the face of fair foods and endless miles behind the wheel of her car.  In fact, she found it quite easy to turn down any type of deep fried-stuck-on-a-stick-and-sold-for-four-dollars snack.  Even the thought of deep fried cheese curds, a rarity outside Wisconsin but not altogether extinct, did not sway her from her determination to be as perfect for Jesse as possible with the magic moment came.

            Checking the schedule of tour stops, Ramona was delighted to see that they were headed to Milwaukee for Summerfest.  The world’s largest music festival would certainly be her lucky stop.  I might even celebrate with some cheese curds there.  Or maybe some mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce.

            Her online friends checked with her daily with multitudes of questions about everything from the concerts to the hotels. She stretched the truth in some cases, not telling the ladies about her crushing sense of loneliness or the night she killed a mouse in her motel room in Kankakee, Illinois. Mary insisted on meeting up with Ramona at Summerfest and then traveling through Michigan with her.  It didn’t take too much convincing.  Ramona was lonely, and Mary seemed like just the kind of traveling companion she needed.

            For Ramona, going to Summerfest was much like going home.  As she passed through the gates of the crowded lakeshore festival grounds, Ramona closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  Music from a dozen stages filled her ears as the smells from hundreds of tiny vendors tantalized her nose.  A crisp, cool breeze blew from Lake Michigan, giving everything a sweet, slightly fishy smell.

            Her first challenge was to find Mary in the throng of fest goers.  They agreed to meet in front of the Channel 12 News Arena, but even that specific location was broad and, once arriving there, Ramona was overwhelmed with the task of finding someone she’d never met in person. 

            She thought about their last telephone conversation.

            “The Channel 12 News Arena.  You can’t miss it.  It’s up front sort of.”

            “Okay Mary, but how am I going to recognize you?”

            “Ramona, it’s easy.  I’m Wisconsin’s last redheaded six-foot tall virgin.  Follow the smell of sun block, you can’t miss me!”

            Ramona liked Mary’s easy humor.  So much about the trip so far had been jostling for good seats or finding a decent hotel.  It would be nice, at least for the next week, to have a real person with whom to talk.  Even a six-foot redheaded virgin who smelled of sun block.

            Ramona squinted into the hot sun.  The evening news crew was primping for the six o’clock newscast.  Ramona vaguely recognized the anchor, a middle-aged man with a good chin and salt and pepper hair.  As she studied him, a piece of conversation caught her ear.

            “So then I was just walking along saying, ‘Ramona, Ramona, Ramona!’  And she couldn’t say no then, right?”

            Ramona whirled around to spot the speaker and there, not ten feet away, was a tall red head talking to another woman, who could have been a sister or a cousin of some kind.        “Mary didn’t say anything about having a sister or anyone with her.”  Ramona closed her eyes and swallowed down the butterflies in her stomach.  “Uh...Mary?”

            “Hey!  Ramona!”  With this, the taller of the two red heads wrestled Ramona into a bear hug.  “I knew if I just kept saying your name over and over someone would look up!  See Terry, it worked!”

            “It did.  You were right.”  Terry waited until Ramona had extracted herself from Mary’s arms.  “I’m Terry.  Mary’s older and much wiser sister.  She tells me you’re more insane than she is and I said that wasn’t possible.”

            Ramona knew she was blushing at Terry’s comment, but the expression of cheerful patience that Mary wore gave her courage.  “I guess I am...more insane than Mary.”

            “So you’re really trying to hit every single stop Jesse’s making on this tour?”

            “Not trying, sis, she has!”  Mary looked like she was going to burst with excitement.  “Just tell her where you’ve been this summer already, Ramona!”

            I’ve been in a lot of lonely hotel rooms in a lot of little towns praying something I know won’t happen might just happen.  Ramona smiled weakly and pushed her negative thought away.  “I’ve been all over the place.  Toured Minnesota, Iowa, a few stops in Illinois, although I know he’s going back there later in the summer, and even one stop in South Dakota.”

            Terry crossed her arms and clicked her tongue against her teeth, a sound that Ramona knew all too well from her own mother.  “Well, Mary quit her job to join you.  She thinks the band will see her and let her tour with them as a backup singer.  I told her she’s crazy and then she told me about you, and your little plan.”  Terry shook her head.  “Just make sure you two don’t get arrested or killed or something.”

            “Geez, Terry, you make it sound like we’re children.”  Mary gave Terry a look that reminded Ramona just a little bit of her four-year-old niece.  “We’re grown women and if you want to leave, that’s fine.  Ramona and I will be just fine without you.”

            Terry shrugged her shoulders.  “Fine.  Ramona, if you’re some kidnapper out to steal my sister, I’ll warn you...she snores and she has hellacious morning breath.”

            “I’m not a kidnapper.  I’m just a fan...of Jesse’s.”

            “Then I’ll leave you two to your insanity.  Sis, just don’t do anything stupid...or more stupid than this already is, okay?”  Terry handed Mary a large, bulging duffel bag.

            Mary hugged her sister but didn’t say anything more until Terry had been swallowed by the crowd pressing forward to see the live newscast.  “I thought she’d never leave!  She’s such a stick in the mud, you know?”  Mary tossed her head back; her red hair flamed against the red orange light of the evening sky.  “So where’s your car?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jesse was scheduled to go on stage at ten on the Miller Beer stage, a prime spot at the festival, and by far the best quality stage he’d been on yet.  Ramona and Mary spent the rest of the late afternoon working their way as close to the front as they could, sometimes inching between the closely packed bodies to an open space no larger than Ramona‘s two feet.  By ten o’clock, sun burnt from her day outside, and tired from standing, Ramona was more than ready for the concert to start.

            The crowd surged forward as Jesse took the stage, his screaming guitar barely heard above the screams of approval.  They love you here, Jesse.  You need to be in Wisconsin more.  She clapped and moved with the rhythm of the mass, losing Mary, and then gaining sight of her new friend as the crowd pulsed with a life of its own.

            Jesse, as if reading her thoughts, fed off the friendly crowd.  His smile was not tired; he played with an energy she hadn’t seen in several shows.  He had fun.  And because he was having fun, everyone was having fun.

            Some over-enthusiastic fan bumped into Ramona, pouring beer over her shoulders before knocking her to the ground.  Dirty, and now smelling like a brewery, Ramona struggled to get back on her feet.  A hand pushed through the throng of bare legs and dropped beer cups, helped her up.  She gave of look of gratitude to her savior.  “Neil!”

            His smile seemed more than a little confident.  “I figured you’d be here.  I came down with friends.  Thought we’d check out the concert.”

            Ramona hardly heard him above the noise, but nodded and smiled.  “Can we talk later?”  She pointed to the stage where Jesse was taking requests.

            Neil stayed by her side until the last screaming fan left the area and the smell of stale beer replaced the smell of sweat.  They strolled to the main gates, laughing about finding each other in the crowd and catching up and little bits of gossip from home. 

            Ramona ignored the feeling she had that Neil wanted to tell her something, and instead looked around for Mary.  Neil was quiet, restrained, maybe more nervous than usual, but the euphoria of Jesse’s best concert in weeks hadn’t worn off and Ramona was not about to let Neil Horton cool her enthusiasm.

            “So, how’s she running?”  Neil touched the dusty red door and pulled his hand back quickly as if burned.

            “Fine.  Perfect, in fact.”

            Neil seemed surprised.  “No stalling?  No dying on the highway?”

            “Nope.  Purrs like a big old cat.  Starts up and runs great, and I get really decent gas mileage.”  Ramona tried to stifle a superior smile.  “Looks like I got a car that’s just like me.  Dependable.”  She brushed a drop of sweat out of her eye.  “Well, dependable and dirty.”

            “With a great body.”  Neil looked up, startled at his own words.  “T-the car, I mean.”

            “Of course.”  She slipped passed him and opened the trunk. Mary ran toward them. “Well, see ya, Neil.”

            “You’re going already?  This late at night?”

            “The next stop is in Benton Harbor.  That’s four hours from here.  If I get there tonight yet, I’ll actually get some sleep before the show tomorrow night.  I’ve got a really great feeling that I’m going to get a back stage pass very soon.  I haven’t looked on the website yet...” She pulled out the computer satchel.  “But,” she returned her gaze to Neil, “I have a good feeling this time.”

            “Ramona, you can’t leave this late at night for a four hour drive.  Not by yourself.”

            “But she’s not by herself.”  Mary stopped short and leaned over the hood of the car, winded from her run.  “I’m going with her.”

            “And you are?”

            “Oh, sorry.  Mary, this is Neil.  I work-I worked with him back home.  Neil, I met Mary online.”

            Neil wrinkled his brow.  “Let me guess...online fan group?”

            “Yeah, how’d you know?  He’s a smart one, Ramona.  Cute, too!”  Mary giggled and climbed into the passenger seat.

            “Well, then, so you have to go, I guess.”  Neil stepped away from the car and stared at his feet.

            No longer able to ignore the nagging feeling she had, Ramona leaned on the car door.  “Neil, is there something you want to talk about before I go?”

            “What?  Oh, no, nothing really.”

            “Okay.  Then I’ll see you later.”  She started the car.

            “It’s just that, well, I want-” He cast a glance at Mary, who had closed her eyes and looked unconscious.

            Ramona shut off the engine.  “What?  What do you want, Neil?”  She hoped she didn’t sound as impatient as she felt.

            “Can we, can we talk, alone?”

            Ramona hoisted herself out of the car.  “Fine, Neil.”  She strode to a spot ten feet away and waited for him to catch up.  “Now, what do you want to say?”

            “I wanted to say that if you decided to give up this quest of yours, that maybe you would find someone right here at home that loves you. And maybe that person could make you happy.”

            “Neil-“

            “I mean, I thought, well, I thought we were maybe starting, I don’t know, something.”  He kicked the dust at his feet.

            “Neil, I-“

            “I know, I know.  All those dinners, they didn’t mean as much to you as they did to me.  But they did mean something to me, Ramona.  And I thought maybe you might think of me, differently.  I was hoping that after a little while, you’d get tired of chasing this, this whatever and come home…to me.”

            He never took his eyes off his dusty shoes, but Ramona didn’t have to see his face to know exactly what expression he wore.  She tried not to laugh at the comic intensity with which he spoke.  “I know you think I’m ridiculous to tell you something like that.”

            “No, Neil.”  She touched his shoulder.  “I don’t think you’re ridiculous at all.  I appreciate your honesty. But-”

            “But you can’t love someone like me.”

            Something in his words sent a pang through her.  “Now that’s not true at all.  I was going to say, I love you, too, but as my friend.  As my dearest friend.”

            He lifted his eyes to hers and for the first time since she’d known him, Ramona saw in Neil a deep, slow burning passion that surprised her.  “Then that is what I’ll have to be happy with right now, I guess.”

            She took a step back, unable to respond to this new side of him.  Silently she walked back to the car and got in. She started up the engine again, and gave him one last look before speaking.  “I’ll see you later, Neil.”

            “Just remember what I said, Ramona.” 

            She jerked the car into gear and rumbled out of the graveled parking lot, giving the rearview mirror a glance.  He stood there under the lot lamp, an eerie purple haze surrounding him from head to foot. 

            The damp lake air of I-94 swept against her sweaty skin like a cold hand.  Glad to have the top down on the convertible, Ramona reveled in the feel of the wind in her hair as she reached for the radio.  She paused, her hand hovering just above the volume knob.  Neil’s words reverberated in her head like a mantra until her eyes ached and she pulled the car over at the nearest exit.  “Mary, we’re stopping for the night.”

            Mary mumbled something but didn’t open her eyes. 

            They checked into a colorless hotel near the outlet mall centers.  After swallowing a large dose of aspirin, Ramona flopped on the bed and turned on her computer.  Neil’s words faded with the click of the keys as she connected to the  internet connection.  By the time she reached Jesse’s web site, Ramona had all but forgotten her best friend’s declaration of love.

            Her fingers trembled over the keys as she punched in her daily entry for the back stage pass.  Her task completed in a minute, she then checked her enormous list of emails, deleting those from her fan group that she knew from experience were simply requests for Jesse concert souvenirs.

            “What’s this one?”  She highlighted a post from an address she didn’t immediately recognize.  “BKSTGJess?”  She mulled the address over, trying to recall any new members in her group.  “Oh...wait a minute!”  She snapped the email open with a quick click of her index finger. 

            “Hey Ramona Simms!  You are the lucky winner!  You and a friend will be escorted to the front row of my July 6^th concert in Benton Harbor, Michigan.  Then after the show, you’ll come back stage to party with me!”

            There were several other lines of instructions about bringing proper ID and such, but none of that sank in as Ramona read the line over and over again.  “You are the lucky winner.”

            “Leo!  Leo we won!”  She jumped up from the bed and for a moment looked around for the dog.  Realizing her mistake, Ramona let out a giddy giggle and checked the clock.  No, it was much too late to call home, especially to talk to the dog.  “Mary!  Mary, we’re going to meet Jesse!”

            Mary didn’t stir in her bed.

            Ramona ached to share the news with someone, but Neil wouldn’t be home yet, so she couldn’t call him.  “Not that he’d be all that thrilled.”  She calmed down for a moment and pictured the Neil Horton she’d seen a few hours earlier.  No, that Neil would not be thrilled at all.

            It doesn’t matter that I don’t have anyone to tell right now.  In two days, I’ll be standing close enough to touch Jesse, and then he’ll know just how much I love him and how long we’ve waited for each other.  Then he’ll love me and I’ll live a great life.

            Hands sweating and shaking, Ramona sent off a quick and poorly spelled email to her fan group, letting them know the good news and that Mary was going with her.  They’ll be happy for me; I know they will.  If anyone understands how great this is, my friends in the group will.

            Reenergized, Ramona shut off her computer and packed her few belongings quickly.  The early predawn air was damp and cool.  Checking her watch, she realized she’d be in Benton Harbor before the sun was fully up.  There was no time to waste. “Come on Mary, we’re leaving!”

Sneak Peak Sunday: Dream in Color

This week's read is Chapter two from my first novel, the rock and roll romantic comedy, Dream in Color.  Enjoy!

After three hours of entering serial numbers into the system, Ramona was ready to take the completed shipping orders to Filing.  Filing consisted of two clerks caged in a large room completely filled with filing cabinets and completely lacking any natural light. The clerks took the thin papers and stuffed them in dusty file folders never to be seen again.  The faces of the two clerks changed almost weekly as those unlucky enough to get such a duty never lasted long in the filing dungeon.

             Filing’s surroundings were so much more dismal than her own were so Ramona made it a point to be cheerful and chatty with the clerks if she could be.  She rang the bell and leaned over the counter.  “Hello?”

            A pale-faced girl, someone hardly out of her teens, dragged out of a row of sliding cabinets and up to the counter.  “Yeah?”

            The girl was someone Ramona had seen more than once, but the name escaped her.  “Good morning.  I have the Bio-West shippers here.”

            “Whoop-de-do.”  The girl brushed a strand of lifeless hair out of her eyes.  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

            Well, you’re the filing department; I suppose you could file it. “Celia Yasher told me you needed these shippers right away this morning.”

            “Celia Yasher is an idiot.”  Taking another swipe at her limp hair, this time with both hands, the girl tucked two strands behind each ear.  “There’s nothing we need right away.  We’re the last stop on the road to Deadsville for these things.”

            So I’m what, a speed bump?  Ramona left Filing and checked her watch.  It was nearly noon.  If she moved slowly enough, she would not have to return to her desk before lunch.  Deep in a daydream, she passed through the rows of cubicles, not noticing her surroundings.

            “Hello Beautiful.  I’ve been waiting for you.”

            Jesse stands there, alone in the cavernous lunchroom, dressed in a black tuxedo and holding a white rose out to her.  Candlelight reflects back to her from his long, glossy, raven-black hair.

            “I was hoping you would be early for lunch today.  I’ve ordered something special.”

            They sit at a table, in a room warmly lit with candles, the tables covered with white cloths.  Somewhere a violin plays soft, romantic music. 

            “How is your morning going, my dear?”  Jesse pours her a glass of wine.  The white liquid glitters in the halo of candlelight.  “I have thought of you all morning long, waiting for this moment that we could be together.”

            “I have been, too Jesse.  You have no idea.”

            “Well, I think a good lunch will cure everything, don’t you?  Now, what are you waiting for?  Pick what you want and get going.  There are other people who need to eat, you know.”    

            Ramona shuddered herself out of the romantic scene in her head to see that she was staring at the sandwich vending machine.  Someone behind her poked her to move.

            “Oh, sorry.”  She stepped aside and looked around the now full room.  Sighing, she located Neil, who waved to her from a corner table.

            “Not eating today?”

            “I came from Filing. I left my lunch in my desk.”

            “You could have some of my sandwich.  I always pack too much.” He held out half of what looked like a cold meatloaf sandwich on crumbling whole wheat bread.

            “Thanks, Neil. I’m fine.  I’m not hungry anyway.”  Ramona looked around their table, somehow hoping to glimpse a swish of long dark hair or a flash of tuxedo.  She closed her eyes, straining to hear the soft violin music.

            “Ramona?”

            “What?”  Ramona regretted her short tone with Neil.  It wasn’t his fault she preferred to be surrounded by candlelight and music to the harsh light and sounds of the lunchroom.  “I’m sorry.  What were you saying?”

            “Oh, nothing.  I was just saying I have tickets to the Civic Symphony for tonight and wondered if you’d like to go.  I’ll even throw in dinner.”

            “Oh, I can’t.  Wish I could.  I’ve got dinner with the parents tonight.”

            “Oh.  Okay.  Maybe another time.  I just thought, since you’re such a great musician and all…”

            Ramona rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the niggling promise of a headache coming on.  “Was, Neil.  I was a musician.  Now I’m just a person with a job and dinner with the parental units tonight.”

            “Oh.  Sorry.”  Neil took another bite of his sandwich.  “Some other time, then.”

            Ramona tried not to stare at Neil as he chewed his bland brown sandwich.  “I’m going to get back to work.  Maybe if I really cruise, I can sneak out early today.  God knows I need to prepare for seeing my mother.”

            Neil gave her a warm smile as she stood.  “Just don’t let Celia see you!”

            Back inside her cubicle walls and swathed in Jesse’s music, Ramona noticed little of her surroundings as the afternoon passed.  Her fingers floated over the keys as she invented scenarios involving Jesse.  A tap on her shoulder shook her out of her reverie.

            “Putting in overtime there, Doll?”  Bonnie’s nicotine-roughed voice cut through the music in Ramona’s ears.

            Ramona pulled off her headphones and looked at the receptionist.  “What do you mean?”

            “I mean it’s after five, and if your butt isn’t out of that chair in the next two minutes Celia’s going to find you and give you the sermon about unauthorized overtime.”

            “That can’t be, lunch was just-oh my.”  Ramona looked at her watch and smiled.  “I guess I’m not sneaking out early today, am I?”

            Bonnie gave her an appreciative whistle.  “Is this your stack of done shippers?”

            Ramona looked at her full out basket.  “I guess I really overachieved today, huh?”

            “Just don’t make a habit of it, darlin’.”  Bonnie waited as Ramona slipped into her comfortable shoes.  The two women walked out together.  “Plannin’ on spending some time online tonight?”

            “Not until later.  Dinner at the parents’ house.”

            Bonnie hoisted her round body onto the plush seats of the Buick.  “Sounds enthralling. What’s the occasion?”

            “Nothing.  Probably Mom’s found the perfect match for me and wants to talk about it.  I mean, geez, it’s been what, five days since she last mentioned I wasn’t married?”

            Bonnie gave her a mock shocked look.  “You’re single?  How on earth does your mother hold her head up in public?”

            Ramona waved as her friend started up her car.  Sliding into her vehicle, Ramona turned the key in the ignition and waited for her frozen car to warm. While the engine idled, she let her mind wander to a more pleasant place.

            “What took you so long, Beautiful?  I waited here in the car all afternoon.”

            Jesse sits with his long legs stretched out in the back seat of a black limousine, smiling at her.  He holds a glass of champagne out to her.  Ramona takes it and smiles at him like a child caught stealing cookies.  “I got caught up in work, I guess.”

            “That’s a shame.  It’s much too pretty a day for you to be cooped up in that office.  Promise me tomorrow you’ll play hooky.”  He takes her left hand in his and strokes it gently with his long, graceful fingers.

            Her heart flutters and her voice is airy as his touch sends a thrill up her spine.  “I promise, Jesse.  Whatever you want.”

            “That’s my girl.”  He leans back in the black leather seat and adjusts his cufflinks.  “You have a good night with your folks, okay?  Tell them I say hi.”

            Ramona tore her gaze away from the rearview mirror and looked out her passenger window, where Neil waved to her. “What?  What did you say, Neil?”

            “You’re having dinner with them, right?  Your parents?”

            Ramona made a face.  “Don’t remind me.”

            “You want some back up? Joe Adel said his wife would love to go to the Civic tonight, so I gave him the two tickets.  Which means, Miss Simms, I’m free tonight.”  He returned Ramona’s ironic smile.  Tickets or no, Neil was usually free, and the idea of bringing him to her parents’ house was tempting.  Maybe if she brought a date, even Neil, her mother would lay off. Then again, Mom’s always trying to put the two of us together. She shook her head and shifted the car into reverse. “No, it’s okay.  Maybe next time.”

            “Email me later; let me know how brutal it was.”

            Ramona backed her car out of her space before Neil could continue a conversation.  She cast hopeful eyes to the mirror one more time, wishing that just once reality would fade away and the daydream would be real.

            The late afternoon sunlight cast an optimistically rosy glow on everything in Ramona’s kitchen as she staggered in.  Too tired to notice, she flopped face first onto the couch and lay there until a familiar smell reached her.

            “LEO!”  She jumped up off the couch and strode to her bedroom.  Leo huddled in the corner with a penitent look on his very expressive face.

            “Leo, I swear you are the stinkiest dog on earth!”  Ramona gave him her sternest look.  “The vet tells me you need more veggies in your diet.  Maybe I should bring home a piece of Mom’s veggie lasagna?”

            Leo whined and cowered.

            “That’s what I thought.  So quit stinking up the house!  Do that outside for Pete’s sake!”  She checked her watch.  “And now I’m going to be totally late for dinner over there if I don’t get a move on.”

            She hustled around her bedroom, passing by her computer and resisting the urge to sit down and glide into the world of the internet.  “Nope.  Not now.  I’ll catch up after dinner.  I’ll need to then.”

            Half an hour later, Ramona checked her reflection in the mirror one more time before throwing on a sweatshirt.  She eyed herself critically.  “Whoever called them love handles must’ve had an interesting set of luggage.” She looked at herself again, satisfied that the sweatshirt covered her flaws well enough.

            “Okay, I’m on my way over now. You sure you don’t want to come along?”

            Leo whined and hid his nose under his paws.

            “Yeah, I know.  I wish I could just stay home and fart up the house, too.”  She patted the dog and checked his water dish.  “Yeah, you’re good for the rest of the evening.  Don’t wait up.  I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

            Leo lifted his head and licked his chops.

            “No, we are not ordering pizza when I get home.  Not if you keep dropping those atomic stink clouds.”

Sneak Peak Sunday: Dream in Color

Hello Friends!  Last week I gave you a taste of my first novel, Dream in Color.  I figured, it was only fair to sort of start you at the beginning this week...so here it is:  Chapter one.  Enjoy!



“Good morning beautiful, beautiful, Ramona.”


Ramona keeps her eyes closed. This is her favorite part of the day, when Jesse wakes her. She curls her toes between the satin sheets and waits for him to touch her.

“I brought you something special this morning.”

Eyes still closed, Ramona stretches her arms over her head and sinks deeper into the pile of goose down pillows. “What did you bring me?”

“See if you can tell.” He passes something beneath her nose. Ramona closes her eyes tightly, fighting the urge to peak and ruin the surprise. No easy feat, because she loves Jesse’s cooking and something smells too tempting to resist. He hasn’t touched her, but it’s all part of their ritual, a ritual they’d started the first morning after they were married.

“Hmm. Bacon?”

“Not even close.”

She sniffs a little. “I don’t know. Bring it closer.”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s always been your favorite.”

The smell grows stronger and Ramona lets herself sink into the lazy loveliness of it all. Jesse waves the plate of wonderful smells closer now, and something wet touches her cheek.

“I’m not sure, Jesse. What is it?”

“It’s deep fried cheese curds my love. Your favorite. And it’s seven forty three on a snowy, blowy Monday morning. If you’re supposed to be at work at eight, and you’re still in bed, you’re probably going to be late.”

Ramona Simms snapped one eye open and then another. Gone was Jesse Alexander, former teen pop star, her Prince Charming, her ultimate dream date. In his place was Leo, her eleven-year-old poodle/bulldog mutt, licking her face as the clock radio blared the morning weather report and, worst of all, the time. She squinted at the blurry red numbers while slapping her hand on the nightstand vainly searching for her glasses. The numbers on the clock confirmed her worst fears.

“Shit!” She flung back the tattered quilt on her bed, shoving Leo off her in the process. “Leo, I’m late, again! Celia’s going to be seriously pissed this time!” She staggered to the kitchen and let Leo out the back door.

Her next stop was the bathroom, where she evaluated her reflection in the mirror. “Aren’t I a vision?” She yanked three silvery strands of hair away from her shoulder length brunette locks. “It may be time for hair color. Unless I can pass these off as blonde highlights?” Grinning at the thought, Ramona jerked a brush through her hair and brushed her teeth. “That’s going to have to do this morning.” She gave the air a sniff. “Eww. Deodorant isn’t going to be enough today. Must have perfume!”

She rummaged in the vanity drawer in vain for something resembling perfume. “Oh screw it!” She ran back to her bedroom and dragged the first dress that came to her hand out of the closet.

Simultaneously kicking off her ratty sweat shorts and pulling on a blue dress that hadn’t been in style for more than ten years, and hadn’t fit her properly in five, Ramona caught a glance of herself in the full-length mirror. “Cellulite. Never leave home without it.” She flung the shorts off the end of her toes and flung her hair out of her eyes. “Well, there’s not much I can do about that now, is there? I’m over thirty-five, I’m overweight, and I’m going to be over late if I don’t get a move on.” She gave her control top pantyhose a short, ferocious yank and let the skirt drop past her waist. It got stuck around her hips, of course. Ramona wiggled her size sixteen rear at the mirror and the skirt fell into place.

She stomped through the living room back into the kitchen and jerked open the door. Leo skittered in, shaking snowflakes off his curly brown coat. “Leo, I gotta run. You sure you’re done outside?” She gave her dog a stern look. “I don’t want the house stinking when I get home.”

Leo, named after Ramona’s favorite Jesse Alexander song, gave her a solemn, brown-eyed look that melted her heart every time. As much as the furry, lumpy dog’s furious flatulence annoyed her, she adored him. He was really her one true love, farts and all.

“I’m going to Mom’s for dinner tonight.” Ramona smiled when Leo licked his nose with his ample tongue and whined. “So you won’t be coming with me?” Ramona rubbed Leo’s broad head, setting in motion several rolls of fur-covered skin. “Be good.”

She grabbed her coat and boots out of the front closet, and paused, as she did every day, in front of the autographed picture sitting on the piano. “Well Jesse, I’m off for another glamorous day at work.” She touched the smiling face with her index finger. “Unless you’re standing next to my car, in which case I’ll be jetting off someplace with you.”

One last touch to the picture and she whipped through the kitchen, grabbing the keys that hung on the hook next to the door. Jesse Alexander was not standing in her driveway, so, resigned to another day of life as a normal person, Ramona slammed the rusty door of her longsuffering Ford Tempo and turned up the car stereo, the first strains of “Leo” crackling out of the protesting speakers as the windshield wipers creaked in protest against the blustery, snow-laden wind.

As she drove slowly on the tree-lined roads of Cobia, Wisconsin, Ramona reminded herself that the town itself wasn’t so bad. What started out as a booming submarine-building city on Lake Michigan during World War II mellowed nicely into a collection of thirty-thousand souls, all fighting the inevitable march towards becoming a sleepy tourist town for harried executives from Chicago. Forever frozen in the 1940’s, downtown Cobia looked more like a movie set and less like place where actual people lived real lives every day. Maybe because of the aura of the past that clung to Cobia, the whole town seemed far smaller than most cities of the same size. Ramona didn’t mind the feeling that everyone knew her business. She had no business to know.

No, it was the job. Ramona tried to keep her mind off L.M.I., where she’d worked for nearly a decade, tapping out data entry numbers like some frantic distress signal to anyone bored enough to approach her tiny, corner cubicle. She parked her rusted vehicle in the only parking space left, the one furthest from the door. In spite of the snow, as she walked toward the building, Ramona’s pace grew slower and more measured, as if even her feet were dreading another day at L. M. I. International.

“Who the hell moved my headset?” Bonnie, the long time receptionist, had a phone voice that sounded like smooth jazz, but that’s where the charm ended. Her regular voice matched her worn out, cigarette smoking, teased hair persona much better, and she wasn’t nearly as polite to the office personnel as she was on the phone. “If that headset isn’t on my desk in ten seconds I swear I will find out who took it and I will take great pleasure in drowning them in packing peanuts back in shipping!” She looked up at Ramona. “Hey there Sunshine. Good of you to join us today. And if you’re planning on taking the tour to your desk, might I suggest taking the roundabout way, through production and past the restrooms? I told Celia it was your time of the month and you were probably in one of the restrooms not feeling well.” Bonnie looked Ramona up and down. “And that shouldn’t be a hard fib to pull off since you look like hell.”

Ramona shook the last snowflakes off her coat and hung it in the front closet. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I overslept and I’m parked in outer Siberia.”

Bonnie raised an over-plucked eyebrow at her. “And yet, you’re not looking pissed. Which means something good happened to you last night. Get lucky?”

Ramona looked over her shoulder in case her supervisor was near. Celia Yasher was a cold woman, eternally clad in severe business suits with a hairstyle and personality to match. Worse for Ramona, Celia seemed to have a perverse delight in scolding her, especially, for any minor infraction.

Certain the hall was clear, Ramona leaned over the counter. “I got ‘Reflections in Blue.’”

“You didn’t!” Bonnie softened and looked impressed. “That disk was like forty bucks or something, right?”

“Yeah, it went to fifty, and I’ll be eating ramen noodles for a week, but I don’t care. It’s Jesse’s last recording before he retired. I just had to have it.”

“You are the girl who makes eBay go ‘round. Aha!” Bonnie uncovered her headset from a pile of FedEx envelopes. “It figures. I’m gone one afternoon and that temp shoves my headset in the mailers.” She squashed it down over her hopelessly stiff bouffant. “Doll, if you’re not his truest fan, then I don’t know who is.” Bonnie let loose a smoky cough. “I always liked that Jesse Alexander. He was an easy one to look at.”

Short clicks on the resilient tile announced the arrival of Celia to the office, and Ramona skittered around the receptionist’s desk. “I totally agree.” She grinned at Bonnie before slipping down the hall to the poolroom.

The “poolroom” was a large warehouse-sized room filled with endless cubicles from which rose the rhythmic sound of clacking as rows and rows of data entry specialists, secretaries, and filing clerks tracked every item shipped to and from L.M.I. Ramona’s cube was in the farthest corner, a space cut off from the rest of the pool by a support column, and mostly unheated, but Ramona rarely complained. Very few people passed by her desk, and even fewer bothered her. Her job as the Quality Control Records Clerk was dull and uninspiring, but it did nothing to invade her eight-hour-long daydreams of Jesse. Just the way Ramona liked it.

Just ahead of Celia, Ramona dashed to her desk and tossed her lunch bag into the bottom drawer. With practiced accuracy, she slipped her feet out of the battered sneakers she wore to work and into the pinching pumps she kept under her desk for those multiple moments in the day when Celia, the office cop, inspected each and every clicking clacking cubicle for company policy outlaws.

“Good morning, Ramona. Just getting in?”

Ramona looked up from her stack of shipping orders and gave her supervisor a look of vacant innocence. “I’ve been here for ten minutes, Celia. Got in at eight on the dot, like always. Just not feeling well,” she lowered her voice, “it’s that time, you know, and the ladies room is out of personal items. So I went back to the production rest room.”

“Out of personal items? That cleaning crew! That’s it! I will be calling their manager today and I’ll have three new companies tour the place by the end of the week.”

“Oh, wait Celia, maybe the machine was just jammed or something. You don’t have to-”

Celia turned icy eyes on her. “You really shouldn’t defend shoddy workmanship, Ramona. If we are willing to accept substandard workmanship in others, then it’s not a long fall to substandard performances on our own part. Wouldn’t you agree, Ramona?”

Ramona cringed at the way Celia dragged out her name. “I’m just saying that before you go firing anyone, maybe you should double check. I could have made a mistake, or the machine could be jammed or something.” She swallowed and tried to look pathetic and weak. “I’m not feeling at all well today.”

“Fine, I will check the machine myself.” Celia sniffed and looked hard at Ramona’s outfit. “What are we wearing today?” Celia raised a sharp, drawn-in eyebrow at her.

Ramona’s shoulders tensed. Every morning the same question, the same inspection, the same erosion of self-esteem spewed from Celia’s mouth and covered Ramona like hot, sticky lava. “I can’t speak for you, but let’s see, I’m wearing uncomfortable shoes, circulation-stifling pantyhose, itchy skirt, and lung crushing foundation garments. Do I pass muster?”

“You know,” Celia poked a long, well-manicured nail at her, “that smart mouth has no place here. It’s bad for morale.”

“Well, you’re the expert on being bad for morale.” Ramona started shuffling papers and looking generally busy.

Celia blinked, analyzing Ramona‘s comment but apparently did not find the insult. “Filing needs the Bio-West order by noon.”

“Filing shall have the Bio-West order by noon. I have it right here.” Ramona held up a thick stack of flimsy green shipping orders. “It’s my first order of business.”

“It should be.” Celia’s eyes, restrained by enormous horn-rimmed glasses, stopped their search as they fell on the small personal CD player on Ramona’s desk. “We’re still listening to our own music, I see.”

Ramona sighed. Celia was never quite satisfied until she’d sucked every bit joy from the person to whom she was speaking. “Yes, Celia, we are. You know it helps me concentrate, and I don’t disturb a soul.”

“I don’t like it.” Celia sniffed the air as if sensing another infraction in a cubicle far, far away. “It doesn’t look professional.”

Ramona looked around her tiny space and shook her head. “Well, besides you and the guy from shipping who drops off the shipping orders, who sees me?”

“Just don’t ever let Mr. Anderson catch you with them on.” Celia brushed her hands against each other, as if washing them of all guilt for such a transgression. “Just because you’ve been an employee here longer than any of the other girls in this department, that doesn’t guarantee you any special treatment from him.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” Ramona kept a pleasant look on her face, praying Celia would leave. Sniffing one more time, Celia left the cubicle without another word. Ramona reached into her bottom drawer where she kept her CD’s, and thumbed through the collection.

“Did Vampira draw any blood this morning?”

Ramona looked up and into the plain, honest face of Neil Horton. Neil, like Ramona, had grown up in Cobia and now worked as head of the accounting department for L.M.I. He was the perfect stereotype for his position, from his thinning, dull brown hair to his long, narrow nose to the squinty, near-sighted way he studied anyone to whom he spoke. The joke around the office was that no one needed a weatherman. Anyone who wanted to know what the weather was going to be just had to see what Neil Horton was wearing. If it was a bland button-down oxford shirt, it was a warm day. If he had a sweater vest over the oxford, it was a touch chilly. If Neil wore a cardigan sweater, it was a brutally cold day. The closer he got to his fortieth birthday, the more predictable his wardrobe was.

High school pals, Ramona and Neil had gone to separate colleges, and had lost touch as Neil started his career with L.M.I. and Ramona attempted a life away from Cobia. It was Neil who got her a job when she came back home and it was Neil who stopped by her workstation every day with a smile and a candy bar. It was a friendship that Ramona simultaneously treasured and took for granted.

“You know, whenever she drops by, it’s the only time I ever admit maybe my mother was right.” Ramona pulled an industrial sized bottle of hand lotion out of her middle desk drawer and began her morning ritual of limbering her fingers for another brutal day on the computer. Taking good care of her hands was the only carry-over habit from her years, in the very distant past, of chasing a career as a musician.

“How’s that?” Neil perched on the edge of her desk.

“If I’d gotten an accounting degree, you’d be my supervisor, I would be in an office where the heat and air conditioning actually reach the desks, and I wouldn’t have to squeeze my ever widening rear end into these ridiculous clothes. I could wear jeans and comfortable shoes just like all the guys in your office do.”

“Well, we’d welcome you, that’s for sure. And your rear end is just fine.”

A rare awkward silence hung between them as Ramona looked at him in surprise.

“I mean, I mean you’d be fine in whatever you wanted to wear.” Neil ran a hand through his perfectly straight hair and blushed beneath the wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his long, bony nose.

“Well, thanks Neil.”

“Oh, hey, here you go. Thought I’d bring you a snack.” He handed her a Kit-Kat bar, her favorite.

“Neil. Thanks.” She smiled at him and set the candy bar next to her keyboard. “It’s nice to know I’ve got you anyway.”

“Of course you do...have me. As a friend, I mean.” He pushed up his glasses on his nose, something he did whenever embarrassed.

“Well, I gotta get at it.” Ramona put away the hand lotion and reached for her headphones. Chatting with Neil was nice, but she did have work to do. “That’ll taste good when I finish the Bio-West shipping order. Celia will have me in a headlock if I don’t get these to Filing by noon.”

“Okay, I’m going to let you get to work, then. See you at lunch?”

“If Celia doesn’t somehow find a way to make me work through it.”

Neil gave her a wave and left the tiny space. Now alone and facing a full day of flying fingered data entry, Ramona put on her headphones, selected Jesse Alexander’s third album to kick off her day, and turned up the volume.