Trailer Trash Tuesday: Diana Castilleja

Trailer Trash Tuesday is upon us again and this time we have Diana Castilleja.

A History Mystery: Day Five / Part Two

The Personal Journals of Morgan Victoria Beauchamp

Tuesday, October 28,

Dearest Papa,

The day after my birthday finds me groggy, restless, itchy, and de-energized… and alone again, it seems.

Apparently I had more to drink than I thought. When Mattias woke me by pounding on my door, I was in no mood be awakened. With a pounding head and body that ached, and didn’t want to move, I barely managed to pull on an oversized T-shirt before answering the door. At Mattias’ stare, I put my hand to my throat and discovered the necklace still in place. No time to explain on my part, or gawk on his, he shooed me into a fast shower and then threw jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater through the bathroom door. In short order, we were in his Toyota and somehow he managed to avoid a speeding ticket getting back to campus. Later, he explained, my pale appearance worried him which was why, after shoving me into the lecture hall, he came back with a quart of hot coffee and sat off to the side. Normally he doesn’t attend the seminars, but it was sweet he watched over me. Unnecessary, but sweet, nonetheless.

Also thanks to Mattias’ foresight, I was able to get the discussion started based on my class notes. A good grad student assistant is certainly worth their weight in gold. I have to find a way to give him a bonus for Christmas. Or the way I feel tonight, possibly my job once he’s completed his doctorate.

I’m not entirely sure where this listlessness is coming from. I didn’t drink that much alcohol last night. And the lovemaking was invigorating, not draining. As I sit here at Café du Monde, hoping Jean Baptiste will find me tonight – can you believe we haven’t exchanged phone numbers or email addys? It seems so surreal to be in a modern relationship without a hot text or two to get me through the day – I feel my energy returning, but I’m also slightly depressed.

I’m still wearing the necklace and in touching it, I can feel the touch of my lover, but I wish for him to be here touching me now. Of course, my sweater is hiding it. It wouldn’t do to advertise such an obscene amount of money around my neck. I love this city, but I’m not fool enough to believe I’m immune to muggers who would attack me for my cell phone let alone a laptop or a valuable piece of jewelry.

And just where is my lover tonight? It’s almost as if I can sense him watching from a distance. Is he hiding behind the bushes? Is he in the shadows? Or is it merely my imagination? Most likely. He stumbled out of my bed so fast as dawn approached, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was half way to New York by now. Is my self-pity clear enough for you, Papa?

So, in order to redirect my thoughts, I’ve turned to the journal of Jean Baptiste the pirate. At least he is still with me, even if his present day counterpart has chosen to do the conquer-and-run routine. Oddly enough, the journal seems easier to read tonight. There’s a bit here I hadn’t discovered before. It seems he had a lady he loved enough to give up the sea for. Constance. Such a romantic my pirate was. I’m able to eke out details of their meeting, at a ball he hosted. The closely cloistered lady managed to escape the watchful eye of her uncle and they met in a most decadent clandestine manner. Most suitable for the pirate he was. So, what went wrong?

I’ve spent most of the night deciphering just the first few pages. My head is pounding and the noise of the café seems so loud tonight. The streets are absolutely teeming with early Halloween celebrants. And my other senses seem over bright tonight. I was actually scrambling for sunglasses this afternoon. Fortunately Mattias was willing to loan me his pair and when I hit the Quarter, I found a shop where I bought huge, super dark, Jackie O sunglasses. The fragrance of the coffee and beignets is keeping the more unglamorous odors of the streets at bay for now. Surely the remaining dregs of my hangover.

I’m distracted again. So, Jean Baptiste of 1761 fell in love. If I’m reading it right, he spent several weeks courting her and working up to the idea of marriage. Which probably led to the idea of breaking it off with the Jamaican mistress. A wise plan. Had he begun courting me, I’d have expected the strumpet on the side to be history in a very fast way. Like, immediately.

As fascinating as this is, and truly, this find is historic and momentous, I hate that I’m distracted by my body’s longing for my lover. I’m also cold, so sitting inside and drinking coffee is helping somewhat, but I want to be outside where I’m more visible should he be looking for me. I can’t believe I didn’t get a phone number, a business card, an email, a website, a MySpace… some way to contact him! Was that his plan all along? Stalk me until I fell into bed with him and then leave me? Is the necklace payment for the night? Am I only a whore to him? Granted, he did me the honor of making me feel very high class about it - I must get this necklace appraised - but still. I’m not a whore and damn him for making me feel like one!

Just the thought makes me want to rip off this collar and toss it into the river. Let some dredger pull it up years from now and wonder at the mystery of where it came from. The thought almost makes me giggle. As a historian, anthropologist, and part time archeologist, I can just imagine what sort of tizzy such a find would stir up. Jewelry is not my forte, but I will get it appraised tomorrow and then find a way to return it to him. At least if he’s going to pay me, I’d like some sort of idea of how much he values me and my services. A disgusting thought, is it not, for an academic like me?

Oh how my mind wanders…

There, I’ve just put another two hours into interpreting this gobbledygook of French, English, Spanish and dialects of several other languages in between. Constance was most important to our buccaneer swain. So much so, that he’s heading out on his ship, the Gilded Lady, tomorrow to make one last run to his mistress. It seems he plans to tell Diabolique things are over between them. And then his crew is next. He’ll proctor an election for a new captain then return to New Orleans to begin life as a gentleman farmer with the proceeds he’s gained from his years of privateering. I wonder, did he tell Constance that he was leaving her for a time and why?

I really must get this journal authenticated. I’ll task Mattias with that chore tomorrow. More than anyone else, he can be trusted, and there are some grad students in that department who would love to do him a favor. Why doesn’t he see how the younger ladies lie in wait for him? I’m old enough to have been his babysitter for crying out loud. Is he one of those men who fantasized about a hot affair with their nubile teen sitters? I suppose I never told you, Papa, how Mr. Milowiki tried to cop a feel each time he drove me home after sitting with those demon twins he and his wife cooed over. You probably would have killed him, I imagine.

And now I circle right back to where I started my evening, wondering where Jean Baptiste is. Does he, too, have a mistress to set free? Or am I the mistress? The endless spirals of speculation are driving me batty. I have research to do and I’ve allowed myself to be distracted by a man who loved me last night and left me alone this night. Was I so terrifying? Does he have a wife who caught him sneaking in the door?

Ah, Papa, I wish you were here to advise me. What goes through a man’s mind at a time like this?

A History Mystery: Day Five / Part One

From the memoirs of Jean Baptiste Morgane

Tuesday, 28 October

I am the devil himself. I wallow in the shame of what I have done, ashamed to show my face unto the light, even that of the moon. All day my dead brain pitched fearfully in my slumber. The taste of her lingers still upon my tongue. Even though it pains my soul, I know to venture forth from my dust cloaked cocoon would only bring further tragedy

So, as the night grows cold toward day, I wallow in my own self pity, letting my hunger grow. Soon I will be forced to slink into the shadowy streets to sustain myself for another day. I will wait until the sky grows pink, taking what I need, leaving myself little time to go to her. What a pitiful spinster of the damned I have become. If laughter came easy to me, I would gladly roll upon the floor at the irony.

Perhaps, the malady would not be so bad if not for her thoughts intruding upon my sorrow. Since waking, her voice has been in my head. It is not a peculiar condition. Many times over the centuries the thoughts of my victims have lingered in my head. Normally I can simply blot them out but this time there is no escaping the thoughts ringing between my ears. With no other explanation available, I can only assume our connection goes deeper than I thought. Could this be more than a simple infatuation on my part? Could I love her?

The concept is frightening to me. I do not deserve the emotion. Everyone I have ever loved has paid the price my weakness. I will not let Morgan be the next in the long line. I would sooner go into the darkness and writhe for eternity with the burning need than see her harmed even for one brief second. When I am more in control, I will retrieve my lost journals and disappear from her life. Without them to back up her theories, she has nothing to substantiate her claims. Her career will be ruined but at least she will be alive to rebuild her life.

Whatever joy this existence holds for me I will exploit this connection and live vicariously through it. If I can not be with her physically, this shallow intrusion will suffice. The guilt involved is not even enough to stop me from invading her privacy. I am already a monster, what is one more piece of blackness upon my dead soul?

Easing past the boundaries, I sense her at her favorite haunt, a cup of smooth creamy coffee in one hand and my journal clasped in the other. Closing my eyes, I allow hers to become mine. The muted twinkle of her voice reading along to the words blurred through the flickering images I see through her mind. I found myself content to be in her presence.

Until she flipped the fragile pages of the journal to linger on Constance’s name. The flowing script from my own hand cursed me from two hundred years ago. Seeing my lost paramour’s name written with such care and love stabbed me. Those fleeting moments of love we shared disappeared in the horror of what had come to pass.

Immortality has done little to erase that night from my head, as much as I prayed that it would. Fresh from Diabloque’s curse, I returned to New Orleans. At the time some small part of me denied what I had become. The man I had been still burned bright inside me. I can remember thinking the beast inside me could be contained by the rational mind of man residing within the soul I no longer owned. The monster knew better. I lurked in the shadows, not daring to approach her openly. Already the story of what had happened on that small island had reached the bustling streets of New Orleans. No one knew for sure what had taken place, but then as now, rumor was a more potent historian than the truth. Tales of my demise circulated partly in thanks to my crew who had seen the island aflame with the inferno I started to hide my infamy.

For weeks I hid in the bayou by day. By night I stalked the streets, my hunger too great to ignore. A few times the hunger abated enough to delude me into venturing to Constance’s home only in the dead of night when I was sure she’d be ensconced in slumber’s hold. Finally I grew bold in my comfort. The clear night befuddled me into thinking I could safely enter the balcony adjacent to her rooms and catch some fleeting glimpse of her through the French doors that opened onto it.

Through the gossamer curtains I saw her, not sleeping but crying in the gloom. I dared not move closer, fearful she would sense my presence. The sight tore through the resolve I held onto by a thread. I collapsed upon the balcony, blood drenched tears marking their way down my face. Her sobs grew louder with every moment. I would have left but found myself paralyzed. Then her voice found words to accentuate her pain and they are forever engraved upon my suffering.

“Jean Baptiste, my love. Even if you be dead, I would gladly join you if it meant an end to this agony I bear from being parted from you.”

I would like to say the monster took over, but the lie would sour upon my lips. Her admission and pain drove not the demon I am, but the man I was. Shrugging off my stupor, I threw open the doors and went to her. Upon seeing me, she stumbled from the bed and threw herself into my arms. I wrapped her into me. There were words of love, but they fell short of the truth. I came into her life then, not as a love, but death. Her statement I took to heart.

Her tear reddened eyes pleaded for some explanation but the thirst had already marked her. In those days it was not the steady need it is now. It was a blanket lust that overrode all else. In those fevered seconds I did not see a lover, I saw a meal. Before my strength reasserted itself, the crimson haze cleared from my eyes and I found misery waiting for them. My dear, sweet, beautiful Constance lay, a broken husk, in my arms. Screaming, I let her fall to the floor. Already to the gallerie doors, I heard footsteps racing toward us. As I leapt through the doors I glanced back to see Constance’s blank eyes glaring after me. It was the last memory I took of her after claiming her life and it will forever condemn me.

Wrenching myself from the memories, I felt tears carving trails down my hollow cheeks. Composing myself, I mentally sought out Morgan. She had moved on, abandoning the journal to dark thoughts of her own. My lack of appearance tonight had placed a blight upon what we’d shared. I saw the inner turmoil she experienced because of it. Her pain was inexcusable for even though I planned to disappear from her life at the soonest possible moment, I would not have her assume the role of mistress in her mind. She was better than some simple courtesan, or Storyville whore, to be tossed away when finished with.

I swear now, when my mind reaches a semblance of calm, I will make the break clean with as little pain involved for her as possible. She deserves closure. I made ready to desert the link between us, when a stray thought stopped me. Tomorrow this associate of hers would take the journals for authentication. I could retrieve the documents without harming her, thus saving me from a situation I dreaded. Closing the connection, I allowed a small smile to grace my face. By Hallows’ Eve I could depart her with due haste. My sorrow would continue, but at least my love would live on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PS: Don't you love the cover?? Huge, mega thanks to Renee Rocco from Lyrical Press for designing it for us!!

CONTEST! CONTEST!

Yes, you heard right. I, MorganO, am holding a contest.

See, I see those ears twitch with interest. A sparkle just entered your eye. You love to win stuff. My son won a class ring at school the other day. I got a phone call from him in the middle of the day and I'm thinking 'what did he forget?' when I say his cell number. Nope. He had news for me! There's $500 less I get to spend on his senior year.

So yes, it's your turn.

Details are just one click away: http://morganscontests.blogspot.com/2008/09/morgan-needs-dream.html

I'm going to add one more way to enter. Send me a piece of Alaska Trivia and your name will go in the running for the prizes.

For example, how many of the US's 20 tallest peaks (mountains) can be found in the state of Alaska? True or False: Alaska has more miles of coastline than the rest of the US total.

And NO, I do not want Sarah Palin trivia.

Send pics and triva to me at: morgan AT morganqoreilly DOT com

Interview: Cindy Jacks

Every blog needs a little distraction every once in a while. This week The Diaries went to the expert on the subject, author Cindy Jacks. With her Point of Distraction series from Lyrical Press, Cindy has been heating up ereaders and melting hard drives everywhere. Heck, the minute she stepped into the offices, Jmo plopped the A/C down to a brisk 32 and, to all of ours shame, is standing around in his skivvies and waving a Sherrilyn Kenyon hand fan. For Cindy’s sake, I’ve made Jmo put on some pants and told him casual Fridays does not mean we get that casual.

TMD: Cindy welcome to the Diaries. We‘re so glad you could join us. Yes, I know. Just ignore the Spongebob Underoos. Lord knows I have. Jmo put those pants on right now or I’m tossing out your Oreo stash.

CJ: Oh don’t get dressed on my account! I’m digging Jmo’s briefs, though I’m wondering why Spongebob is all stretched out like that. Perhaps it’s best not to ask, lol. Anyhoo, thanks Morgan and Jmo for having me here!

TMD: Cindy we love Ana the heroine from the POD series. She’s a hot hip woman who's always game for...well...a game. As avid followers of the series, we just got to know. Will Ana ever find her man? Or men?

CJ: Well, Ana does burn a hot streak through some of the most eligible bachelors in the DC area (and elsewhere in a couple tales), but by the end of the fourth book, she allows herself to fall head-over-heels for one of them. I’m soooo dying to blurt out who it is, but I can’t. Argh!

TMD: what inspired you to write this series? The whole concept is so refreshing and who can't help but live vicariously through Ana? Is there a specific person or event which inspired each episode?

CJ: It’s funny you mention living vicariously through Ana because she was originally created for me to do just that. The series came from a collection of short stories I wrote to entertain myself and my best friend during my ‘Corporate Whore’ (CW) phase. Like Ana, my job was lucrative, but boring and unfulfilling. Hence the title: Point of Distraction, since I spent many an hour distracted by Ana’s adventures.

Almost all the characters are based on people I know. Sometimes they’re an amalgamation of a few different people. A lot of the side plots and personal touches are also based on true events. For example, in book three, Ana goes to a high school reunion and someone immediate spills a glass of red wine down the front of her dress. That actually happened to me at my ten-year reunion. The moment I walked in the door. So I spent the night with a huge stain on the front of my dress. Or in another tale a young man sends to Ana’s office a bunch of Dragonball Z balloons and a bouquet of porn. Yep, that one happened to me, too. Stressed my assistant out to no end, lol.

Jmo pssst... in Morgan O's ear.

Morgan O: Okay, since you got your pants on. Jmo wants to know if Ana thinks a man confident in his own masculinity to wear Spongebob underoos is hot

CJ: Absolutely! Of course, Jmo would be hot in anything. I am wondering what he intends to do with that tub of chocolate frosting. On second thought, I don’t think I want to know, lol.

TMD: you also have another new release, this one with Freya's Bower; Taking off - The Red Shoe Collection. I know there's a story behind that book. And while you’re at it, we know about your shoe fetish, so you might as well ‘fess up to how much you spend on shoes annually, and how many pairs are stashed in your closet.

CJ: Why yes, the book does have a story behind it. Thank you for asking (wink, wink). A brilliant writer friend of mine passed along a cool writing exercise. The challenge was to write a short story based on a style from a book about the history of shoes. Through a quick internet search (in Google we trust!), I stumbled upon the obituary for famed shoe designer, Beth Levine. The pair of red satin stilettos featured with the article just spoke to me. Yes, it is possible for shoes to speak. In one afternoon of brainstorming I came up with four separate short stories based around the shoes. So I decided to have the shoes travel in time to four separate women in the last fifty years. I sat down to write the stories and in a few short weeks I had The Red Shoe Collection. Thanks, brilliant writer friend!

As for my personal shoe collection, it’s way down from the CW days. I just went to count. Only thirty-seven pairs. Is that a lot?

TMD: This is a little known secret, but Jmo is a big fan of shoes. He's got his eye on a pair of Dior Whisper open toe sandals. If you had to pick one designer to drool over, who would it be? MorganO likes her Halflingers most of the time but picks up sandals for summer. Comfort is where it’s at baby.

CJ: Shane&Shawn hands down. Blahnik of course is a god, his shoes are gorgeous, but never comfortable. On the other hand, Shane&Shawn designs are beautiful and flirtatious and oh-so comfy.

BTW, if anyone would like to buy me an early Christmas present, there’s a pair of black and white open-toe Shane&Shawn Mary Jane’s that I’m longing for!

TMD: we love the jewelry you've designed and is available on your site. How do you manage to find the time to juggle writing, as well motherhood to create such beautiful works of art?

CJ: Sleep deprivation and lots of caffeine, lol. Kidding, kidding. I try very hard to manage my time during the day, stick to a schedule. Of course, I’m not always successful, but my motto is “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” As long as I keep chipping away at the ol’ to-do list, I’m happy. Plus, I’m not capable of just sitting and watching TV. If I do park myself in front of the boob tube, I bust out the laptop or beading supplies and work while I get my Grey’s Anatomy or Burn Notice fix.

TMD: As we well know, authors wear many different hats. What are some of the different things you do as an author to promo yourself and your books? Which ones are your favorites?

CJ: My favorite thing to do is hang out online with my Yahoo buddies. I know it doesn’t sound like promo, but I firmly believe that as a new author, I’ll only build a readership if I build relationships with other readers and other authors.

I also really love collaborating with other authors to make chores like blogging more interesting. Jambrea Jo Jones, Kensana Darnell and I just launch a new blog, Playground Mystique, that revolves around the life and times of our muses. That’s been a riot. You wouldn’t believe what muses get into when their writers aren’t looking!

I also do more formal promo from author interviews to chats to contests, but I always find those events are more successful if I’ve taken the time to get out there and generate some real excitement about things.

TMD: We at the diaries love to hit authors with hard mind provoking questions. This isn’t one of them but it is normal for around here. What’s harder to decide on Mr. Right or the right pair of shoes.

CJ: Oh beautiful shoes! Shoes are easy. I think that’s what’s seductive about them. They deliver on their promises to make you look and feel sexy, they don’t let themselves go just because you brought them home and they don’t leave the toilet seat up. I’ve never met a man as easy to get along with…then again, I hear I can be a weensy bit difficult myself, lol.

TMD: Since you’re all over the net, you’d better pop in a few links and let people know where they can find you and your books. Don’t forget those yahoo chat groups, as many of our readers like to pick up the latest scoop on any little juicy detail out there.

Yes, it’s true, I’m an internet ‘ho. I do get around. Lemme see if I can remember all my hangouts…

Author site: http://www.cindyjacks.com/

Blogs:
http://cindyjacks.blogspot.com/
http://playgroundmystique.wordpress.com/

Lyrical Press titles: http://www.lyricalpress.com/cindy_jacks.html

Freya’s Bower title: http://www.freyasbower.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=7&products_id=133&zenid=867085434aa2a619574c0a9ddf361c8f

Yahoo groups:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lyricalpress/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/playgroundmystique/

MySpace: www.myspace.com/jaxx_c

Whew! I think that’s it, hee hee.

It's been fun, Cindy! MorganO is taking off this afternoon for the weekend, so we hope lots of folks will come to play and keep you company today! The Alaska Chapter of the RWA is having a writers retreat at a gorgeous bed and breakfast out in the boonies. We expect her to come back refreshed and full of fabulous stories! Have a great weekend, everyone.

Excerpts by Cindy Jacks

Point of Distraction: The First Collection
Cindy Jacks
Copyright 2008 Lyrical Press, Inc.

Blurb:
So many men, so little time…Ana's been driven to distraction. First in a series of four collections.

Welcome to the world of Ana Welsh, a thirty-something executive with money, a good career, and good friends. The last piece to the puzzle is a good man. Come along with her through the first three of twelve "episodes" featuring new challenges and often, a new lover.

Meet Miguel, Latino bad-boy and musician who twelve years Ana's junior. Siempre Mia follows the couple as they indulge in a night of glamor, sex, and decadence, but what does Ana do when he starts pressuring her for more than their casual relationship?

In Business with Pleasure, Ana crosses paths with Jonathan Locke, a polished businessman from the UK. He's smart, funny, and has a taste for the finer things…especially Ana. A comedy of errors conspires to keep them from consummating their passion for each other.

The final story, Games People Play, Ana happens into an altercation on the street. Darcy Jameson comes to her aid, strolling in like a hero from a B-movie. This white knight quickly proves to have sexy dark side Ana can't wait to help him explore.

Excerpt:
"So what do you do, Ms. Welsh, when you are not working or tending to the lackey of your boss's business partner?"

I laughed. "I wouldn't think of you as a lackey, Mr. Locke. By the way, please, call me Ana. Aren't you one of the officers of Desmond Group? The CIO, correct?"

"Correct. And by all means, call me Jonathan." He lit his cigarette. "But you didn't answer my question, Ana."

"Okay, Jonathan. You know, I'm not sure," I replied. "It's been a while since I've done much else besides be an executive. May I?" I motioned toward his cigarette.

"Please, forgive me. I assumed that you, like many Americans, did not smoke." He explained his oversight and removed the pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket again, offering me one.

"No worries. I don't smoke habitually," I said, extracting one and allowing him to light it. "So the question is what do I do in my free time?" I confirmed.

"Yes." He nodded, leveling his gaze at mine.

"Well, once upon a time, when I had free time, there was a bar I liked to go to after work called Basin Street. It's a jazz club, but sometimes they have other music, too. Anyway, I like the atmosphere of the place."

"Would it be too forward of me to ask if you would like to go there after this boring thing is finished?"

I could feel myself reddening yet again. Going out with him was not at all appropriate, and maintaining our business relationship was of the utmost importance. Jonathan's company held a five-year IT service contract with my employer. He would make several more visits to negotiate further proposals and assist with major upgrades. I couldn't afford any tension to exist between us or worse, for him to expect professional favors of me because of our personal interaction. Not to mention the double standard that exists, governing proper sexual conduct from a woman as opposed to the liberty enjoyed by a man.

These considerations aside, a certain devilishness rose inside me. With his undeniable charm and Guy-Pearce-good-looks, I was a goner. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of stepping out with him. Not to mention my part-time boyfriend, Miguel, was on the road again, which left me free to do as I pleased. I'd been lost in these thoughts when I realized I owed him a response.

"Well… it would be too forward," I said.

"Forgive me, I thought it might be-"

"But," I interrupted. "I think I'm okay with too forward." I flashed him a mischievous grin.

"Are you now?" He smiled down at me, moving in a little closer.

"Yes, I think I just might be."

He leaned down, whispering in my ear, "We must explore this inclination."

"Yes, I believe we must." I nodded, grinning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking Off: The Red Shoe Collection
Copyright © 2008 Cindy Jacks

All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.

Blurb:
If any designer could create a pair of high heels with the power to change a woman's life, Beth Levine would top that list. Join the Red Shoes as they travel through five decades, appearing in each owner's life at the time she faces a personal crossroads. Though the heels appear as inactive bystanders in the dramas that unfold, Taking Off: The Red Shoe Collection, just might leave you saying, "It must be the shoes...."

Excerpt:
Her roommate, Emma, stood and watched Rowena inspect herself in the mirror and apply one more coat of lipstick.

“Gimme a once over?” Rowena asked.

Emma’s expression of mild annoyance didn’t match her tone. “Sure, sure.”

Rowena twirled in her red taffeta dress replete with crinolines. Em’s obvious jealousy painted her face. And why shouldn’t Emma be envious? Rowena felt like the It girl.

Blowing out a long catcall, Emma nodded in approval. “You look beautiful. A knockout.”

“Tonight’s the night, Em. I can feel it.”

“Well make sure you’re the only one who can feel it, Ro, you hear what I’m saying?”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. And it’s ‘Sabrina’ tonight,” Ro insisted, “Sabrina Sullivan.” Rowena felt clever for aligning herself with the starlet of the day by using alliteration in her first and last name.

Emma’s gaze walked down ‘Sabrina’s’ ensemble, coming to rest upon a divine pair of stiletto heels in scarlet satin.“Oh my.” Em pointed at the beautiful shoes. “Those must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

“All in the name of fame and fortune.” Sabrina pursed her lips and held out her daintily clad foot for Emma to inspect further.

“Are those…?”

Sabrina nodded knowing her friend’s question. “They are. They’re Levines.”

“And where did an unemployed actress get the money to buy a pair of Levines?”

Sabrina shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

Emma shook her head. “Just be careful, young lady. Men don’t give presents like that without expecting something in return.”

“Oh, hush. Drake is just a generous guy.”

“Uh huh.” “And tonight he’s introducing me to the same director that made Marilyn a star,” Sabrina said.

Em’s lack of snide response surprised Sabrina. How many times had the woman lectured her about the evils of the movie industry? Emma loved to call Drake a low-level has-been who preyed on naïve girls. But Sabrina wasn’t naïve. She knew exactly what Drake expected of her and she thought it a small price to pay for fame and fortune. What was the big deal? After all, Sabrina was no virgin.

Of course, Sabrina took Em’s admonitions as sour grapes. At thirty-five, her hopes of stardom were long past her. Sabrina would be damned if she’d end up like that. And she wouldn’t wind up as one of Emma’s cautionary tales either. Smart girls knew how to be discreet and not get into trouble. No way Sabrina was buying a bus ticket back to small town Iowa with a bun in the oven. Oh yes, Sabrina’s course was set. It wouldn’t be so bad. Drake was handsome enough, and he reeked of money, which always turned Sabrina on. And if the director wanted to play too, well, so be it. Nothing was going to stop her tonight.

“I’m leaving, Em,” Sabrina called from the foyer.

“Break a leg, shug.”

Guest Blogger: Cindy Jacks

My Favorite Distractions

Let’s face it, with the level of stress most of us shoulder, who couldn’t use a good distraction? Though my main professional pursuit these days allows me to live in fictional worlds of my own creation, even I need a need a little escape now and then. So what drives me to distraction? Here are my five favorite ways to take a mental vacation:

5. Movies – Few things take me on a vicarious journey like a well-written, well-acted movie. If for only two hours, I can lose myself in the romance, adventure, drama, or thrilling action that someone else created. I love being totally absorbed into a movie, allowing myself to suspend my disbelief and, in the end, feeling like I’ve been taken on a journey.

4. Exercise – Okay, I hate schlepping to the gym as much as the next person, but I invariably, if I can make myself get in a good workout four or five times a week, I feel better. My spirits are lifted, my confidence is higher, and that little bit of breathing room in my ‘skinny jeans’ puts an extra pep in my step. I try to mix up my workout: walking, yoga, bicycling, but my favorite activity is belly dancing. Not only does it tone the entire body and give me on heck of a cardio workout, it also lets me pretend I’m seductive diva for an hour or so.

3. People watching – There’s no drama like the human drama that plays out around us everyday. The key is to stop and watch. When I find myself with the rare free moment, I like to walk up to the local café with my journal and just observe. I’ve seen new love blossom, relationships crumble, business deals go down, and watched the kids who frequent the Tae Kwon Do center next door progress to different color belts. I’m probably outing myself as a bit of a voyeur here, but I love watching other people going about the day to day business of living.

2. Music – My life has a constant soundtrack playing in the background. I use music to carry me through the day. Whether I’m cleaning the kitchen, working out, writing, or just relaxing, I always keep my mp3 player close at hand. And I’ve been known to spontaneously sing and dance around the house. My four-year-old son thinks this is great fun. I wonder how he’ll feel about it when he’s fifteen? Lol

1. Acting like a child – And speaking of my four-year-old, nothing in the world rejuvenates my spirit like putting away my responsible adult attitude and declaring a pillow fight with him. Breaking out the finger-paints works just as well. In fact, the messier the activity, the better. And once in a while, chocolate ice cream for breakfast is perfectly justifiable. I strive to teach my little guy the things he needs to learn as he grows up, but no one has taught me more about unadulterated joy than he has. Everyone needs to stop every now and then to blow bubbles around the living room.

And with that, I turn the floor over to all of you out there in cyberspace. Let’s hear ‘em. What are your favorite distractions?