Maggie. . .
a story for you
I’ve decided I’m going to tell you a story. But, not all at once. You’ll have to read this as I post each section. But, not to worry, I won’t leave you hanging. It will all be waiting for you in ODDS & ENDS.
I wrote this a couple of years ago and entered it in a small, fairly unknown contest. It won, but it is now considered “published.” Which is a bit ironic. I doubt three people have ever read it, but it is, in the official world of publishing, now a “used” or published piece of work.
It is still my story though, and I can use it as I see fit. So, I’m giving it to you. And, because it’s a story for your imagination, there are no pictures, no photos. Just what you imagine in your mind.
Hope you enjoy.
Lisa hooked the emerald and diamond clasp of Edison’s twenty-fifth anniversary present, strands of Mikimotos, behind her neck and evaluated the image gazing back from her cheval mirror. She frowned and tugged gently at the corners of her brow. Should she have a lift? Janice had one last spring. No. Almost forty-eight, she knew she still passed for mid-thirties.
Diamond hoops. DKNY black dress. Bronze snake Blahniks. She reread the gilded invitation.
“Discretion is appreciated.” Mmhm…exclusive.
Edison knew, but not her friends and none had mentioned receiving their own.
Mason had his first t-ball game tonight. Tiffany, new license in hand, would drive, while Mason would sit shotgun. Edison and twelve-year-old Christian would hold down the rear. She slipped on her fox coat, blew kisses, and rushed out the door.
The sun burned low as she headed east on I-10. Businesses soon gave way to warehouses, which gave way to barren desert. Twenty-nine Palms, or 29 Stumps, as the Marines called it, flew past her S400 Hybrid. A sign marked 28 miles to Pinto Rojo. She relaxed against the plush leather interior.
Her day had been hectic. She’d spent the morning at the salon before meeting Janice for lunch at the club to discuss the bazaar for the Metro Soup Kitchen run by the Sisters of St Anne’s. After lunch, she’d had a fitting for the Chanel suit she planned to wear to the Laguna Art Gala. Then, home to see the children arrive from school and now, off to the auction.
They’d bought their house after the economy plunged. Originally on the market for $2.6 million dollars, Edison, always prudent with money, had purchased the third-acre, 2500 square foot Spanish colonial for $800,000. It was a lovely home and she often invited the girls for cocktails.
The girls. Janice. Catherine. Tory. Moira. And, more recently, Cassie. Cassie was nice enough, but different. More of a homebody, she grew much of what her family ate in her home garden and had once mentioned actually sewing her own clothes. Janice and Catherine’s husbands were attorneys. Tory’s father had been a regular in westerns during the 70s and Moira had appeared in several sitcoms. They were all members of Belle Chere Country Club and their children, all similar ages, attended the same schools.
The Pinto Rojo exit came into view as her mind raced over items on her calendar. At the end of the exit ramp a black and gold sign directed her to turn right, 23 miles south to the Coral Canyon Lodge.
She glanced at her Rolex, another gift from Edison. 5:20 pm. A retired Marine Colonel, now an engineering consultant, he worked hard to provide them the trappings of success in southern California. They’d also managed to avoid divorce along the way.
Thump! The dash went blank as the quiet purr of the engine spun soundless. Power steering faded along with all the electronics.
She drifted to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Pressing the Bluetooth, she called roadside assistance, then Edison, but only received silence from both. Digging in her purse, she fished out her cell. Full battery, but no bars.
Great. Nothing works out here.
To be continued . . .
Until next time. Be sweet.