The Bloody North

Well, we've done it again. Tony Healey wrote it; I edited it, and now it's available for your reading pleasure. The first title in Tony's The Fallen Crown series, The Bloody North, is now live on Amazon. It's also only 99 cents for the e-book right now, so grab it! Anyhow, Tony has a bit more to say on the subject, so I'll let him do the rest:

ON WRITING 'THE BLOODY NORTH'

My first exposure to fantasy was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. I saw the old BBC adaptation of it (which I still think stands head and shoulders above both the animated movie and the more recent Disney motion picture) and then found a copy of it in paperback at a car boot sale. I was about nine at the time. I spent months afterward trying to track down copies of all the others. I succeeded, never paying more than about fifty pence for each one. Eventually I had all seven Narnia books lined up on my shelf, each one from a different edition.

A year or so later, I found a box set containing all seven, with cover art to match their respective BBC adaptations. I used that as my excuse for reading them all again from scratch. I still have that same box set now.

In my teens, my uncle loaned me a copy of Spellsinger by Alan Dean Foster, and I proceeded to bug him for the other five, tearing through them at a rate of knots. A few years back, I had the honour of having a short story of mine published alongside Mr. Foster. In that anthology (see: Resistance Front by Bernard Schaffer, Alan Dean Foster, Harlan Ellison, et al.) I dedicated my story to Alan, thanking him for Spellsinger.

If the work of C. S. Lewis had introduced me to fantasy as a genre (at the age I was when I read it, I honestly didn't pick up on all of the religious notes – it was just a good story), then Spellsinger showed me you could take traditional fantasy and inject it with facets of modern life.

From a very early age, we'd had three films on VHS I'd constantly watch, over and over again. The first was The Goonies – recorded off of the TV with commercials included. The other two were Watership Down and The Lord of the Rings.

After reading Spellsinger, my mind turned to those two cartoons I'd watched as a small child. So I read my way through Watership Down, and then tackled The Lord of the Rings at about the same time as The Fellowship of the Ring came out at the cinema. With Watership Down, I got to see world building on par with Narnia, but done in an entirely different way. Set in the world of rabbits, with their own language, their own beliefs, their own mythology. I found it completely fascinating.

The Lord of the Rings was a slog most of the time, but I have happy memories of the experience. It was a long work to tackle in my teens, but I managed it, just about. A recent attempt at a reread failed miserably. I simply lost interest. A lot of that comes from the books I am used to reading now as an adult. They're faster, more concise. To my mind, Tolkien's opus is a must-read for anyone. But I don't think many will delve back in for a second go. It's a huge undertaking. The Lord of the Rings is a classic work of fantasy that truly established a gold standard for the genre at the time. And there have been many attempts by other writers at recreating Middle-Earth in their own work, to varying degrees of success.

Coming out of my teens, The Dark Tower series and J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter were hugely influential to me. What Stephen King accomplishes with The Dark Tower is something he has tried often and succeeded at rarely. That is, telling a long story and holding the reader's attention from start to finish. Some – novels like The Stand and IT – have worked brilliantly. Others . . . ugh. But for whatever reason, The Dark Tower grips you from the first tantalizing sentence ("The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed . . .") and never lets go. It's a little crazy, it's a bit of a mash-up of multiple genres and sources, but that's okay. You take it in your stride. The Dark Tower is King's greatest work. A rich, hugely entertaining epic.

The very same can be said for Rowling's Potter series. I read them one after the other (luckily the last, The Deathly Hallows, was just coming out as I finished The Half-Blood Prince). My habit with those was to sit on the kitchen floor at night, cup of tea by my side and read into the early hours. I lived in a house with six other siblings at the time, so really the kitchen at night was about the most peaceful place for reading.

She did a fantastic job of world-building, of plotting each book out so that it was its own self-contained story, yet progressed the overall plot piece by piece. Readers were literally spellbound (forgive the pun) by the interactions between the characters and the relationships that developed along the way. By the progression of a plot that grew steadily darker and darker – and by what had happened in the past, before the books take place. Certainly the greatest, well-rounded character of the series is not Harry Potter himself, but Severus Snape. Dumbledore's machinations become somewhat omnipresent by the end, whereas Snape comes into his own in what is a truly heartbreaking series of revelations.

Recently, I found myself browsing the kindle store for something new to read when I came across The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie. I got the sample, devoured it in one sitting, and bought the rest of the book.

The next day, I found myself in town buying the whole trilogy in paperback and proceeded to read them one after the other. Abercrombie takes the conventions of the genre and turns them on their head. First of all, he does away with the stilted writing of the past and brings his contemporary voice to Fantasy – complete with swearing, sex, and some of the most complicated characters I've ever come across. Each and every one of them broken in some way.

Glokta, broken in body but not in spirit. Logen Ninefingers, broken inside as he tries (in vain) to turn away from the man he used to be. These two characters begin the story broken and end up whole by the end (though not necessarily better people as a result) whilst the character of Luthar begins whole and is steadily broken first in body, then in spirit. Abercrombie writes a kind of fantasy that critics and readers alike have come to coin "Grimdark." I guess it had its beginnings in the work of Robert E. Howard way back when, and I reckon there were the seeds of it in the dark deeds that went (mostly) unseen, in the background, throughout The Lord of The Rings. If Aragorn and company spent the majority of those books fighting nameless, faceless hordes of Orcs with little repercussions for their deeds, Abercrombie makes every kill resonate.

Men fight men, with all the horrific slaughter and detail involved. And when the fight is over, when most of them have died, the survivors are left with their guilt and their shame and their hurt. Left to deal with it all on their own.

It's no wonder, in Abercrombie's fictional setting, that Logen turned out the way he did.

But what some reviewers of The Blade Itself have criticized it, and its sequels, for is its lack of hope, and I have to disagree there. I found plenty of hope in The First Law trilogy. It's there, trust me. What Abercrombie does is to counter-balance these moments, these flashes of characters achieving the positive, with the darkness. If a character is winning in one chapter, the next time we meet them, their luck has taken a turn for the worst.

Is that fair? Probably not. But is it realistic to what we experience in real life?

Yeah.

I took a similar approach in The Bloody North, by having a character consumed with grief to the point where he'd almost stopped living. He just existed – until, that is, his company is slaughtered in front of him and he's left on his own. What ensues is a bloody path of vengeance as Rowan comes to terms with all that he's lost and his quest to destroy the man who took it all away from him. Along the way we get to know some of the world in which The Fallen Crown series takes place.

This just the first small chapter in a truly epic story. If you think The Bloody North sets the stage, well . . . wait till you read Book 2. Boy, oh boy, is it going to blow your socks off.

Next level doesn't cut it.

Thank you, Tony.

Happy Reading!

Close to You by Toni Lee

Seriously, I never expected this whole summer reading series to become a thing. It was supposed to be one post and that was that. But it's gotten enough hits that I'm guessing you all actually WANT to read these first chapters. So I will continue to oblige this week with a completely new name and voice.

Enter Toni Lee, a new client who lives in Sussex. (That's in England, ya'll.) She's writing her first novel in six installments and releasing it as a serial. So far, I like it, so give her a chance. Besides, the first installment will be free on Amazon Monday and Tuesday, August 26 and 27, 2013. After that, it will be just 99 cents. Eventually, we will publish the entire serial as one book. I promise to keep you posted.

***********

1.

cover by Keri Knutson
of Alchemy Book Covers

Things had been better. Scarlet picked through the clothes on the floor to find something that wasn't either screwed up, wrinkled as a dishrag, or in need of a wash.

It was true she'd not caught up with her laundry lately (or her ironing for that matter) but she'd not had the spare change to feed the machines at the LAUNDROMAT down the street. When it came down to eating or doing the laundry, having a nice fresh top to wear out for the night was the least of her priorities.

But tonight was different.

She needed it. Scarlet had rinsed the last dregs from her bank account, collecting together what she needed for one final night out. A blow out. It'd be head down, back to finding a job after that. No more wild nights.

It's what she swore to herself every time, without fail.

Knuckle down, save the pennies, get herself back out of the red. The negative balance on her overdraft was like red quicksand. Once you got stuck in there, it was nigh impossible to pull yourself back out.

But at least she'd have tonight, and she'd forget all her problems and worries for a couple of hours. At least that was the plan, and it was one she intended to stick to.

"Ah! There you are!" she said happily as she found a white dress, with the tag still on, that was bundled inside a market bag. Something she'd got from a second hand shop and chucked under the bed. It'd never been worn, and she'd managed to get it at an absolute bargain price. Scarlet got up, held the dress out in front of her in admiration. "Finally, something goes my way."

Scarlet checked the clock, then got in the shower with the bathroom door wide open. She had the stereo going full pelt in the living room, blasting tunes by the Black Eyed Peas, heavy with base. She lathered her body with soap, shaved her legs and washed her hair. She felt renewed, refreshed, and reinvigorated.

"The three r's," she said to herself as she switched the shower back off and stepped out onto a towel. Scarlet wrapped another towel around herself and sang along to the music pouring out of the stereo as she got ready.

The apartment was only a one bedroom but she still seemed to struggle in keeping it clean and tidy. Maybe it just wasn't in her nature to be domesticated like that. Some women were just born to be mothers. They were literally mothering, stay-at-home material.

Scarlet knew she was far from the obedient housewife type, and was under no illusions that that would ever be the case, either. She lived for the night too much. For going out, drinking and dancing. Occasionally picking up a man and letting herself go, along with her clothes and underwear.

That was what she liked. Sometimes there was nothing better than pulling some random in a bar or club and enjoying a good fuck. No entanglements, no expectations of anything other than what was on offer.

Sex.

Scarlet sat on the edge of her bed, reapplying the nail polish to her toes.

Three months ago she'd lost her cosy job as a receptionist at a dentist's and she'd struggled to find something -- anything -- to replace it. Now the last of her savings had fizzled away like flat lemonade and a kind of creeping panic had set in.

How will I eat? How will I pay the electric bill? How will I afford to go out?

Maybe tonight's a bad idea, she allowed herself to consider for a moment before pushing the thought aside.

No, I need this more than I care to admit.

Scarlet used her blow drier to dry her toenails then went to work on her hair, in front of the tall mirror that stood on the floor by the foot of the bed, leant back against the wall. No time to find a hammer and nail to hang it with. She brushed her locks through then straightened them, pleased as ever with her ability to make her hair look fabulous with a little work. Her silky chestnut bangs fell past her shoulders. She'd never been tempted to cut them.

Scarlet checked the clock again. Already the light was fading out in the street.

Better get my arse in gear, she told herself as she slipped into her panties. She always had clean underwear. You didn't need a laundrette for cleaning those. That's what sinks were for.

I'm a mess, she thought to herself as she surveyed the state of her apartment. The clutter and mess everywhere. It wasn't filthy in there, nothing like that. But it was an obsessive-compulsive's worst nightmare.

Scarlet looked at herself in the mirror. Slim physique, not one pound heavier than she had been at eighteen . . . and that was ten years ago. Her breasts were always her best asset. Not too big, not too small. Just slightly larger than a man's hand. She'd always been pretty and aging hadn't yet diminished her looks at all. She'd been lucky, really. When she ran across old school friends in the street, she was always amazed at how aged and weathered they looked.

No I'm not a mess, she corrected herself. The apartment is. Me? I'm one hot piece of arse.

That made her laugh out loud. She grabbed the white dress and pulled the tag free from the label at the back. Usually she'd be going out with her friends, or at the very least, meeting them somewhere. But not tonight. This one was a solo mission, no wing-mate. Not even her best friend James.

"Just you and me tonight, baby," she said to the dress. "And we're gonna do some damage."

**********

Now we really are done. Next week, I promise, you will have a special surprise in the form of a new, free, crochet pattern I've designed specifically for the Blog Collection. It will be free here for the life of the blog, but it will also appear in my next crochet book.

Happy Summer Reading!

The Barboza Brothers Trilogy by Reeni Austin

In keeping with the whole easy beach read theme, I thought I'd share this one with you. Talk about steamy summer romances! This one's Hot with a capital H. But unlike your typical cheesy romance, it's got substance to the story. A family mystery, a great group of characters, and an endearing four-year-old who almost made me wish I'd had one of my own. (Almost.)

The first book in the series, Fresh Temptation, is free, but just grab them all because I can almost guarantee you'll want to read them together.

**********

Fresh Temptation is free!

Chapter 1

“May I take your coat, sir?”

Victor forced a grin. “Sure.” He handed his Italian suede coat to the coat check attendant.

Be a good sport, Victor told himself. He hated pretentious black tie dinners like these. This annual fundraiser was one of a handful of events he always attended in person instead of sending a colleague or simply issuing a large donation from his office. Tonight’s ten-grand-per-plate meal was hosted by the Whitt Foundation, a respected non-profit humanitarian organization.

And since Victor’s ex-fiancee was Alexis Whitt, he would have rather been anywhere else.

Their engagement had ended two months earlier—a year before their scheduled wedding date—when Victor caught Alexis in a compromising position with her personal trainer, Esteban. Such a cliche.

He blamed himself for a while. Maybe he spent too much time working and didn’t lavish enough attention. He focused on maintaining the wealth he’d amassed at a young age as a successful investment banker. At thirty-one, Victor Barboza was one of the youngest billionaires in America. Quite a feat for a kid born on the wrong side of Guadalajara. Tonight he was here to support a worthy cause he believed in: one of the Whitt Foundation’s efforts was building orphanages and schools in third world countries.

He had never told anyone the real cause for the break-up. Perhaps he should have, but he didn’t. He had too much respect for Alexis’s parents to subject the family to the frivolous gossip of Manhattan’s upper east side.

Besides, petty snickering and sympathy weren’t a part of his lifestyle.

Victor preferred to move on. Live and learn. No more spoiled little trust fund princesses for him.

He adjusted his tie and scanned the main ballroom for the handful of people he actually wanted to see in this crowd. In seconds he was approached by one business acquaintance, then another, most of them asking Victor’s advice. Had he heard of some new hedge fund? What was the weakest growth stock to avoid this month?

It was only a matter of minutes, though, before one conversation took an awkward turn.

Tim Lundquist casually asked, “So the wedding’s in April, correct?”

Bree Lundquist, in her green sequined gown, gave Tim a sharp elbow to the arm and cleared her throat. “The food smells divine, don’t you think? I hear they hired a famous chef.” She cackled and patted Victor’s arm. “I hope we eat soon. I starved all week so I could look good in this dress but I may have to indulge tonight. So tell me, how does a man like you work so much but still find time to stay in such good shape?”

Victor chuckled. He was grateful for her swift change of subject. A good portion of this crowd was probably as oblivious to the latest upper east side gossip as Tim. He could tell by some random shy glances that there were surely rumors spreading, but he didn’t much care. When this semi-uncomfortable event was over, it was back to seeing most of these people two or three times per year. That was something he certainly didn’t miss about Alexis. She loved to find reasons for him to don a tux and mingle with “friends” of her family.

Victor chatted with the Lundquists for several more minutes when he felt a hand against his back.

“Barboza!” Douglas Whitt appeared at his side, jolly and boisterous as usual. “How’s life in the penthouse?”

“Good.” Victor smiled. The “penthouse” was an inside joke. Both he and Douglas Whitt came from meager beginnings before working their way to the top of the business world. And even though Victor would never be Douglas’s son-in-law, he still considered Douglas a valued mentor and hoped to maintain a friendship.

Victor could’ve kicked himself for thinking any of Douglas’s hard work and determination could have rubbed off on Alexis. Occasionally he thought about the day he met his former flame. She hooked him with, “My Daddy’s the son of a poor Kentucky coal miner.” Her intentions were so obvious now. Marry a rich, handsome bachelor who’d make Daddy proud, while elevating her social status. If there was anything else she cared about, Victor sure didn’t know what it was.

Douglas handed Victor a glass. “Bourbon. Thought you could use it.”

“It’s that obvious?” Victor took the drink and immediately brought it to his lips.

The robust gray-haired man shrugged and inched closer, his voice quiet. “Listen, if it weren’t for my wife I’d never attend another one of these God-awful shindigs. We have an agreement. She gets to dress up and throw a fancy party for all her friends, and I get drunk enough to pretend I wanna be here.”

Victor almost spit out his drink, laughing.

“It’s true,” Douglas said. “We could raise more money if we didn’t have to use the best caterers in town or rent this ballroom.” He sighed. “Oh well. C’est la vie. When are we having that lunch we always talk about?”

“Uh…soon.”

“Don’t worry, son. I’ll not try to sway you to reconsider.” Douglas gave him a knowing smirk.

Victor was stunned that the old man brought it up so casually. He knew from a few quick email exchanges that Douglas was disappointed about the broken engagement. He could also tell Douglas had no idea Alexis had cheated. The two men had become fast friends, and Douglas welcomed humble, hard-working Victor into the family as his own son, hoping he would be a good influence on his daughter. And perhaps, subconsciously, that was why Victor had avoided Douglas’s friendly invitations for lunch or drinks after work. He would take no chances on being persuaded to give the woman a second chance.

But there was a murky place deep inside Victor’s heart that still longed for Alexis. Aside from her pampered rich-girl tendencies, she was actually a smart, lovely woman six years his junior and fresh out of law school. And she was undeniably hot. Long auburn hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Legs for miles. She would have no trouble landing another eligible billionaire in no time. Landing one who would so easily win Douglas’s approval again…that would be tricky.

Victor took another sip of his bourbon and looked Douglas in the eye. “Soon, then. This week, maybe next.”

“Wonderful.” Douglas smiled and slapped Victor’s shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some stuffy socialites I need to see.”

A few minutes later, as Victor chatted absently with people he’d never met before, the lights dimmed for an instant. A voice rang out over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. Dinner will be served in five minutes. Your table assignment can be found on your ticket.”

Victor pulled his ticket from his pocket to see he was assigned to table number eleven. He briefly glanced around the room for his ex-fiancee, then breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen her all night. With any luck, she was keeping her distance and he could go the entire night pretending she didn’t exist.

There were ten chairs at table eleven. Victor sat in one of the four that was vacant. An elderly couple quickly filled two of them. The guests at the table commenced with small talk. The chair to Victor’s left was still empty when the wait staff began distributing the first course.

And then, seemingly from out of nowhere, the empty chair moved.

Unconcerned, Victor turned to greet the new guest. He closed his eyes for a moment and smothered his groan before it could leave his throat.

Alexis, of course. Auburn hair clipped atop her head, hanging down in deliberate ringlets. Long black dress, cut low at the chest, with a slit from her heels to her thigh. In other words, she was gorgeous.

But she was still the coddled heiress who cheated on him.

“Hello, all.” Alexis’s tone was perky as she addressed her table mates. “I hope we’re all having a lovely evening so far.” 

A few people returned her greeting. Victor immediately decided to be as quiet as possible. He saw the awkward glances from a few others at the table who obviously knew of the break-up and probably wondered if they were now back together. When the appetizer was placed in front of him seconds later, he said, “Bourbon, please,” to the server.

Alexis was silent for a moment as the others at the table talked amongst themselves. Then she cleared her throat. “So you won’t talk to me? Or look at me?”

“I’m here to support a good cause. That’s all.”

“You could at least be civil.”

“I am being civil.”

She edged closer and lowered her voice. “Come on. There’ll be a scene if you ignore me. You know people are watching us.”

Looking straight ahead, he answered through gritted teeth. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have sat down next to me. Or had us both assigned to the same table.”

“Well…I thought maybe you wanted to talk to me. Why else would you be here tonight?”

“I already told you. To support a good cause.”

Her silence conveyed her disappointment loud and clear. But Victor went on, striking up a conversation with the couple sitting next to him.

After numerous attempts to get his attention, she interrupted him mid-sentence with a loud whisper in his ear. “Please talk to me.”

Knowing her too well, he closed his eyes and leaned a bit closer. Might as well get it over with. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry I had to do this. You ignore my calls. I need to speak with you.”

“Then get on with it.”

She stammered in response to his sharp tone. “I just…think…we should give it another shot. I…” She gulped. “I was wrong. It’ll never happen again.”

His head shook. “We’re finished. I know who you really are now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. Trust me. This little stunt you pulled tonight is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so selfish; you’ll do anything to get your way.” He finally made eye contact with her, leveling his glance just enough to show the woman he could not be charmed by her loveliness. Yes, she was an auburn-haired vision to behold but he wouldn’t be made a fool twice. “I only came here tonight out of respect for your family and this organization. I would walk out of here right now, chica, but that would only cause you and your family embarrassment. You want people to talk about us tonight and think we’re back together but I don’t care what they think.”

Alexis pursed her lips, hoping to contain her tears. She remembered when he used to call her, “mi amor.” And now, “chica?” It rolled off his lips in such a tawdry fashion. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Well, you made one first.” Victor scooted his chair as far from her as possible and struck up a new conversation with the couple sitting beside him.

After several unsuccessful attempts to get his attention again, Alexis excused herself from the table. Victor didn’t turn around to see where she went.

* * *

Click here for book 2, Armando Returns.

Cara Green held her cell phone at her thigh and tried not to let her supervisor see she was reading a text message. Luna Lee Catering had a strict policy against cell phone usage, and as much as she needed this weekend job, she had to know if her three-year-old son, Isaac, was all right.

The text message from her mother read, “In ER right now. Temp 103.”

Cara’s eyes welled up as she slid the phone into her pocket. She wanted to stay home and take care of him today, but it wasn’t possible. Between her three jobs, she would soon have enough money to pay the outrageous co-pay for the tonsillectomy Isaac desperately needed. She mustered a grin and tried not to think about how miserable and fussy he had been since yesterday. When she left the house for work today, he launched his warm little forehead against her chest, crying for her to stay. As long as she didn’t picture his sad face, she was fine.

Isaac was prone to ear, nose, and throat infections. The doctor made it perfectly clear that a tonsillectomy was inevitable. “Simple procedure,” he said, “kids recover fast.” The doctor went on and on trying to convince her, but Cara was already convinced.

If only her insurance company wasn’t such an asshole.

Trying to save money, Cara swallowed her pride and moved in with her mother. So far, it wasn’t nearly as bad as she had feared. She was just another of the many people she knew who had to move back in with their parents after layoffs, divorces, inability to find a job. For Cara, being a twenty-seven-year-old single mom while living with her mother was a nightmare come true. But she tried to stay positive. She just knew she would get another public relations job once the economy turned around. This life of working three jobs and barely spending time with her son would end once she had a nest egg saved up. During the week, she was a receptionist at a ramshackle construction company that she was pretty sure doubled as a front for a money laundering scam. On the weekends, she worked for Luna Lee Catering when they needed her. And if that wasn’t enough, she helped an old high school friend, Marcy, with her new office cleaning business in the evenings.

This week, Cara had seen Isaac a total of twelve hours. And for most of those hours, he was asleep with his latest sinus infection.

On the bright side, this was the swankiest party Cara had seen in a long time. The staff had already been alerted that there would be plenty of trays of goodies to take home tonight. Leftovers were a blessing for her bank account, but a curse for her waistline. Since taking this job, she had gone from a size ten to a size fourteen, but that was the least of her concerns. She ate what she could, when she could. Tonight, she and some of the other servers had already polished off several small trays of heavy hors d’oeuvres, courtesy of the manager.

And her pants felt even tighter.

She chuckled to herself and popped a mini-quiche into her mouth, from the tray she was preparing. They were going to make a delicious breakfast tomorrow.

She was just about to start on the next tray when her supervisor, Keith, walked in.

“Need you out front, Cara.” He groaned. “Sandy just went home with the stomach flu.”

“Great.” Cara nodded, praying silently that she hadn’t already been exposed to new germs to bring home to Isaac.

Seconds later, she walked out of the kitchen with an empty tray and started to clear dishes from tables full of guests who were finished with the first course. As usual, she was amazed by the excess surrounding her. Why do women need to wear prom dresses to raise money to fight poverty? This was so not her scene. Rich people eating rich food, having boring conversations about rich things. Most of them didn’t make eye contact with her when she asked, “May I take this?” They just nodded and went about their evening, chatting with the people beside them. She smiled despite their arrogance. Some of the men wore cuff links that surely would have paid off her entire credit card debt.

On her third round of cleanup, a few of the guests spoke to her, making polite small talk.

An elderly woman touched her arm. “Could you please tell me the name of tonight’s chef, dear? This food is simply divine.”

“Um…” Cara shut her eyes tight for second, trying to remember. She had only heard it once, during the staff meeting before set up, and she was distracted with the task of hiding her cell phone. There was indeed a fancy chef on staff that night. From what Cara understood, he supplied the recipes and hung around in case one of the guests wanted to pay him their compliments. She saw him for approximately five seconds before he headed off to the terrace for the evening to smoke cigarettes. But she suddenly remembered. “Um…Andrew Trafalgar!” She calmed her voice and repeated herself. “Yes, Andrew Trafalgar.”

The woman turned to her husband, nodding. “We’ll have to keep him in mind, won’t we?” She smiled and gave Cara’s hand a warm pat. “Do give him my compliments, please. The name’s Betsy Kisch.”

Cara grinned, hiding her tightly clenched teeth. “Yes. Betsy Kisch. I’ll remember.” Sure, like I have nothing better to do than to pay your compliments to that jackass doing nothing but sitting on his ass outside?

Betsy turned to the handsome man on her other side. “Smashing first course, wouldn’t you agree?”

The young, dark-haired man spoke dramatically. “Absolutely, Bets. Smashing. How in the world did you read my mind?” Quickly, he cocked a brow and gave Cara a wink that made her chuckle.

Betsy Kisch gave him a playful slap on his wrist and burst into laughter. She knew she was being mocked.

Appreciating his sarcasm in the midst of this stuffy crowd, Cara asked a question just as a gorgeous redhead took the vacant seat beside him. “Sir, would you like me to forward your compliments to Mr. Trafalgar as well?”

“Sure. Victor Barboza.” He gave the redhead a short, sideways glance, then looked up at Cara. “But I won’t be needing the services of a chef or a caterer anytime in the foreseeable future. No big events coming up.”

The redhead stared straight ahead. “That’s enough, Victor.”

Cara let out a nervous giggle, her wrist aching from the tray of dirty dishes she supported with one hand. Tension was unmistakable between these two strangers. “Okay then. I’ll pass the compliment along.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her phone vibrated in her pocket and her smile disappeared.

Isaac.

Tears filled her eyes. I’m the worst mother in the world. If only she weren’t so desperate for this paltry paycheck she would have taken her sweet, sick toddler to the emergency room herself. She briefly scanned the room, sickened by the decadence. These people had no idea how easy their lives were compared to hers. Surely their children wanted for nothing, especially something as simple as medical care for a sinus infection.

Since the room was noisy and the people at this table seemed nice, Cara looked around for her supervisor. She then made a split-second decision to look at her phone.

She forced a big, fake smile, hoping they wouldn’t notice her watery eyes. “Is it okay if I set this tray down on the table for a sec?”

Victor returned her smile. “Sure, honey. Take all the room you need.” He took the tray from hand and placed it directly in front of him.

“Thanks.” Cara didn’t notice the redhead’s jealous glare as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She looked down at her mother’s message, which said, “Surgery Monday morning. Call soon.”

A few tears escaped Cara’s eyes and she wiped them away. If a doctor deemed it to be an emergency, the cost would be completely covered, either by her insurance or by one of the free hospitals in the area. And even if that fell through, she would find a way to pay for it herself. A hefty monthly payment plan, a new credit card, another job. Whatever it took. She felt a sense of relief, knowing Isaac would soon be back to his fun-loving self.

She took a deep breath and reached down for the tray. “Thanks.”

Victor’s eyebrows crinkled. “Everything okay?”

She grinned. “It will be.”

The redhead stood just as Cara lifted the tray. “Was that a cell phone I just saw?”

Shit. Cara’s tone was sheepish. “Um…yeah.”

Victor shot the redhead an angry look. “Alexis, don’t.”

Alexis walked around his chair and looked Cara in the eye. “We were assured the staff wouldn’t spend their evening on their cell phones. It’s very unprofessional and this is an expensive event.”

Cara felt a giant knot form in her stomach. “I’m really sorry. I know I could get in trouble but I have a three-year-old in the emergency room. He’s really sick.”

The guests at the table were now looking at Cara, their mouths gaping.

Betsy Kisch spoke up. “Oh dear, what’s wrong? Is he all right?”

Alexis shook her head. “You’re here, working, instead of taking care of your sick son?”

Cara’s mouth dropped open. “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Her fear quickly turned to anger as she looked in Alexis’s judgmental eyes. “You know, some of us weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths. Some of us have to work hard for a living, even when we have sick kids at home.”

Alexis scoffed. “Yeah, whatever.” She turned on her heel and scurried away, her long dress flapping against her perfectly toned calves.

“That’s just great.” Cara sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and closed her eyes, hoping the tears wouldn’t come. She knew she would lose her job over this.

The people at the table all spoke at once. Cara was too shaken to discern any of their words. She simply reached down for the tray, opened her eyes, and headed back to the kitchen as fast as her feet would allow. She was almost there when she heard someone following her.

“Hey.” Victor put a hand against her back. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Cara paused to look in his eyes. “That wife of yours…” She shut her mouth. Maybe you won’t get fired. No need to mouth off and make your situation worse. She grunted and walked on through the swinging kitchen doors.

Victor followed her inside. “She and I aren’t together. She’s a fucking bitch. I’ll talk to your manager. Alexis is probably angry because I’m ignoring her and she thought I was flirting with you. She’s really selfish.”

Cara let out a cold chuckle and sat the tray on top of the counter. “Yeah well, maybe I’m better off. I need to go check on my son anyway.”

“Is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Victor’s brown eyes were full of compassion. “Let me make this right.”

And book 3, More Than a Maid, is here.

Cara couldn’t look in his eyes for long. She sensed his sympathy, and she didn’t want it. She stared off at the wall. “No, please. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Come on, try me. At least tell me which emergency room.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Tears suddenly flowed freely down her face. His touch sent her over the edge, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe deep down, she really did ache for his sympathy; for the touch of a handsome man who offered help of some kind. But she thought again about the sequins and shiny jewelry flaunted in that ballroom. At a ten-grand-per-plate dinner. It was shameful, and she wanted no part of it. No, her desperate situation would make both her and Isaac stronger; she always found a way to get through. She shook away from Victor’s grasp, sniffling. “Please don’t. I really need to go.”

Cara ran to the back room to retrieve her purse from her locker. Victor didn’t follow. Soon she was driving home, leaving her catering job behind. She no longer cared whether or not she was fired.

Maybe that rich bitch was right, she thought. Maybe she should’ve been taking care of her son instead of working tonight.

**********

Happy Summer Reading!

Tutti Frutti by Tony Healey

In the interest of promoting some great, romantic summer reading, I invited my dear friend from Across the Pond, Tony Healey to show off his wares. This one's been out for a bit, but that doesn't mean it's seen its best. Tutti Frutti is a great coming of age/love story written from a unique point of view. Its relatively short length makes it a perfect beach read, and I defy anyone to put it down before you've finished reading it.

So put your feet up with a glass of sweet tea by your side and enjoy the first two chapters of Tutti Frutti.

***********

1.

“Marty, what’re you going to do with yourself?” my Mother asked me.

I thought about it for a second. “I don’t know. Sit in the sun. See my friends. I haven’t really thought about it.”

My Mother tutted, shook her head. “That’s your problem. You don’t think about anything,” she said.

“Mum, don’t start on about this again...” I said.

“No,” she snapped. “I mean it. You better pull your socks up. You can’t afford to waste another summer. You’re going to Uni in September.”

“Yeah I know, Mum. I hadn’t forgotten,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

She slapped my arm. “Don’t get cheeky. Now why don’t you try and find yourself a little job? Earn some money. Give yourself something to go away with. You’ve got nothing saved and we can’t afford to give you any.”

I couldn’t disagree with her. My parents were paying the Uni fees, and my train fare to Pemberton. But that was as far as it went.

My Dad called a friend of his in Pemberton town. He owned a butcher’s and could give me work at the weekends. It wasn’t something I looked forward to doing, but I didn’t voice that to Dad. I was just glad to have a job at all. My parents couldn’t afford to keep me while I got educated.

“Well, I’ll see if I can find something,” I offered.

She nodded, satisfied. There was a brief silence, then she stopped what she was doing and turned back around. She was so predictable.

“Maybe look for a couple of odd jobs. You know, cutting grass, painting fences...”

I laughed, held her by the shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “Mum. Stop. I’ll find something to do,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

2.

Tutti Frutti by Tony Healey
edited by Laurie Laliberte

A day or so later I knocked some doors and got a few odd jobs lined up. Mr Henrickson wanted his front and back lawn mowed twice that summer. Mrs Derry on Tavistock Road needed her shopping picked up for her twice a week. I agreed to do it for small change. A few people took me up on offers to wash their cars, sweep their drives, stuff like that. Nothing big, just little bits and pieces. I thought that whatever I made, I’d put away until the end of summer.

Dad’s friend Ernie Richards called around the house one day. I answered the door. He was a big burly man, going grey at the temples.

“Hi Mr. Richards,” I said. “Dad’s not in.”

He shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t here to see your Dad. I was calling for you.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah. I got talking to your Dad the other day, and he said you’re doing a few odd jobs here and there. Well, I might have something for you if you want it,” Mr. Richards said.

“Sure. That’d be great,” I said. “I’m taking anything I can get, really. What did you have in mind?”

Mr. Richards dug in his pocket, produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He didn’t offer me one. “Well, I’ve got this shed needs clearing out. I’ve been filling it with junk for years. The fence needs a good lick of paint. Might need a few repairs at the back where the bushes have grown and pushed a few of the boards out. Can you do that?”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good. It’s just a lot of crap I’ve not had time for. No offense. It’s odd job stuff. I’ll be away for a couple of weeks on business. It’d be good if you could take care of these while I’m away,” Mr. Richards said. He drew on his cigarette, blew a drift of dull smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, well...” I started to say.

“Obviously I’ll pay,” Mr. Richards cut in. He pulled out several bills and handed them to me. “That’s a down payment for your services. I’ll leave money with Cella so she can settle up with you when you’re done.”

I took the money, pocketed it. “Thanks.”

He asked me to meet him at the house the next day. He was due to leave that weekend and wanted to show me the things that needed looking at.

I told Mum and she seemed pleased enough.

“Might give Mrs. Richards a bit of company while you’re there,” she said. “The eldest is in the navy, and I think they have another kid in college somewhere. Ernie travels about all the time... she must get lonely in that house by herself. I don't think she gets up to much...”

**********

P.S. I occasionally hear/read whining about spelling and grammatical errors with this one. But y'all have to keep in mind the author's British and this is written in the Queen's English.

Happy Reading!