I suppose if movies can have trailers, books and short stories can too. I’m always trying to come up with something to fill the gaps between releases and this just might be it. Man, it’s tough balancing by dream job with my day job, but I won’t complain. I’ll refer to my own past post: The Day Job: Respect it. And of course I do, but that’s not to say my day job doesn’t have its challenging moments. I could complete more work quickly if I could write full-time, but I can’t right now. Whether or not I have one fan or one million, I feel it’s only fair to keep you updated with what I’m working on, and maybe provide a preview or two (Trailer): Now, In the early days of 2020, I have projects either near completion, in production, stalled or proposed.
I am currently putting the finishing touches on the next, Girl’s Night: Spoon Fed. Though I don’t have a definitive release date ( I shy away from premature release dates). I’ve finished the book cover which I’m surprisingly quite proud of. And I’m in the depths of editing the story. Editing is no joke and the most vital part of completing a book. This is the largest Girl’s Night to date, creeping up on novella length. Pray for me; the editing process is grueling!
I’m posting a preview of Girl’s Night: Spoon Fed, hoping that you’ll like it enough to get your own copy of the finished product when it’s released. If I were to throw out a release date, my guess is by Valentine’s Day, LOL. As with all my previews, please understand that due to many factors, particularly time constraints, the following preview may not be the final edited version. But it will be close.
Next: Girl’s Night: Spoon Fed: The Preview.
“Hey lady, thanks for the nice tip, but how long we gonna be here? I could be making more money now.”
“I’m sorry Rick,” Melissa said. “Just a few more minutes…and I can pay you more.”
“How much longer?” Rick said.
“Ten minutes, I promise,” Melissa said.
Lyft driver Rick’s black Ford Explorer had been illegally parked outside Warren’s condo building on West Washington Street for almost a half hour. Melissa had been on her phone trying to reach him, but it kept going to his voicemail. Rick took the fifty dollar bill she had given him, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and then put on his headphones. He seemed a little more patient with the fifty while Melissa stared at the building from the car.
On a whim she decided to go there after she’d been trying to reach him. He wouldn’t answer his phone or return her texts. It wasn’t like him. She called his office and they confirmed that he hadn’t come in. Melissa was worried about him. It was late afternoon, Wednesday, 4:41pm. Daylights savings hadn’t occurred yet, but the sun was obviously setting and it had stormed and been a cloudy day. Very few people had gone in or come out of Warren’s building, but they would soon as the work day was starting to end.
Rick took off his headphones. “This is taking too long ma’am.”
Melissa scrambled through her purse, took out a twenty and held it out to him. He wouldn’t take it.
“Forget it lady,” he said. “I’ve got to get going. I can’t miss rush hour money…you gonna pay me that much?”
“I just need to be here a little bit longer,” Melissa said. “How much?”
He looked at her closer through the mirror. “Lady, is everything alright?”
“I’m just worried about someone.”
“Why don’t you just go up there?”
“I don’t have keys,” Melissa said, still holding the twenty out to him.
“I can’t take it. I really need to leave.”
Melissa lowered the twenty in her hand down to the seat, defeated.
“Look lady, if somebody up there is in trouble you need to call the police or something.”
“I don’t know if he’s in trouble.”
“He?”
Melissa nodded.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have keys?”
She nodded again.
“Is he sick or something?”
“He didn’t feel well earlier. He was at my apartment until late this morning, then left, said he wasn’t going to work. It’s not like him not to answer his phone or text me back.”
“Then something could be up,” Rick said, and then looked at the building too. “That’s a fancy building. Wouldn’t the desk person let you up?”
Melissa looked down at the seat where she put the twenty.
“Hey I’m sure the desk person must know you,” Rick said. “They’d let you up.”
“They don’t know me,” Melissa said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I haven’t been here much.”
“What?!”
Melissa remained silent.
“Hey is he…..,”
“Please don’t,” Melissa said. “You don’t know me.”
He raised his hands, “Sorry. What are you gonna do? I need to go.”
“Can you take me back home please?”
“Alright,” he said, and then started the engine.
Just then, Melissa saw a young woman come out of the building. She was a very attractive, shapely blonde with a short haircut. She was wearing a tight denim outfit, jeans and jacket, walking confidently in high heels on the sidewalk in their direction. She had a set of keys swinging in her hand on a large, noticeable keychain. The woman got so close to the car that Melissa was able to see the keychain as the woman passed. It was one of those novelty keychains, shaped in the words: Las Vegas. Melissa swallowed deeply.
“Man,” Rick said. “She was quite a looker!”
He looked at Melissa through the mirror again, waiting for a response. He didn’t get one. She was staring into space. He backed the car up and drove off.
Another chapter below
Deep down Melissa knew that Tamara was right; it was crazy, but that wouldn’t stop her. That Thursday afternoon, 1:41pm, Melissa excused herself from her downtown office to meet with private detective Alvin Bailey. She finally called him back right after Tamara left her apartment last night. Alvin’s office was somewhere in the South Loop, under a mile from Melissa’s office tower. She jumped in a yellow cab, thinking hard along the way. Am I wasting money on a feeling? But it’s a feeling I know is true. I just need proof. Warren has another woman. Maybe it’s the pretty woman with the Las Vegas keychain or any other woman.
The cab pulled up in front of a line of old, nondescript, low-rise buildings on South Clark Street.
“This is it?” Melissa said, looking from the window.
“Yeah,” the driver said. “You told me four-hundred south Clark, this is it.”
“Oh,” Melissa said, looking out at a pawn shop, payday loan office and a storefront with dirty glass doors and faded lettering. She barely made out: 40 s Cl rk
“Where you going lady?” the driver said.
“I guess here,” she said, and then passed him a twenty. “Keep it.”
“Thanks!” he said.
She got out, walking the sidewalk carefully. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the South Loop, just not that particular end. It was a chilly afternoon. She hadn’t taken her London Fog, was only dressed in her blue rayon, tailored suit. The wind picked up, swirling around her, blowing through her blonde locks and whistling at her skirt, blowing it upwards. She tried to hold it down, but instead grabbed the handle to the front door of the building. She walked in slowly, looking around while straightening out her hair and skirt. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but saw a narrow hallway with warped uneven tile floors and an elevator on the left. What have I gotten myself into? She walked toward the elevator and pressed the button. She heard the car screeching from inside the wall. She grimaced, and then saw the elevator doors part open, slowly, almost like they wouldn’t fully open, but finally did. She stepped on reluctantly. When the doors closed she found herself getting nervous, afraid she’d get stuck in there. She felt for her phone within her jacket pocket and was relieved to feel it there. She pressed the button for the fourth floor and the elevator jolted, causing her heart to accelerate. Soon the car moved slowly, but smoothly. I’m taking the stairs back down.
When the elevator doors opened on 4, Melissa ran out for her life. She looked around both ways in the dimly lit hall and saw a few doors. A restroom, utility door and an open office door. By that time she was seconds from turning back around, but right then, a man appeared in the doorway of the open office. A tall, older man. She had already figured him to be older. He was very thin, wearing a black and white checkered blazer over a white shirt with a flared open collar, tan khakis that were wrinkled and obviously too big for him. His black and white hair was surprisingly long, slicked back with gel and tied into a ponytail. He stood in the doorway squinting like he couldn’t see.
“Hey, you Melissa Shue?”
His voice sounded just like he looked, deep, hoarse and cracking.
She stood there frozen in her tracks by the elevators. “Y…yes, I am.”
He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “Two pm, right?”
She smoothed out her blonde bangs from her face, “Listen sir, I’m sorry. I have to get back to work.”
“Don’t let all this fool you lady,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m a good detective. I can find anybody, but I’m not rich…it ain’t like the movies and TV. I’m old, got tired of doing this from my south side apartment. I’m doing well now that I’m downtown. Got forty years with CPD. You look fancy, Google me or whatever yous do.”
“I did,” Melissa said. “Google you.”
“Then you know.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Why are you calling me so much?”
“You called me,” he said.
She looked over at the elevator.
“We can talk here in the hall if you’re scared. But I do have an office here. It’s small, cramped and hot. Rochelle didn’t come in today.”
“Rochelle?”
“My secretary cleaning lady.”
Melissa remained silent.
“Come talk to me,” he said. “Five minutes. I’m giving you a free consultation, remember?”
She stood there unable to move, thinking at that point she’d just be polite. It wasn’t really him, Alvin Bailey, the obscure ex-cop detective; it was her, feeling desperate for what she’d been reduced to do, catch Warren cheating. A man that wasn’t even her husband.
“No, no I can’t,” she said, turned around and saw the stairwell exit in the hall. She sprinted for it without looking back.
Girl’s Night: Spoon Fed, Coming Soon!