Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F romantic-comedy, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.
In today`s excerpt, Viviana reveals to her EIC and the Green Hill Gazette staff that she has met the reclusive Alain Lessard. There is adult language in this excerpt so those who may be offended you have been warned.
This week our word prompt is ‘Yellow’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
“So like, what did you do this weekend?” Liz asked, taking a sip of coffee and leaving that miserable black lipstick stain on the mug. I tried to smile but I`m sure it was a grimace.
“Oh the same old,” I waved my hand around airily, trying to overhear what Frank Bowers, the editor in chief, was saying to whoever he was talking to on the phone. Oscar`s flippant comments made eavesdropping difficult. I crossed one leg over the other, leaned towards our staff photographer, and pretended to pluck a thread from my thistle-colored skirt. “I went to the Botanical Society Spring Fling as you saw in yesterdays Life section. “
“Sounds like fun,” Elizabeth moaned into her mug.
“It was tripe,” I said, pushing against Oscar so he would lean back slightly. “Then I took my sister`s daughter and part of her scout troop for a nightmarish ride through the country. We ended up breaking down and having to walk for miles to get to this frumpy little ice rink.” I stopped nudging Oscar in his side when that playful smile of Alain Lessard`s appeared in my mind’s eye. “I did meet the most adorable man there though. His name is Alain Lessard and . . .”
All talk stopped instantly. Even Oscar turned to look at me. I looked from one stunned face to the other.
“Did I say something offensive?” I asked. Oscar squealed when Frank shoved the photographer`s rolling chair out of the way and zoomed across the empty space in his own wheeled office seat. Bert Anderson was choking on his coffee. No one was slapping his back. I drew back from Frank`s wide grey gaze. Our head honcho was a living testament to stress-related hair loss and dyspepsia. Frank was built like Lou Grant, talked like a toad with terminal laryngitis, and always seemed to be one upset away from a stroke.
“Did you just say you met Alain Lessard?” Frank croaked. I nodded, noting the droplets of sweat on his very high brow. Frank threw a look at Bert, who had stopped hacking although his pale skin was still blotchy. Elizabeth was trying to pat down Bert`s rumpled brown hair with a wet finger but he kept swatting the tomb dweller`s hand away. His comb-over looked out of place. “Did you hear that, Bert? The fucking society page broad scoops you with Lessard!”
“If I can interject,” I cut in snappily, “I am not a broad, I did not ‘scoop’ Bert, and I wish you would stop blustering in my face!” I reached out to shove my editor back a bit but his chair stayed firmly planted. Oscar came wheeling back up on my right mumbling angrily.
“How the hell did you get into see Lessard? I`ve been trying to grab a minute with him ever since he announced he`d be staying in state after the playoff`s to volunteer as a coach. Shit, I even tried tailing him in the grocery store! That fucking bulldog assistant or whatever the hell Bonbano is keeps Lessard so far from the press you`d think the kid was a gilded pussy with no chastity belt in sight!” Even the Goth queen gasped at Bert`s crudity.
“I am taking offense to all of this!” I snapped and shot to my feet. “Can we please speak as if this were not a locker room?!” I railed.
“You tell them honey,” Oscar piped up while adjusting the raspberry beret perched atop his shimmering head.
“Land`s right, we can`t talk about pussy in front of the girls and Oscar,” Frank said, leaning back in his chair to cross his arms over his rather large Scotch belly. My eyes rolled to the ceiling. Oscar snorted in merriment. “Can you get back in to talk to Lessard?” my editor asked as I sat back down primly. I glanced at Bert. He looked ready to pop a tart and not the hussy women sort either.
“I`m afraid I don`t know what all the commotion is about,” I admitted, tugging my grey scoop-necked tank down to cover the waist band of my purple skirt. Every eye in the staff room widened aside from mine.
“Land, don`t you ever read the sports section?” Bert asked, tugging his previously nicely knotted blue tie with a yellow and red buffalo from his ironed collar. Bert only wore officially licensed sports ties.
“Do you ever read the society section?” I fired across the round table. Bert rolled a lip.
“Look, Land,” Frank spoke up gruffly, “Alain Lessard is notorious for staying away from the media. He hates the press with a passion.”
“Can you blame him?” Elizabeth interjected her voice small and timid as a wee mouse amid a room filled with howling cats. “When his parents were killed in that plane crash last year the media crush was terrible,” she explained to me, her dark brown eyes hooded and filled with melancholy. “They were flying down from Quebec to watch their only son playing in the championship series,” she told the only one here not up on the happenings of the jock strap set.
“The fire was barely out and the news crews were digging through the smoking bits of that Cessna just like dogs looking for carrion on some Roman battle field of yore,” she sighed and swept her jet-black hair from an ashen cheek. “Alain was crushed and revolted at how the tragedy was handled by the press corp. I mean, who goes to a plane crash site in hopes of finding some sort of memento a mother was taking to her son? It`s just beyond sick,” the frail young woman hissed then withdrew into herself once more.
I looked at my boss. He blinked at me.
“So, can you get back in touch with Lessard? I`ll give you a front page sports run if you can bring me something hot about the pup.”
Copyright ©by V.L. Locey
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See you next week for from Viviana and Alain!