Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Romance Novel Excerpt #7: Two Can Play at Solitaire


Check out previous chapters from my fake romance novel.

Chapter 1 - Vanessa Lonelyheart

Chapter 2 - The Scottish Cowboy of My Heart

Chapter 3 - Lovers Ridge

Chapter 4 - Cow or Never

Chapter 5 - Everybody Get (Hoe)Down

Chapter 6 - Bullocks to you, Sandra!

THE HEART IS THE LONELIEST DUDE RANCH

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 7: Two Can Play At Solitaire


The wind was windier than usual.  Like the world was sighing on Vanessa.  She knew how it felt.  Because she was sighing on the world.  Dexter McChest was back with his old girlfriend and Vanessa Lonelyheart was back with her old boyfriend.  Oh wait, she didn't have an old boyfriend.  Unless you counted Tom Despair or Harvey Pillowcry or Frank Lee Lifesucks.

"No!", she said to the wind, breaking off her wallowing.

"No! No! No!" she triple shouted at the wind.  "I'm a Lonelyheart!  And that means something around these parts!"  By parts she meant Gentrified County, Texas not private parts.  Which, in hindsight, would have been sexier.  Nevermind.  We take it back.  It was a double entendre.

The Wind really got blasted by her shouting.  It was impressed by her air expulsioning. So the Wind stopped to listen. What else was it doing? Wind stuff?

Vanessa continued to address the Wind: "When people heard the name Lonelyheart, they knew it meant strength. They knew it meant a bottomless depth of feeling.  They knew it meant love of country and a willingness to secede if need be.  It also meant sexy passion and sometimes ruthless efficiency in the boardroom and bedroom.  It used to be pronounced BonerHeart in the old country but that didn't translate well.  So we changed the hell out of it."

The Wind made a 'go on' motion.  Vanessa hiked up her skirt and complied by sticking one foot on a rock outcropping.

"I'm a Lonelyheart.  And no exiled Scottish Prince Cowboy is going to take that away from me.  I'll show him that I can be happy.  Even if I have to surgically tighten my smile muscles."

The Wind thought it was a good idea and apologized for having to leave. It had to start Monsoon Season.  Vanessa walked back inside her ranch house mansion.  She was ready to make a bad decision.  So she drew a bath.

She positioned the imported Burmese bubbles around her nakeds and called Dexter from her bathtub hologram phone.  Suddenly, Dexter's sinewy man sculpture popped into view, hovering over her lily white kneecaps.  Even the tiny version of Dexter made her heart go beatless for the space of twenty six beats.  Technically, that's a heart attack.  But technically, isn't love?

But Vanessa got her blood engine going again and found courage in the aromatherapy she had positioned around her.  It was a blend of Egyptian Chamomile and South African Poppies.  It smelled like fortitude and apartheid.

Mini-Dex spoke to her, "Are you in the bath, Nessa?  Are you drowning slowly? Should I come save you?"

"I don't need saving this time, Mr. McChest.  You do.  I'm firing you.  That's it. You're fired."

The hologram seemed to shake with rage:  "Firing me? On what grounds, lady?"

"You're really slacking on the job.  The cows were just eating the grass today."

"That's called 'grazing', Nessa.  You've been away too long.  You've been cityfied.  Go back to your Central Park and watch the tourists graze again.  You're offbase."

Vanessa realized her mistake.  Grazing? Now she remembered.  COWS + GRASS = COWS LIKE GRASS.  She'd lost touch.  Her accent was barely hanging on.  The bubbles were popping.  She would need to import more bubbles.  Who was she?  She used to take baths in sagebrush.  She used to wear shrink-to-fit jeans.  She used to snack on pig ribs.  Now she carried around foie gras in a Louis Vutton lunchbox.

But she couldn't retreat.  She had to make him go.  She metaphorically bent down and went for the lowest blow she could think of.

"Well, McChest.  Technically, you're not a citizen.  I'm sure Scotland would love to know where you are.  Immigracion is on their way."

Holographic Dexter's tiny mouth dropped open the tiniest bit.  Like a millimeter probably.  Like the saddest millimeter.  All the bubbles popped in agony.

NEXT CHAPTER:  On the Run From Johnny Law




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