rub.
“Missed you too, cat,” she said, closing the door behind her. Dropping her backpack in the corner, she kneeled and picked up her friend, rubbing its fur against her face as she walked over to the table in her living room to listen to her missed messages.
Pushing down on the blinking red button, she heard the message that she had been dreading for days.
“Well, hello, hello,” the female, east coast caller said over the machine. “I expected to find you home working on that wonderful manuscript you promised me,” her agent, Valerie Morrow, said in a demanding tone. “Call me when you get home. I don’t care what time. I just need to know that you’re on schedule .”
Stacey looked at her cat and shook her head. “I’ve got to pull something out of my ass quickly, or I’m going to need to move into the litter box with you, Rapture,” she said, kissing her cat on the nose. A quick, warm lick from the cat was returned for her favor.
Stacey picked up her cordless phone and walked with her cat in her arms to the kitchen to make a cup of ginger tea. Her agent picked up on the first ring.
“How’s my favorite author?” Valerie asked with too much energy for so late at night.
“Not so well,” Stacey answered, putting her pewter-colored kettle on the stove. “I have writer’s block.”
There was a brief silence on the phone. “Well, what do you need to get you motivated? A trip? A new car?”
“A new man,” Stacey laughed. “I’ll figure it out,” she said, thinking involuntarily of Hunter. “Let me send you what I have tomorrow afternoon. I have an appointment in the morning with my new OBGYN.”
“It’s a date,” Valerie said, getting what she needed. “Well, I’ll talk to you then, doll. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” Stacey said, hanging up the phone.
Rapture ran his furry head against Stacey’s neck as she put the phone down. Smiling, Stacey purred like a cat. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Two
Commuting in Seattle could be very difficult if one didn’t use public transportation, drive a car or use cabs. In this case, the one in question was Stacey. So she tried to make sure that everything that she needed was in a twenty-mile radius of her home to ensure that she could either ride her bike or drive her plum-colored Vespa.
However, considering that it rained a lot, she often arrived to all of her engagements soaking wet and somewhat irritable. It was days like this one, sunny and clear, that she wished would last forever. If she could find a place that was perpetually tranquil, she’d move there forever.
Dr. H. C. Fourakis had come highly recommended on several accredited websites. Due for an annual checkup, she wondered why she even bothered to go considering she had not been sexually active since the Stone Age. The only thing that was pushing her was the knowledge of how real cervical cancer could be and her desire to be cleared of all possibilities. Her mother had died when she was very young of cervical cancer, and since then she had religiously gone to the doctor for checkups.
Pulling up to the small, bricked building on the corner lot of the busy intersection, she looked up gratefully at the skies that were blue and bright. At least the day had started off right. Maybe, just maybe , she could find a reason to write today. She knew that it was hardly possible; yet she clung to the prospect.
Taking her backpack inside with her, she walked up to the reception desk, checked in and had a seat in the half-full waiting room. It was a nice little practice, clean and modern with lots of abstract art and health pamphlets strategically placed around the well-lit space.
Grabbing the current issue of Vogue magazine on the table across from her, she flipped through the pages blankly until she heard her named call.
“That was fast,” Stacey said, standing up. Waving at the
“Missed you too, cat,” she said, closing the door behind her. Dropping her backpack in the corner, she kneeled and picked up her friend, rubbing its fur against her face as she walked over to the table in her living room to listen to her missed messages.
Pushing down on the blinking red button, she heard the message that she had been dreading for days.
“Well, hello, hello,” the female, east coast caller said over the machine. “I expected to find you home working on that wonderful manuscript you promised me,” her agent, Valerie Morrow, said in a demanding tone. “Call me when you get home. I don’t care what time. I just need to know that you’re on schedule .”
Stacey looked at her cat and shook her head. “I’ve got to pull something out of my ass quickly, or I’m going to need to move into the litter box with you, Rapture,” she said, kissing her cat on the nose. A quick, warm lick from the cat was returned for her favor.
Stacey picked up her cordless phone and walked with her cat in her arms to the kitchen to make a cup of ginger tea. Her agent picked up on the first ring.
“How’s my favorite author?” Valerie asked with too much energy for so late at night.
“Not so well,” Stacey answered, putting her pewter-colored kettle on the stove. “I have writer’s block.”
There was a brief silence on the phone. “Well, what do you need to get you motivated? A trip? A new car?”
“A new man,” Stacey laughed. “I’ll figure it out,” she said, thinking involuntarily of Hunter. “Let me send you what I have tomorrow afternoon. I have an appointment in the morning with my new OBGYN.”
“It’s a date,” Valerie said, getting what she needed. “Well, I’ll talk to you then, doll. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” Stacey said, hanging up the phone.
Rapture ran his furry head against Stacey’s neck as she put the phone down. Smiling, Stacey purred like a cat. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Two
Commuting in Seattle could be very difficult if one didn’t use public transportation, drive a car or use cabs. In this case, the one in question was Stacey. So she tried to make sure that everything that she needed was in a twenty-mile radius of her home to ensure that she could either ride her bike or drive her plum-colored Vespa.
However, considering that it rained a lot, she often arrived to all of her engagements soaking wet and somewhat irritable. It was days like this one, sunny and clear, that she wished would last forever. If she could find a place that was perpetually tranquil, she’d move there forever.
Dr. H. C. Fourakis had come highly recommended on several accredited websites. Due for an annual checkup, she wondered why she even bothered to go considering she had not been sexually active since the Stone Age. The only thing that was pushing her was the knowledge of how real cervical cancer could be and her desire to be cleared of all possibilities. Her mother had died when she was very young of cervical cancer, and since then she had religiously gone to the doctor for checkups.
Pulling up to the small, bricked building on the corner lot of the busy intersection, she looked up gratefully at the skies that were blue and bright. At least the day had started off right. Maybe, just maybe , she could find a reason to write today. She knew that it was hardly possible; yet she clung to the prospect.
Taking her backpack inside with her, she walked up to the reception desk, checked in and had a seat in the half-full waiting room. It was a nice little practice, clean and modern with lots of abstract art and health pamphlets strategically placed around the well-lit space.
Grabbing the current issue of Vogue magazine on the table across from her, she flipped through the pages blankly until she heard her named call.
“That was fast,” Stacey said, standing up. Waving at the
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