Hip-Hip Hooray!
I past another milestone with the new book I've started writing!
Here's a sample: (I've not edited the story yet, so please forgive my grammatical errors and the improper tenses you are surely going to find.
[I had a hard time deciding how the story was going to be told, but I think I got it figured out.] Enjoy!)
It’s Sunday
morning, and the long hunter green curtains of the Days Inn hotel are fighting
hard to keep the bright morning sunlight out of my room. The room is not
extraordinarily boring, though it also fails to raise any excitement. The wall
color is lost somewhere between light beige and muddy cream. A cheap abstract
print in orange and green hangs on the wall above the dark green bedspread I
just crawled out of. The television is a flat screen newer than the one I have
in the living room back in Illinois, and it is much better than the box T.V.
that produces a dull colored picture on top of the wooden dresser in my
bedroom.
Had this been a
typical morning, I would have slept comfortably, and happily bounced out of bed
to my own internal alarm clock at 4:30 in the morning. I was able to nap for
about an hour on the plane from Chicago to Los Angeles, and now my body can’t
adjust to the time change. No matter how hard I will myself to sleep after
arriving to the hotel at three a.m. I couldn’t fall asleep with my body
believing it was 5:00.
I tossed and turned
until just before 6:00 when the gym finally opens. I wash my face, brush my
teeth, slip into a pair of black Adidas shorts with a purple pinstripe and a
solid purple tank that leaves just an inch of midriff exposed before combing my
shiny long black hair into a high and tight ponytail. I apply my deodorant, and
toss a hand towel from the bathroom towel rack over my shoulder. I tuck the
plastic key card into the side of my white and navy tennis shoes, and take the
stairs down to the hotel gym.
Maneuvering Sunset
Boulevard at two am in the trail of a Saturday night had proven stressful and
ridiculous. Not to mention the bone-head that gave my rental car a hard enough
love-tap to scuff the bumper, and then he didn't feel the need to do more than
give me a smile and wave as he veered past me- like that made everything okay.
Whatever, I pushed the annoyance away. It is what it is.
I’m looking
forward to a long and hard morning in the gym followed by a day of relaxation
poolside. I’m a small-town country girl, and the thrill of passing celebrity’s
homes on a bus full of strangers eludes me. Los Angeles may seem like a dopey
choice for a solo vacation if you’re not really into chasing celebrity, but my brother
and co-workers had heavily insisted that I needed a vacation. Just so happens that a close family
friend, and the Godfather to both me and my brother had retired, and I was
planning a weekend trip to a L.A. to attend the retirement party in his honor. I
simply added a week to my itinerary to get everyone off my back about needing a
real vacation.
There hasn’t been
a day I can recall where I haven’t worked since I was sixteen years old. Ten
birthdays have passed, and I’ve worked through them all. I own a motocross
training facility with my brother, and schedule myself six days a week, and
always shows up on my day off to get ahead of the paperwork. A week with no
work is going to be nearly im-poss-i-ble…but I’m willing to give it a try.
Fresh paint fumes
fill the dark hallway that leads to the gym. A sickly feeling has already risen
in the pit of my stomach as I approached the dark windows to the gym. Brown
butcher paper hangs over the windows hiding the interior. A white sign with a
smiling paint brush on it is taped to the door letting me know that the
facility isbeing upgraded.
No work. No Gym. I'm going to die. I spun on my heel and headed to the front desk.
