Books that bind

So, I’m writing this chic lit novel of four TnT women friends. The protagonist is telling the story (1^st person kinda voice) – the script is introspective, cheeky, sassy, funny, AND in limbo for almost two years now. My characters have been abandoned at their scene, turned to statues in mid-action, awaiting my creative rescue.

So, here’s where you come in. I’m giving you a little sneak preview here. Can you please (pretty please?) comment giving your thoughts on the excerpt (the first part of chapter 1)? I really need to get back to this novel and your participation will be a HUGE help.

Eyh, allyuh be truthful eh! Ah doh mind de criticism.

Power Lunch

By Charmaine Daisley

Chapter 1 (excerpt)

I wish Rhonda would stop babbling through my cell phone and let me think straight to write my proposal. I will not, WILL NOT, be late handing in the first draft of this document tomorrow. Plus she knows I have this wedding-of-the-year meeting in an hour.

"…and she said you should bring your laptop to take notes because you're good at writing things and --"

"Yes, yes, Ronnie. Will do…"

It's already eleven and I want to at least finish telling R. Walton & Sons how they can increase their sales margin by fifty percent in the next twelve months, before I leave the office. I rest the phone gently on the desk and listen to Rhonda warble in the background of my sales-tactics thoughts.

My office mate, Patricia bounces over to ask the habitual pre-lunch question.

"So what's for lunch?"                                         

"Three crazy girlfriends."

" Ahh. The best midday fare for stressed-out advertising professionals."

She nudges her head toward the mouthpiece streaming with incomprehensible monologue. "Have a wonderful lunch, pally wally."

"… and oh, Marsha, could you bring some paperclips, we need paperclips--"

I pick up the phone.

"Yes, yes, yes, but I really have to run now Ronnie, I'll see you guys in an hour."

"…  and don't forget to -- "

I hang up. It's the only way I can get Rhonda to stop talking right now, short of calling someone at her office to gag her please. Hanging up the phone I figure is much more humane.

The phone rings again.

“Look Rhonnie I really can’t –“

“Marsha? Marsha! I can’t get in to your apartment.”

Oh my gosh! I completely forgot my mother volunteered to tidy my apartment for me today.

“Where’s the key? You didn’t leave it under the mat?”

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot this morning. Listen, you remember Mr. Rogers. He’s usually on the compound around this time. Can you check his office next to the laundry room? He’ll give you a key.”

My mother grumbles something about my too busy life and then asks what dinner she should prepare for me. I take a mental tour of my fridge.

“Maybe something with saltfish and potatoes? I don’t know. Maybe some saltfish and potato stew. I can eat that with some pita bread or something later.”

“Saltfish and potatoes? Who eats saltfish and potatoes stew Marsha?”

“What’s wrong with saltfish and potatoes?” I counter. “I eat it all the time.” Actually, that’s a big fat lie. That food has been in my fridge for months. The potatoes have even grown buds. Ready for planting. And the saltfish I had planned to use months ago during one of my short-lived cooking spurts.

“Where’s the vegetables? And you should be eating as much cabbage as you can at your age you know. It helps with the bones.”

My bones. This has been a topic of choice with my mother since I turned 30 three months ago.

The other day she asks me “Marsha are you drinking enough milk?”

I drain a bottle of Pepsi as she eyes me accusingly.  “I think so, why?”

“I worry about your diet. I don’t think you eat enough vegetables and you don’t get enough calcium. You should take calcium tablets. Women your age suffer from bone loss and shrinking if they don’t get enough calcium.”

You would think I was a nonagenarian with a crouched back the way my mother describes my bone situation.

Now she’s on the phone at me again about not eating enough vegetables.

“Mom, I eat plenty vegetables. And there’s nothing wrong with saltfish and potatoes.”

“Did you buy the minced beef I asked you to? I could make a nice shepherd’s pie with minced beef and potatoes, and if you have a few vegeta –“

Okay. Do I need this right now? No, I don’t. How is this culinary conversation helping me decide whether I recommend that R. Walton & Sons market their new line of ergonomic, designer furniture through a differentiated or undifferentiated approach?

“ - - OH honey, here’s Mr. Rogers, hold on.”

Silence. For a loooong while.

“Are you getting the key?”

No response. I’m tapping my fingers on the desk.

“Mom?

Not a peep.

“Mom? Mom!”

“Hello? Yes dear I’m inside your apartment now.”

“Hrrrrrrmph!” My mother drives me crazy but as a loving daughter I’m supposed to pretend that she doesn’t.

“My gosh, when last you clean this place girl? And look, the keys right on the dining table. Phew, I’m so tired, my bones are hurting - - “

The bones again.

“Ok honey I’ll take care of everything. I think I’ll run to the corner and get some vegetables and minced beef after I clean up. I’ll fix up things good for you. Enjoy your day, you hear?”

“Okay, good, good. Thanks a lot mom. Talk to you later.”

I stroll my fingers down the side of the stack of files on my desk. My mother the superhero. No kidding. She’s always there to bail me out of every little crappy situation I find myself in. It’s always been like that. Ever since I can remember. She’d come into the yard and demand that Priya, our neighbour, give me my doll back or else go home. Or she’d wring my brother’s ears for taunting me non-stop. Or she’d call an ex boyfriend and give him a piece of her mind on my behalf. Really, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through any of this without her help. The breakup hit hard. I didn’t see it coming. No, that’s a lie. I didn’t want to see it coming. And when it did I just let myself go and left a lot of things undone. I was always too sad or too worn out or too busy or something. Everything was a big, hazy blur. My super hero noticed my depression right away and offered to help keep the apartment in order and cook me some food while she was there. I didn’t have the strength to tell her there was no need, and I figured that if I did, she wouldn’t pay me any mind anyway. My mother always did what she good and well felt like doing. Good for her.

She’s so strong. Even after we lost dad six years ago, she remained a pillar to me and my brother. Although I sense lately she’s getting a little lonely. I should take her out on Saturday.

Half-hour later and I’m still drumming away at the proposal. Mr. Walton senior and his clan of wood-loving, furniture-designing, I-can-see-them-dancing-now-as-I-suffer junior Waltons, are making my life pretty miserable right about now. But then again, that’s to be expected of men.

I keep looking at the office door opposite my desk wherein sits the lord of all he surveys. In other words, Carlton King, the Operations Manager of my workplace, Paradise Plum Advertising. Can you imagine me answering the phone at work? “Hello, Paradise Plum Advertising, how may I help you?” Lordy, lord. The laughs people must get. If it were me I’d call every day just for laughs. Thank God I do not have Maria’s job of answering the phone.

So, Carlton King, my immediate boss. Any minute now I expect him to open his door, peer at me indignantly through gold-rimmed bifocals and tap his damn watch.

Carlton King is a short man with an even shorter neck and a temper to match. He wears these always well-seamed pants (my sympathies to his wife or housekeeper or whoever) and he insists on perpetuating the sixties’ style of platform shoes. Where he gets those shoes is a mystery, and a popular lunch room guffaw with the staff. I keep telling everyone that there must be a very short explanation for it.

***END OF EXCERPT***