So, the book I’m working on for a submission to a publisher’s contest is something I’ve worked on for quite a while. It’s bits of reality, embellished and made into a fiction work.
Here’s the first few small chapters. I won’t post the whole thing, but here’s the beginning. I may pull it down in a day or two, so read it while it’s here……..
Resingled
(c) Jennifer Amato, 2007
Done
When you’re Done, you’re just done. You may debate for weeks or months–or even years (yes, you know who you are, and don’t worry…I’m not telling). It’s not the cliché “lightning bolt” that “strikes you to your core”…no, that’s “love”. No, this “done” thing is more like eating the most decadent crème brûlée at a one-hundred-dollar-a-plate restaurant. You savor each bite, knowing that even though it’s so rich, it’s what you want, and you can handle it. You glanced at that dessert cart, and knew that this was exactly what you wanted–and you had to have it. It transfers you to some quaint French café, the accordion music dancing around you as you indulge yourself. You enjoy each morsel as it melts in your mouth. With two bites left, you gently dip your fork into the sweet richness, glide your fork to your mouth, and as your tongue rolls the sweet caramel vibrantly over your tastebuds, you feel the velvety texture interrupted as your fingers cross your lips and you pull out a long, thick, coarse, black hair.
Yep, that kind of Done.
For the last four years I had invested my five-star self into a one-star relationship with a person who, when all was said and done, presented me with the equivalent of a shareholder’s certificate that wasn’t worth the paper it was scribbled out on.
Now two things flagged you, I’m sure. Yes, I said my five-star self. And I meant it. Not in that sickeningly elitist way, but seriously–I really have my shit together. I’m Mia Lombardi. I’m a self-sufficient, career-minded, successful, stylish, sexy Sicilian woman who can cook and clean and pay her own bills. And, it took being Done to see it. More on that later.
The second flag: What is so worthless about this person? In all actuality, nothing. He was 70 percent wonderful and 30 percent bullshit. But the worst part was that 100 percent of him didn’t care enough to be better. And for that, he is worthless to me.
I guess the best way to describe him is from the movie Clueless–he was a “Monet”–beautiful from far away, but once you got up close, he’s all fucked up. I’ll tell you as little as you need to know, cause that’s a whole other book. But I will say this: what you will understand when you close this book took me four years (and basically most of my twenties) to figure out. And for that, you’ll be a better person. And so will I for telling you.
Well Done
So, Done, I sat on his cold, firm, grey leather sofa staring at the mantle. I had a box to my right filled with the last of my things and a stack of twelve boxes by the front door. It was the day I was moving, and my boyfriend had absolutely no clue. He was at work closing a deal or staring at invoices and sales reports. And I sat staring at the picture of the half-naked brunette I found in the birthday card from four months ago to him signed “Thanks for the amazing weekend! XOXO, Natalie”.
I felt like I had one of those vests they put on you before an X-Ray—just weighed down. I glanced over to the banker’s box at my right, scanning over all the tickets to concerts, beads from Mardi Gras, and little pictures from the last four years. That’s all I had left? I felt about as worthless as that last box of shit.
I jumped as the chime of the doorbell rang out. I let out a sigh of relief; Sophia, my closest friend and new roommate, was finally here to help me load the boxes into her truck.
Sophia had been my friend for six years. We met at a party at her ex-boyfriend, Brandon’s house. He was a complete dick, and my co-worker at the club I bartended at through my early twenties. She and I hit it off instantly at the party and it had been a wild, fast ride to today, filled with laughs, tears, a lot of crazy nights and a few angry fights. By now, we were closer than sisters. And she was my rock.
My hand briskly turned the handle as I opened the door
“Well it’s about fucking ti—“
I stopped and stared at the small, sweet old man with the gorgeous bouquet of richly colored red roses in his hands. He was at once shocked and embarrassed. As was I.
“Mia Lombardi?” he asked, shyly staring at his clipboard, pretending I didn’t just cuss him out.
“Yes?”
“I have a delivery from Anthony Medina. Sign here”.
You have got to be kidding me, I thought.
I scribbled a signature, still embarrassed for my mouth, and thanked him. He shuffled away and I shut the door. I set the flowers on the coffee table. Just as I started to run my middle finger along a velvety crimson petal my eyes matched the rich color of the roses to the red negligee Natalie was wearing in the picture.
I threw my hands up in disgust and sighed.
The doorbell rang, stealing me from thoughts of flinging the coffee table across the room.
This time it better be Sophia or someone is getting shanked, I thought to myself.
I opened the door to Sophia holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a can of black Krylon spray paint in the other.
“Let’s set it off in this bitch,” she said, shoving past me into the living room, clacking the spray paint as she shook it, chuckling. Her laugh wasn’t one of amusement, it was like she’d lost her mind completely.
“Woah, woah, now lets just get the boxes and—“
I was immediately interrupted.
“What the fuck are these?!?!” she blurted out, staring at the roses. She was audibly disappointed. “You didn’t tell him did you?”
“Of course not. He just knows I’m pissed is all,” I said, as annoyed as she was by his “gesture”. “This is what he always does. It’s apparently easier than just saying he’s sorry.”
“Well, fuck that shit,” she said as she unscrewed the cork of the champagne bottle. “He’s about to be really sorry.”
She made no effort to stop the cork as it popped off and flew towards the mantle and smashed the glass on the Salvador Dali print hanging. Champagne spurted out over the pristinely clean coffee table and onto the wool rug beneath.
I scrambled towards her trying to catch anything flying loose in my hands…champagne, the cork, her mind.
“Look I don’t want to trash the place, just get me the fuck out,” I said, defeat keeping my voice weighed down in the room.
She extended her long slender arm out and pulled me to her side.
“He’s just one of the many motherfuckers out there, honey. Don’t let him get you down,” she said confidently as she passed me the bottle. “Now stop sounding like you’ve lost a war and hike up your big girl pants. Just take a big swig and let’s wrap this shit up.”
Sophia had always had a way about her in these kinds of times that made me snap out of the self-defeat mode and soldier up. She had a tall, slender frame and a mane of curly, full, cocoa-brown hair with wild green eyes and a smile that always started at one side and stayed that way when she was up to some shit. She had been there for me through so many rough times, and I had grown to love her tough nature.
Adrenaline began pumping as I pressed the bottle to my lips and tipped it up towards the ceiling. Champagne and bubbles filled my mouth and as I brought the bottle away from my lips, air caught it and bubbly booze pumped out onto the ground.
I slammed the bottle onto the coffee table and snatched the boquet of roses out of the elegant crystal vase seated so securely in the delivery box.
As I made my way down the hallway, Sophia snagged the bottle off the table and followed me.
I held the bundle of flowers out to the side and they dragged along the walls of the hallway, losing petals as I walked.
“Now that’s the spirit!” she cheered, dangling the bottle and trying to keep up with me.
Just as I arrived at the master bedroom door, I kicked it open defiantly, ready to launch the flowers all over the room.
Everything came to a screeching halt as my cell phone rang on the bathroom counter behind us in the hallway. The ringtone that used to give me butterflies now made my blood boil.
I looked at Sophia and the insanity I felt must’ve been blatantly visible in my eyes because her usual defiant smirk quickly morphed into an intimidated stare.
She backed up against the wall, still staring.
Still holding the bouquet, I slammed open the bathroom door and grabbed my phone with my empty hand and pressed the “answer” button.
“Hello?” I answered, slightly pissed, but trying not to sound psychotic.
“Hey, princess,” he oozed, trying too hard to be sweet. He only called me princess when he was kissing my ass.
“Did you get the, uh, delivery?” he asked. The self-righteous pride in his voice was almost palpable.
“Why yes, I did,” I purred, now past angry, and into full absence of sanity.
“I was just putting them in water,” I continued, looking over at Sophia with a devious Cheshire cat smile.
Sophia still was confused and stared as if she was trying, unsuccessfully, to find the real me deep inside my eyes.
I jammed the bouquet, flower buds first, into the toilet and flushed, holding the phone out so he could hear the sound.
“Babe? Princess?!” I heard his muffled tiny voice as he tried to get an answer. I pressed “End Call” and looked at Sophia.
“Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
She nodded and backed out of the room and against the wall as I coldly walked out of the bathroom to the front door and began grabbing boxes and sliding them into the hallway.
She grabbed boxes and shoved them out into the hallway and shut the door behind her.
We silently stacked boxes onto the cart she had wheeled out of the elevator into the hallway.
She stopped and looked at me. I was halfway between breaking everything in sight and sobbing.
“It’s gonna be ok, you,” she said to me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.
I was finally, well, Done.
The Fastest Fruity Pebbles in the West
“My life is like some bullshit country song. Ain’t that some shit?!” I muttered, shaking my head and poking my spoon around my bowl of Fruity Pebbles. The fifth of Patrón we had split the night before was now haunting my morning.
“Your life is not a country song,” Sophia assured me, rolling her eyes. “It’s like,” she paused and pursed her lips, thinking. “It’s like a refugee story! You’re free from oppression,” she announced triumphantly.
I glanced up, still feeling weighed down. I had ignored his calls all night and now it was my first morning sitting on the couch in pajamas and a robe with my roommate as a single girl instead of a devoted fiancé.
“I mean, just think,” she said, standing and grabbing her mug off the coffee table, “you’re free from taking care of him! I saw how much you doted on his ass. Sometimes I felt like I was watching Miss Celie chase Mr. _________ around in The Color Purple, anticipating every one of his needs without the notion of reciprocation. It just wasn’t like you.”
She was right. I really had wrapped my whole life into his and made it all about him.
“I know, but for the longest time,” I said, setting my bowl on the table, “it was like…ok, don’t puke when I say this, but it was like he made the sun come up. He was magical.”
“No,” she said, chiming in as the voice of reason. “He was hot. And he had a good job and presented a bullshit package to you and you bought it. He was flinging table scraps and you ate them up.”
“He cheated on you, Mi. He fucking lied, and he cheated. And for that, he’s a bastard,” she declared. She turned and walked towards the kitchen.
She was right. I had to focus on the bad parts.
“You’re right,” I conceded, standing and grabbing my uneaten bowl of cereal. I had no appetite.
“Ok, let’s not talk about him today. Let’s just…go…shop or something,” I said, ready to empty the bowl into the garbage disposal.
“You better eat that shit,” she said in a maternal tone. “Don’t waste that shit!”
I set the bowl down and looked at her, silently using my eyes to ask “Really?!”.
She nodded and pointed to the bowl.
“Fine,” I said, eating ten fast bites as she watched with the intensity of a prison warden. I emptied the last little bit into the disposal and set the bowl in the sink and rinsed it, then leaned my elbow on the counter and looked over.
“Yes,” said Sophia, extremely pleased and nodding. “That’s exactly the spirit. There’s my girl.”
We both smiled. There was a sharp, fast series of knocks at the door.
Neither of us expected any company. We headed for the door and she looked through the peephole with eager curiosity.
She quickly broke posture and rolled her eyes, gesturing her thumb at the door.
“It’s him,” she said with simultaneous disgust and annoyance. “What do you wanna do?” she asked. I could hear her disappointed anticipation of my desire to see him.
“I want to launch a bucket of animal shit at him and light it on fire,” I whispered with frustration.
She giggled.
“Go away!” I announced through the door. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Baby, just listen,” he pleaded.
“You have five seconds starting now,” I asserted. Sophia nodded in support.
I wanted to throw up.
“Baby, just—“, he continued.
I interrupted.
“NO!” I shouted, now more assertive, and downright pissed. “One…”
I was now counting like he was a five year old.
“Princess,” he continued.
“Two!” I shrieked.
“Mia!” he begged through the door.
I was done counting, and was flooded with anger. Sophia stepped back as I flung the door open.
“Look!” I projected, “I have absolutely nothing to—“
Just as I let the words out, all of my emotions hit me at once. It felt like a windstorm. And it quickly turned to a tornado in my stomach.
“Babe, I just,” he started, stepping forward and placed his hands on my shoulders.
I looked up with fear in my eyes. I was seriously feeling queasy. He must have seen the fear because he let go of my shoulders and started to step back.
I instantly, without even a split second to change directions, launched Fruity Pebble and Patrón puke all over the front of his suit.
As I stood straight, shocked, embarrassed, and humiliated, Sophia grabbed my shoulders from the side and stood next to me.
“And if you come back again,” she shouted, “I’m gonna do it to ya too!” she announced. She jerked me back into the entry way and slammed the door.
“What the fuck just happened?!?!” she asked, amused.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing!” I said, completely bewildered.
I didn’t feel sick anymore, and as she leaned in and looked at the peephole, she turned with a wicked smile.
“He’s, uh, gone.”
