Andrea Hurst
Apr 1, 2016 | Women's, 1st pages
The Hamptons, New York
Two Years Ago
The day glistened in a way only white sand, turquoise waters, and golden sun could reflect. Thousands of tourists had besieged the peninsula for the Labor Day weekend. Luke’s parents were in Europe and his brother was off jet-setting somewhere glamorous. Even though Darcy and Luke had the whole estate in East Hampton to themselves, they chose to stay in the guesthouse, which was a mini-mansion in itself and only steps from the beach.
They hadn’t left the house since Thursday. On the way there, a stop at a farm stand and Stuart’s Fish Market had provided sweet shrimp, lavish vegetables, fresh berries, crusty bread, and assorted cheeses. With her insane work hours as a model, Darcy craved these lazy days when all she and Luke did was make love all afternoon, then supper on the sprawling deck and sip chilled chardonnay in crystal glasses.
It was a Sunday morning, the day they’d promised to go over to Luke’s billionaire friend Tyler’s infamous mansion for a cocktail party and art showing by the highly acclaimed artist, Ian McPherson. Luke raved to Darcy about Ian’s work, and he wanted to share it with her. And like almost everything in their whirlwind romance, Darcy wanted to share everything with him, too. Her persona as Darcy Devereux, super model, required changing from Luke’s big T-shirt and into an elegant Stella McCartney summer dress before going out in public.
Her gelled hair-spiking and makeup routine required time, time she resented spending these days since she’d been dating Luke. Even in the morning, when she woke all full of sleep, he told her how beautiful she was. And when she dressed up perfectly the way the world knew her, he devoured her with his eyes.
Darcy stepped into her Valentino sling-backs. She ran her fingers along the back of her calf. The bruises seemed to be getting worse. She reminded herself to call the doctor for her blood test results when she got home tomorrow.
As she walked into the living room, Luke rose from the white Bedford chair. He was a tall, lanky vision in khaki slacks and an aqua shirt setting off his bronze tan and golden hair. A devilish smile crossed his face as he whisked her into his arms.
“A woman of many charms,” he whispered in her ear. His kisses trailed down her neck as he pulled her close. “Forget the party, I don’t want to leave.”
It took all her resolve not to melt into his arms. She gently pushed him back to catch her breath. “No, we promised we’d go and I want to see this artist’s work.”
Darcy brushed her lips against his full mouth. “We don’t have to stay long.”
Light danced behind his silver-grey eyes. His gaze made her wish he’d rip off her clothes and forget the party after all.
“Okay,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go. But there will be one little detour on the way back.”
Darcy was intrigued. It really didn’t matter where they went or what they did. They fit together. From the moment their eyes had met at a photo shoot, she’d known.
Lucey Phillips
Apr 1, 2016 | Women's, 1st pages
There are so many things I should have left behind. When I agreed to spend the summer on White Bass Island, helping my sister run her bed and breakfast, I assumed I would need to bring my entire closet. Lake Erie weather can be unpredictable, especially in May. But, really, why did I need three suitcases full of clothes and accessories for every season?
As I groped around in the dark guesthouse, digging through half-unpacked suitcases and boxes, I realized this would have been so much easier if I had just brought less stuff. After stepping on my dog and stubbing my toe on a nightstand, I finally found a sweater and jeans that would get me through the morning.
I shivered as I brought Ziggy, my scrawny, tall, wire-haired mutt outside to use the bathroom. The back of Concord House loomed in front of us, its clean white siding and Victorian gingerbread trim gleaming brightly in the moonlight. All of the windows except one were dark. I could see a light shining from one of the third-floor rooms. That’s where my sister Molly sleeps.
“If I wanted to get up in the middle of the night, I’d still be working at the hospital,” I whispered to the dog as I kneeled downto scratch his head. “And that gig paid a lot better.”
But I would do anything for my sister. She got divorced last winter, so this was her first summer season running the bed and breakfast by herself. My job as a nursing professor leaves my summers wide open so I decided to come help her, even though I don’t know much about hospitality. Or making breakfast. If nothing else, I wanted to make sure she was ok.
I gave Ziggy his breakfast, washed my hands and face, slipped into my gray knit boots, and headed over to the main house.
Anne K Bardsley
Mar 25, 2016 | Women's, 1st pages
Anz World
Husband, Scott, lost his car keys and wallet for the third time this week.
Daughter, Erika, was late for tennis lessons.
Daughter, Jamie, was practicing back flips in the kitchen.
Son, Tom, was searching in the trash can for his $600 retainer.
Son, Mike was telling an angry neighbor that it couldn’t have been our dog splashing in his expensive koi pond. The dog was soaking wet and splattering mud all over my new carpet.
Son, Justin, needed his skates sharpened before a hockey game in ten minutes, and we lived twenty minutes away.
The dog threw up Koi pond slime on the kitchen floor and the cat’s newly arrived kittens were learning to walk. Yes, in the kitchen.
Just then the phone rang. My mother-in-law was calling to share a few cleaning tips. She also instructed me, “Write this down. It’s my lamb chop recipe that Scott loved when he was little. I think your kids need more protein.” She fed him lamb chops every blessed day for lunch. I was about to snap! My mind was spinning. A hot flash was forming like a thundercloud. I seriously needed an escape.
That was the day I invented Anz World. It’s a place in my mind which is so peaceful and serene that some days I never want to leave. This is my special retreat, my only refuge from real life, and only I have the key. I can simply take a few deep breaths, close my eyes and knock on serenity’s door. Okay, to be honest, sometimes I have to lock myself in the bathroom to get some quiet.
Unlike my messy house full of kids and cats and dogs, a hamster, a duck, a lizard, a pet snake, and the crickets the lizard didn’t eat, Anz World is tidy and clean. It looks like HGTV surprised me and decorated my world. The sky is crystal blue with wispy clouds that resemble angel’s wings. There is a gentle island breeze. I have sheer white curtains that billow at the open
windows when the breeze blows.
My hot flashes disappear. So do my wrinkles and cellulite. My face loses years of stress and I barely recognize myself. I look like a goddess! My short hair is long and luxurious, and my highlights sparkle in the sun. I never ever need a pedicure. Did my mention that I am tan and toned? My tan accentuates my newly whitened smile. Seriously in this place in my mind, I am a true goddess.
In my perfect world, Kenny Chesney and Michael Buble’ are singing in the background. It’s always my favorite songs and I sing along while I admire my new firm and tan legs. Seriously I can’t get enough of them!
It’s in this place that I can contemplate life. I have time to reminisce and look at the lighter side of my world. I’d had a dream to write a book and finally after hiding in Anz World, I was able to refocus my energies and bring it to fruition. That’s how I birthed, “How I Earned My Wrinkles…Musings on Marriage Motherhood and Menopause”
I’m hoping this helped you realize that you can also escape to your nirvana. Take a few deep breaths, eyes closed, feel your breathing slow down. You are entering your new world now.
Do not fall asleep or you will miss those tan, toned legs in your new world.
Call me when you get there. We can meet for tea, or a glass of wine. I would love that!
Jo Barney
Mar 18, 2016 | Thriller, 1st pages, Women's
CHAPTER ONE
SARAH
September 2009
I can remember every second of that last graffiti patrol with Ellie. Maybe it’s the meds they’re feeding me, or maybe I’m a little crazy right now. The nurse says I probably should be with all the stuff I’ve gone through in the past couple of weeks, Ellie at the center of it all.
It was chilly that morning, and we shivered a little as we headed toward the first mailbox, me, in my punk clothes, Ellie in her old lady sweatshirt and red sneakers. She had her supplies and towels in an old shopping bag, like usual, and I could tell she was still mad at me, at my knowing how the graffiti got on the boxes. I was thinking about that, too, but she didn’t know the whole story, not then.
“Spray!” Ellie ordered, and I stopped remembering and pointed the bottle at the mailbox in front of me.
We scrubbed, Ellie not talking to me yet. After a couple of minutes, the black polish on my nails began to melt like the paint scrawls we were working on. Ellie muttered “Good” when she saw me rubbing at them. As soon as the box was as clean as Graffiti X could get it, we headed toward the next one. By the time we got to the street with the big trees, I was getting hot and glad for what little shade was left, the limbs above me almost bare. Leaves crunched under my boots.
The people who lived in these buildings were rich. I could tell by the doors, the polished brass knobs, and the pots of flowers beside them. They must sit on their upstairs terraces and feel like they were living in the arms of the trees. I was imagining eating breakfast four stories up and feeding a squirrel a piece of pancake, when I stumbled and heard the heel of my boot snap. Shit, my only shoes was my first thought. I had to walk like a cripple, one leg short, one long.
“Take ’em off!” Ellie said, shaking her gray head at me. “Stupid to wear boots like that; you look like a baby hooker.”
She took the bag of supplies from me, and I leaned against a tree and pulled them off. The cold from the sidewalk seeped through the leaves and into my toes. The look on Ellie’s face told me not to complain, so I shoved the boots into the bag. Maybe I could get the heel fixed somewhere.
“We’ll finish up with the next box. When we get back you can borrow a pair of my old sneakers.”
I watched where I was going, hoping I wouldn’t step on dog poop or something yucky hidden under the leaves. That’s when I saw the white basketball shoe sticking up from a pile of debris at the curb. Someone must have lost it. Except that the shoe also had a sock in it. And in the sock, a leg.
I grabbed Ellie’s arm and pointed. She looked, made a sound like she was choking. I ran to the gutter and pushed sticks and leaves away from the rest of the leg. I saw familiar, worn denim jeans, recognized a plaid patch on a thigh, a hand I knew because of the small ink tattoo of a smiley face at the wrist. I was bawling by the time I uncovered his head, brushed bits of dirt from his eyes, understood that he was dead. Peter.
“Leave him!” Ellie yanked on my arm, her words daggers of icy fear. “Not our business.”
She had me up on my feet, and I shoved at her and knocked her into the trunk of a tree.
“It’s trouble!” She reached for me again. “Nothing good ever comes from a dead body.”
I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. She grabbed my arm and pulled me through the trail of leaves. “I’ll call 911,” she said. “When we get home. Anonymous.”
Barb Wolfe
Mar 17, 2016 | Women's, 1st pages
It was a sweltering day and the gym wasn't air-conditioned. The owner and Sensei, DJ Brown, liked it that way. It should be all about the training, not comfort.
So when DJ decided to open the Woman Strong gym, the first women only Mixed Martial Arts gym in Minnesota, she had no intention of babying anyone. Summers here didn't last very long anyway, although she had to admit today was a real scorcher. A day like this encouraged all those cracks about global warming.
DJ looked at her watch. The woman was thirty minutes late. If this interview didn't have so much potential to increase her clientele, she would never have agreed to it. She didn't trust reporters, didn't trust their objectivity, or lack thereof. Okay, to be honest, she didn't trust most people, but those with the potential to influence really irked her.
“Excuse me.” The reporter tapped DJ on the shoulder. “Are you DJ Brown?”
DJ turned around and saw what had to be the reporter. Who else would wear a skirt and heels to a gym? Once she got past the choice of ensemble, however, DJ couldn't help but notice what a strikingly attractive woman she was.
Niamh Murphy
Mar 14, 2016 | Women's, 1st pages
CHAPTER ONE
The carriage shuddered along the road, the sun had fallen some time ago and the passengers had turned to silhouettes in the moonlight. They were supposed to have arrived in Harrow in time for the four o’clock carriage to Bristol, but Evelyn was beyond worrying, she let her head rest against her seat, her eyes closed, as she concentrated on breathing, trying to keep her mind off the unsteady motion of the carriage.
The coach lurched backward, Evelyn was thrown from her place as luggage rained down on the passengers, a woman screamed, and a child cried out.
“What’s happened?”
“Is everyone all right?”
The child was crying as its mother scrabbled around the floor of the carriage. Evelyn picked herself up, she had fallen into the lap of the passenger opposite, and apologised, as she tried to find her bearings in the dark.
“I’ll go and speak the coachman.” Said one of the men.
They could hear shouting outside, but before the Gentleman could reach for the handle, the door was wrenched open.
“Everyone out!”
A masked man stood in the doorway; he was bathed in the light from the lanterns, and held a pistol pointed towards the passengers startled faces. They muttered between themselves, as one by one they descended the carriage steps, the father of the crying child stopped to help his wife, and then offered a hand to Evelyn.
“Come on, come on.” The same voice called, herding the passengers to the edge of the lane.
Evelyn looked back at the carriage, the driver sat with his hands held aloft, a man on horseback, similar in mask and dress to the first, held a musket aimed squarely at him. While another of the gang was searching the other coachman in the light of the stagecoach lantern.
“Everyone sit.”
Evelyn turned in surprise to see yet another of the gang, at the edge of the road, near the trees, pistol in hand, pointed at the six passengers and gesturing to the ground, some of them began to sit, resigned to their fate. Despite the darkness she could clearly make out the figure of a woman, masked though she was. She wore the same as the rest of her gang; boots, breeches, a long fitted waistcoat, high collared coat, and hat, the same outfit popular with all highwaymen, and accessorised with a brace of pistols.
“I said sit.” She repeated looking directly at Evelyn.
“I’d rather stand.” Evelyn replied. “It’s been a long journey.”
“This isn’t a picnic. I’m telling you to sit.” Evelyn held the woman’s gaze a moment longer, before acquiescing.
“That was a stupid thing to do.” Her fellow passenger muttered to her as she sat down, he held his wife’s hand as she rocked their child, Evelyn could see he was scared, and she nodded, fully intending to keep quiet, and allow the highwaymen to finish their task, without cause to harm anyone.
