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Fairy Tales Do Come True

February 9, 2006 by in category 25 Days of Romance tagged as

By Gillian Doyle
Rubye Freeman looked more like Cinderella’s fairy godmother than the mailroom lady at a factory. Sweet-faced, gray-haired, rolly-polly Rubye may not have worn a long blue gown or waved a magical wand, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes should have given me a clue.

One summer break from college, I took a job at a temp agency, filling in for a sick clerk in that same mailroom. My first day, I looked up from sorting mail to see a man filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. As he entered the room, his russet-blond hair brushed the top of the door despite his slight bow to clear it. My hands stilled. My mouth went dry. His thick wavy hair curled over the white collar of his oxford shirt. Unlike the other executives in traditional dark business suits, he wore a buckskin suede jacket with the required necktie and dark slacks. No brown wingtips for him, though. Only cowboy boots make that distinctive heel strike on the hardwood floor in the slow stride of Gary Cooper in High Noon.

But did he notice me? Hardly. This young executive was out of my league.

Little did I realize that Rubye thought otherwise. She had a soft spot for Donald, as she called him even though he was Don to everyone else. He had started as her assistant a few years earlier, and he still liked to stop by the mailroom to see if there was anything she needed. When he came around, he charmed her with the quiet impeccable manners of a real gentleman. With that slow half-smile, he was her soft-spoken knight-in-shining-armor, running errands for her on his lunch hour, lifting boxes too heavy for her to manage, stocking the higher shelves in the supply room, dropping by after he’d clocked out so he could help her finish her own work.

I struggled between mute gawking (when he wasn’t looking) and joking with him as if he was just another friend of my brothers. Growing up a tomboy, I was more comfortable as the gal-pal to all the guys. I was far from being a statuesque brunette capable of winning the affections of Mr. Marlboro Man in the Mailroom.

After a few days, the regular clerk was ready to return to work and I moved on to another temp job. A month later, I was called back, specifically requested by Rubye. I was not only flattered– I truly enjoyed working for her– but I was also looking forward to another opportunity to secretly fantasize about that tall urban cowboy.

But that seemed to be as far as it would ever go….pure fantasy. Oh, I had a few hopeful moments, like when he stuck his head into the mailroom at lunch time and asked if I wanted a bite to eat. Was he asking me out? No, he and another guy were going to pick up burgers and would bring one back for me if I was hungry. Oh geez…he was only offering to feed the hired help. Or, as he liked to refer to me “Rent-a-Girl”.

One afternoon Rubye asked me to retrieve a five-gallon jug of Sparkletts from the warehouse. I was in a dress and high heels and had no idea where to find the warehouse. No problem, she assured me. She had asked Donald to drive me. Minutes later, I followed him out of the air-conditioned building and into blistering July heat where the bright Southern California sun bubbled the black asphalt parking lot. I stopped dead in my tracks when he escorted me to a brand-spanking-new blue fastback Mustang Mach I. Oh, Lordy…(Should I mention that I was a sucker for guys with hot cars? Shameless, I know. But to be fair, I had fallen hard before I knew about his car, okay?)

Still, the feeling did not appear to be mutual. Oh, he did take me out to lunch eventually…at Jack In The Box. I joked about being a cheap date, even though I knew it wasn’t a real date. Feeding the Rent-A-Girl, remember? I must’ve bruised his gentlemanly ego because he invited me to lunch again. This time it was a local bar that served lunch for the workers at the surrounding industries. (Hey, what did you expect, a five-star restaurant nestled among the factories?) Unfortunately, when he ordered a drink, I had to admit I was not yet twenty-one. I was sure that my admission of being underage had slammed the door on any potential romance with this older guy.

My last day on the job was Friday the Thirteenth. As (bad) luck would have it, there was no invitation to lunch. So I spent my free hour driving to the bank to deposit my paycheck. On the way back, a car ran a red light. I don’t know how he missed me by mere inches. Back in the mailroom, I was shaky but lucky to be alive. If only I could have a bit of that same luck in regard to a certain cowboy, I thought to myself.

With only an hour left till the whistle blew, Rubye came out of her office to say goodbye. Patting my hand, she said, “I left my appointment calendar open on my desk. I want you to write your name and phone number on today’s date.”

I assumed she wanted my number for future temp jobs. She’d already said as much. But she added, “If Donald doesn’t ask you out by the end of work today, I’m going to tell him on Monday to check my calendar for his mileage. I keep track of his errands so he is compensated for the gas. And it’s about time for him to do that again.”

I felt my face burn with embarrassment. “He doesn’t even like me.”

She only smiled with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Let me take care of that.”

But Rubye didn’t have to send Donald to her calendar on Monday. As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I heard the distinctive sound of his boot heels. I turned and found myself staring at the center of his broad chest. I craned my neck to look up at him. Lord almighty he was a tall drink of water.

With that sexy half-smile lifting one corner of his mouth, he gave a casual shrug. I honestly thought he was about to give me one of those Hollywood lines like, “It was nice knowin’ ya, kid.”

Instead, he said, “There’s a John Denver concert this Sunday….”

Many years later, a package arrived in the mail with a postmark from Washington state where Rubye had moved to live next door to her only daughter and family. Inside was a bundle of letters tied with a blue ribbon, accompanied by a note. Rubye had passed away in her sleep, her daughter wrote. Among her things were my cards and letters sent over the years. Her daughter told me that Rubye had cherished them. As my tears fell unchecked, I reverently untied the ribbon and went through each and every card, the invitation to our wedding that Rubye had attended, the birth announcements of our baby girl, then our baby boy, their photos from each year of school, the graduation announcements.

Near or far, Rubye had watched over Don and me and our little family throughout the years, our real-life fairy godmother…Always and forever.

Sue Phillips | A Slice of Orange

 

 

Gillian Doyle
Author of Paranormal Suspense

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Romance Heroes, Always There When You Want Them

February 8, 2006 by in category Archives tagged as

By Michelle Thorne

I love ROMANCE as a concept, although I haven’t really had much success in the real world. Don’t feel sorry for me. I have a store full of heroes who are romance personified. There’s Phillip from Tom and Sharon Curtis’ Lightning That Lingers. Was there ever a more caring, sweet or HOT guy than that? A stripper with a PhD. Sounds about right to me. How about Archie Goodwin from the Nero Wolfe series. I have loved him since I was twelve years old. Stylish dresser, snappy patter and a really good dancer. What’s not to like? Then there’s Nick Lightfoot from Jayne Ann Krentz’s The Golden Chance. What a guy!

Janet Evanovich has created quite a conundrum with Joe and Ranger in her Stephanie Plum series. I’m like Steph, I just can’t make up my mind. Then there are ANY of Linda Howard’s heroes. They all need the help of a good woman to save them from a life that is cold and without any soft place to land. I could be that woman, really. Consider Linda Lael Miller’s Vampires. Wonderful, very human and great looking, forever. Just a thought. Susan Elizabeth Phillips has all those Chicago Star football players and who could resist the guys in shoulder pads and tight ends. Not me. Don’t get me started on Robert Crais’ Elvis Cole. Great boyfriend material. Love him! And the “Bob” ain’t to shabby in the good lookng and funny area either. Yes, I am stalking him but in “a public place and he knows all about it, literary ” sort of way. Sue me.

There are many more fictional heroes who are very real to me but this is a blog not a book. Alas, I have to mention, The Man, The Guy, He who makes my heart stop on a regular basis.

For the last 11 years there has been one man who never fails to meet my expectations of a romantic hero. He is the whole package. He is suave, but has an edge. He is gorgeous, but isn’t afraid to get a little mussed. He has more money than God, but he made it himself and does good works with it. He is a great friend and a feared enemy. He’s funny and smart and he loves his woman with every fiber of his being and she’s not always that easy to love. Eve Dallas is one very lucky woman. Nora Roberts has created the PERFECT romantic hero in Roarke for the In Death series. OH, MY GOD. I want him. I don’t really know that I would have a clue of what to do with him once I got him, but it’s probably like a bicycle, you never forget. Roarke is the gold standard for me. Twenty five days of romance, ALL ROARKE, ALL THE TIME.

I’d love to hear about your fictional guys, I could always use another man to keep.

Reality, it’s overrated. Fiction ROCKS.

Michelle Thorne
Bearly Used Books…123

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What A Mess

February 7, 2006 by in category Archives tagged as

By Tina Ralph

Strolling down the aisle, all dressed in black, as gorgeous as ever, was the one person in the world, April didn’t want to see. Still, the unexpected sight of him caused her to choke out his name. To her horror, he turned and looked at her.

Kirk’s face showed he wasn’t any happier to see her, but he quickly recovered.

She ignored the sudden butterflies in her stomach. “Hello, Kirk, it’s been awhile.”

He pushed his cart closer. “Not since Janet moved out. Almost a year.”

“Janet told me when your divorce was final. I wanted to call – but – well… I didn’t know what to say.” To cover her awkwardness, she rushed on. “I always consider you, my friend too. We had fun together, but…”

Embarrassed, she looked down. The divorce had been a hot item among friends. They wanted someone to blame. She’d been mentioned as a contributing factor.

“Don’t worry about it, April.” Kirk continued. “I haven’t had much time to socialize anyway. I received the house in the divorce settlement. I spent my weekend on home improvement projects. You remember our fixer-upper. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Amber was glad he’d changed the subject.

A lady with two small children broke up their conversation, as she tried to edge passed them.

“It looks like we are holding up traffic.” April pushed her cart forward, letting the woman pass. “Besides, my ice cream is melting.”

He hesitated a moment. “Maybe we can get together sometime…do something?”

Thrilled with the idea of pursuing a relationship with him, April tempered her enthusiasm with a wave of her hand. “Sure, give me a call.”

At the checkout counter, her pulsed danced at the possibilities of him calling. Kirk, with his incredible teddy bear brown eyes, made everyone feel special. He a wonderful man, except for the fact, that he was her best friend’s ex-husband.

Would Janet mind? She was dating other men.

Was it worth their friendship?

It could get complicated.

“It really doesn’t matter,” April said to herself. “He’s not going to call, anyway.”

* *

April stood in the middle of the video store with a movie in each hand, trying to make up her mind.

A rich baritone voice over her left shoulder caught her off guard. “I’d pick the comedy. Heavy drama is too depressing.”

Turning quickly, April brushed against Kirk’s shoulder as she looked up into his face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

His quick grin and the spark of interest in his eyes lightened her heart.

“I like to get my videos on Thursday. That way I beat the crowds.” He reached for the case in her hand. “Why don’t I rent this one? And you can come over Saturday and watch it with me.”

Letting him take it, she attempted to settle her racing heart. “I’m not sure you’ll like that one. It’s a chick flick.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He slid a friendly arm around her shoulders.

* *

Nervously, April took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell. Dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, she wanted to look friendly but not eager.

The door opened, Kirk stood before her holding a paint roller in his hand, paint splattered all over him.

Shock flashed across his face. “It can’t be six o’clock?”

Fascinated by the blue specks in his hair, April questioned. “Is it a bad time?”

He stepped back, ushering her into the house. “No, its just I–forgot the time.”

“I…” Seeing the living room in total disarray with furniture piled in the middle of the room, a plastic tarps lying next to a half-painted wall, April paused. “Maybe I should come back later?”

He blocked the door. “I can have it cleaned up in a minute. All I need to do is pour the paint back in the can, and clean out the roller. Then we can turn on the movie.” He hurried past her.

“But Kirk, you’re not finished. You don’t want to have to drag all this stuff back out tomorrow.” April argued.

“It’s no big deal. I can leave it like this.”

Her eyes roamed the room. “This type of chaos drove Janet wild. She likes things to be neat and tidy with no changes to upset her peaceful tranquility.”

Considering all work he had accomplished, April continued. “I could never understand why? I think it might be nice to change things up ever so often. It’s what makes a house a home.”

He studied her for a moment over the paint can before he replied. “It makes a mess.”

“Funny, I always enjoyed a little adventure in my life.”

He looked up again, their eyes met. In that moment, something passed between them. April wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt the spark of electricity.

With a wicked grin, Kirk asked. “Wanna get messy?”

Tina Ralph
OCC/RWA Membership Director

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This Gidget Finally Gets Her Moondoggie:

February 6, 2006 by in category Archives tagged as , ,

By Bobbie Cimo

I think every girl growing up wishes she was like someone she has seen in the movies. Well, I was no exception to the rule. The moment I saw the original Gidget, starring Sandra Dee, I fell in with the character and with of course, her leading man, Moondoggie. Moondoggies have come and gone, but to me, nothing compares to the original one, James Darren. Or as his friends call him, Jimmy. Me, I just call him Gorgeous.

So in love with the movie, I named my first car “Gidget”. Once, I had a puppy…well, you guessed it…I named her Gidget, too. But I think the most memorable thing I did, in honor of my idol, was when I asked my father to put my bicycle up on cement blocks, lifting the wheels off the ground, so I could balance my feet on the pedals and pretend I was on my very own surfboard, shooting the curls. By the way, did I mention I wasn’t a well-balanced child? .

As I was growing up, it saddened me when I grew past 5’2”— because we all know Gidget was pint-size. We won’t even discuss the weight issue. Once on vacation in Hawaii, I tossed myself across a surfboard and asked a total stranger to take my picture. I don’t know what was more dangerous, taking a chance that the stranger could run off with my camera, or me falling in the ocean and unable to swim! Luckily, they both turned out okay.

Years later in Vegas, with camera in hand—they didn’t call me the Kodak Kid, for nothing—I happened into Caesar’s Palace, which was a top hangout for celebrities in its day. That particular night was no different. Everyone appearing in town was out to celebrate Tom Jones’ birthday. For those of you too young to know, Tom Jones was a young sexy singer who sang on stage while women tossed their undies to him. And in case you’re wondering— No, I was not one of them.

I was standing in the marble corridor, in front of a bank of elevators that led to the penthouse suites, when I looked up and saw Tom Jones and my very own Moondoggie coming towards me. James Darren AKA Moondoggie, looking more gorgeous in person that I could have imagined, and he couldn’t have been nicer when I asked if I could have my picture taken with him. What I remembered most, was that he held me tightly against his chest, as we posed together. Oh, and that my father referred to him as Bobby Darin to his face—which didn’t go over all that well, since Bobby Darin had just died a few months before. But Moondoggie was quick to forgive. I wish I could say I remember all of our conversation, but because I have a tendency to zone-out whenever I become overwhelmed, I can’t tell you what we talked about. All I know for sure is that the picture turned out beautifully and it’s proudly displayed in my office at home to this day.

James Darren went on to star in several TV shows, and even became a successful television director. In the last few years he has revived his singing career— recorded a new CD and began making personal appearances tours.

A few years back, when I heard he’d be appearing in Orange County, I decided to venture out to one of his performances. Not only did I have an excellent seat, but I managed to hook up with an aspiring Kodak Kid named Kim. From a younger generation then mine, she was just as in love with Moondoggie as I had been at her age. Kim offered to take a picture of me and Moondoggie as he signed my CD. Posing for the photo with him, I told him of my pictures from that night in Vegas. He said he had just been talking to Tom the night before and then he asked me if wouldn’t mind sending copies of the photos to him. Me refuse Moondoggie? Never!

I dug up my old pictures and found the negatives. But when I had them develop, I found they were as yellow as Bucky Beaver’s teeth before he used Ipana toothpaste. (This might be too old for our younger readers) After I had new negatives made from the original photos, I ended up spending $50.00! But, after all, it was for my idol!

I happily mailed the photos, but not before writing and rewriting the perfect note to go inside the packet. Several months passed without a word or a thank-you note. I worried that perhaps they had never reached him. Not only was I out $50.00, but my Moondoggie would probably think I had flaked out on him.

The following year of—2003, I think it was—I learned James Darren would be appearing at an outdoor concert at the Santa Monica Park. I dragged my sister along, insisting she had to see him in concert. He had gotten older, but looked just a delicious as he did in his youth. Again, I got an excellent seat. And after the concert was over, I went over to where he was signing autographs. I waited until nearly everyone had left before asking if he had remembered the pictures I had promised, and if he had gotten them. My heart sank when I heard him say, in a matter fact tone, “Yeah, I did get them.” Is that all he could say to me? But then he said, “Don’t go away. Can you wait a moment?”

After he finished signing his last autograph, I went around the table to stand next to where he was seated. He turned and looked up at me. Then, in a most sincere voice, he said, “Thank you so much for sending those pictures to me.” I answered politely, “You’re welcome.” Just as I turned to walk away, Moondoggie got up from his chair and took hold of my hand and slowly pulled me near. In the fashion of a Gidget movie, he brushed his lips against mine…and sweetly kissed me on the mouth.

What could be more perfect but to be standing next to the Pacific Ocean, being kissed under the stars by Moondoggie? I’m almost certain if he had his fraternity pin, he would have asked me to wear it. Just like with Sandra Dee, I would have replied, “Oh-boy, would I!”

And that’s how this Gidget finally got her Moondoggie.

Bobbie Cimo
OCC/RWA Program’s Director

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He Let Me Have Viggo

February 5, 2006 by in category Archives tagged as

By Geralyn Ruane

My fiancé Ron puts up with a lot from me, but I never expected him to put up with Viggo.

I am thirty-four years old; I pay taxes; I am engaged to be married. My life contains several outward signs that I am an adult. Yet I have this seriously girly celebrity crush on Viggo Mortensen – the guy who plays the emotionally scarred hero Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings movies. Sure, Viggo’s also a poet, photographer, painter, and political activist (see? here I go!) – but it’s still a celebrity crush. I buy magazines such as GQ, Vanity Fair and Cowboys and Indians when he’s on the cover (and I haven’t read magazines for fun since my subscription of Highlights ran out); I order books of his photography from Amazon; I have a “Viggo” wishlist on Tivo; I visit Viggo fan websites with alarming frequency. I haven’t acted this cuckoo since I spent my middle school library time looking up magazine articles about Duran Duran! And that was over twenty years ago! Part of me is ashamed of this gash of immaturity blazing through my life . . . but the other part will talk to almost anyone about Viggo.

But Ron is cool with it.

I could never be that way if the situation were reversed. If he were to bring home magazines with . . . say . . . Salma Hayek on the cover and visit her fan websites on the net, I’d be like, “Dude, what is up with you and Salma Hayek?”

So why isn’t Ron ticked off? I asked him that very question not so long ago. He simply said he wasn’t jealous. He knows I love him.

And he also knows that I have this tendency to obsess. I went to see Bridget Jones’s Diary in the theatre 6 times, seeing how many new allusions to Pride and Prejudice I could spot each time. When I was a Lakers fan, I owned 9 T-shirts, 4 flags on my car, 3 game jerseys, 1 ball cap, and a winter jacket – and I wanted to paint my house purple and gold. When I was crazy about the show The Crocodile Hunter, I ordered an extra pay channel so I could see one more episode a day.

Yup. I can obsess. Last year, I stood outside a Borders waiting for it to open because the first customers to buy the Return of the King DVD got a free, really HOT poster of a fierce and wild Aragorn, aka Viggo. I was the only idiot waiting, but I got my poster of Viggo! For my birthday, Ron framed that poster for me. A custom, hand-made frame that he did himself at some framing place that lets you do that. All because he knew I would love it.

Ron gets me. He knows how silly and compulsive and crazy I can be, but he doesn’t try to change me or chide me or fix me. He loves me, Viggo crush and all.

By Geralyn Ruane
Author of “Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants”
in Marlo Thomas’ book THE RIGHT WORDS AT THE RIGHT TIME, Vol. 2, April 2006

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