Hello. I'm writer Antoinette Beard/Sorelle Sucere. Welcome to my blog, which is dedicated to all the loving, intelligent, brave, wise, strong, gentle, kind, sweet-and-geeky, humble-and-patient, --- whether they have hands, paws, hooves, wings, fins, or even, --- yes, flippers, --- and to all eager readers and hard-working authors, everywhere.
Meanwhile...
I love all creatures. I consider them, all of them, to be sentient beings... I write thrillers, fantasy, mysteries, gothic horror, romantic adventure, occult, Noir, westerns and various types of short stories. I also re-tell traditional folk tales and make old fairy tales carefully cracked. I'm often awake very early in the morning. A cuppa, and fifteen minutes later I'm usually writing something. ;)
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Friday, December 30, 2016
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Monday, December 26, 2016
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Monday, December 19, 2016
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Friday, December 16, 2016
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Monday, December 12, 2016
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Saturday, December 10, 2016
Friday, December 9, 2016
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Monday, December 5, 2016
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Saturday, December 3, 2016
Friday, December 2, 2016
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Saturday, November 26, 2016
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Monday, November 14, 2016
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Friday, November 11, 2016
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Monday, November 7, 2016
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Monday, October 3, 2016
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Monday, September 19, 2016
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Saturday, August 27, 2016
The Legend Of The Beckoning Cat, - [In Oriental Restaurants]...
In many Oriental restaurants you will see a cat statue with a raised paw, put there for good luck in the business. Here's the story behind that:
There was once a restaurant owner whose restaurant was doing poorly. In fact, business was so bad that the owner was in grave danger of going bankrupt. Very sadly, one day he locked his door, he felt, for the last time, for tomorrow he was going to the bank to make arrangements to sell his restaurant.
Upon looking down at his feet he saw, huddled in the doorway's corner, a poor, starving and cold little cat. The cat looked up at him pleadingly, and raised a trembling paw. Moved with pity for the little creature, the kind man opened the door to his restaurant again and took the cat inside. He gave her a good meal, the last of his food, figuring that it really didn't matter; tomorrow he'd surely be out of business. The cat ate gratefully. The man took the cat outside again and set her down.
But, the cat didn't go away. Instead she sat in the doorway with her paw raised, beckoning to passersby. People smiled when they saw the cat, saying, - "How cute!", they said. "Let's eat here!"
The man's business picked up alarmingly. He didn't go out of business, thanks to the adorable beckoning cat! The man adopted the cat. And, from then on, to today, you will see a beckoning cat image in many oriental restaurants, for good luck in business! Kindness pays!
There was once a restaurant owner whose restaurant was doing poorly. In fact, business was so bad that the owner was in grave danger of going bankrupt. Very sadly, one day he locked his door, he felt, for the last time, for tomorrow he was going to the bank to make arrangements to sell his restaurant.
Upon looking down at his feet he saw, huddled in the doorway's corner, a poor, starving and cold little cat. The cat looked up at him pleadingly, and raised a trembling paw. Moved with pity for the little creature, the kind man opened the door to his restaurant again and took the cat inside. He gave her a good meal, the last of his food, figuring that it really didn't matter; tomorrow he'd surely be out of business. The cat ate gratefully. The man took the cat outside again and set her down.
But, the cat didn't go away. Instead she sat in the doorway with her paw raised, beckoning to passersby. People smiled when they saw the cat, saying, - "How cute!", they said. "Let's eat here!"
The man's business picked up alarmingly. He didn't go out of business, thanks to the adorable beckoning cat! The man adopted the cat. And, from then on, to today, you will see a beckoning cat image in many oriental restaurants, for good luck in business! Kindness pays!
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Friday, August 12, 2016
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Francoise Sagan (1935-2004), - The Terrible Child...
She was known as a terrible child, a charming monster. She was seen at the time of her greatest popularity as the epitome of disillusioned and wealthy youth. Her first novel, "Bonjour Tristesse" (Hello, Sadness) was published when she was just 19. After that, she wrote another, "A Certain Smile".
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Old Naughty Re-told Tale, - [from Marie de France], - A Man Sees His Woman With Another Man...
His woman, with anger, replied, "A man? Oh, very well! You're sick again, I can see! You cling to lies as if they're true!" He said, "I trust my eyes. that I must do!" "You're mad," she said, "to insist I was with another man!"
"But, I saw him leaving for the woods!." he exclaimed. "Oh,---NO!," she cried, "that means tomorrow I must die! The same thing happened to my grandmother, you see... My mother too, and now, it will happen to me! It happened just before they died,---a well known fact, known both far and wide. A young man led them off, you know. They had no choice but to go! My end is near; the die is cast. Send for my sisters, I need them fast! I'll split up all my property. I mustn't waste my time, not me! With all the wealth that is my humble share to a convent I will then repair!"
Her man cried in terror, "Let be, let be, my sweetheart dear! Don't leave me now! Not like this, I pray. I made up all that I saw today! And, now, I dare not stay. Iit's far too late! I'm thinking sore of my spiritual state, especially after the shame I've thought to attach to your good name! I will be blamed. I know I will, for thinking you would treat me so ill."
"Yes,---NOW," she said, "will you swear, with all my sisters standing there, that never did you see another man with me? The subject will be dropped and you will never nag me for it too!" He answered, "Dear, I do agree."
They both went off to church, you see... And, he soon swore to all she asked him for. All that,---ah, yes,---and, much, much more...
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Saturday, June 25, 2016
Duke Alexandre Volkov of my "Sexiest Jewels," series, ---- tall, dark & handsome, charming, rich, romantic, all which is incredibly sexy......
Theresa Ruhs, a legal secretary born in Buffalo, met him one magical night at the opera. Now, she's consented to go with him to his house. She just met him. This could change her life, of course. ;)
On their way to ???... (6.)
He looked over at me again, his beautiful dark eyes glittering like black glass, even in the dim interior of the big car. He had honestly asked me if I would spent the night with him. I paused so long he prompted me. "Theresa?" Such a voice, such a sincere man, the most attractive man I'd ever met, and charming, intelligent, cultured, --- okay, sure, and rich too! What were the chances I'd meet such a man again? Ha, --- REALLY ZERO,,ZERO! Ummm... I'd had a great deal of champagne, the excellent stuff had gone down so easy! I'd always been a little timid, missed, I think, many chances because of it. For once in you life, Theresa, I thought, --- LEAP! I touched Great Grandma Lisel's pearls, --- the lucky pearls.
"Yes," I whispered.
Alexandre smiled gently, nodding. Whatever WAS I DOING?, I thought, wildly. We'd been driving through downtown. Now, we were in the suburbs, --- University Heights... Then, we were in Shaker Heights... Alexandre pulled into a long lane, lit with soft light from lamp posts and covered by a natural arch of furry looking evergreen branches, hanging from gigantic trees. How well he drove the powerful car, masterfully, like he does everything, I supposed! He put the Brougham in a huge garage. I there were other well-cared for cars, but he didn't turn on the garage lights. Instead, he took my arm and led me into the house..
Gilded wood was everywhere and high ceilings plastered with designs like the frosting of a wedding cake. We walked through a gold-veined marble entrance hall, --- period furniture in the living room, paintings in fancy frames hung on burgundy linen covered walls; an especially big abstract one was done in blues, reds and greens. A cheery fire was in a stone fireplace so big an average size man could have walked into it without ducking. Floor-to-ceiling windows were bordered with heavy gray velvet drapes and hung with immaculate lace sheers.
A middle aged woman with light brown silver streaked hair neatly contained in a bun, bowed to Alexandre. ."Did you enjoy the opera, Your Grace?"
"Missus. Brighton," Alexandre smiled at her tolerantly, in a very kind way. "Please, no bowing, and I've asked you over and over not to call me 'Your Grace' here in America, --- or, please ANYWHERE. You know Americans have never had lords and ladies."
Missus Brighton looked up at him. "Of course, Your..." She corrected herself. "Yes, Mister Volkov."
"Much better." Alexandre smiled, handing her his top hat, walking stick, tux jacket and cape. She took them and looked at me, expectantly. Alexandre removed my cloak, handed it to her. He pulled the black satin ribbon from his ponytail, shook his head. His thick gorgeous mane of black hair settled around his neck and shoulders. I almost gulped, but not quite. I didn't want him to see the effect he had on me; --- his height, his strong muscular body, his beautiful face, his charm, his intelligence...
"Some tea, please, Missus Brighton," he said.
He led me to easy chairs near the fire. I sat down. Alexandre surprised me by carefully, with the lightest of touches, taking off my tiara, taking out the pins in my hair. It fell around my shoulder and I shook my head to free it more. He kneeled. (A real Duke was kneeling at my feet!) He removed my high heeled satin shoes/ His warm hands moved over my ankles, my feet, massaging, very gently. I sighed.
"I've thought, high heels must be torture. They're unhealthy, forcing the foot into an unnatural position."
I closed my eyes, slouched back into the comfort of the chair. "Ballerinas suffer with their feet too, much more, on their toes, dancing, dancing, dancing, in pain, pain, with blood soaked rags in their beautiful pink satin toe shoes, which are all handmade, their deformed toe nails cutting into their tender skin. But, they dance, regardless. It's expected. On the stage they look so serene. As soon as they get behind the curtain they collapse.."
"That's just so awful," I whispered.
.
"It is... Ballet is beautiful to watch, --- the reality.. The ballet world is brutal. My brother Nikolai told me. But, I knew, anyway. Men never dance on their toes, of course. My little ten year old sisters Ekaterina and Valentina are determined to become ballerinas, but my parents aren't so sure they want them to enter that life."
"R-r-right," I whispered.
The combination of a full stomach, the champagne and the foot rub, I was almost asleep. I shouldn't fall asleep! I SHOULDN'T!, Then, I felt the slight weight of an afghan placed over me and that was all I knew for a while.
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
Friday, June 24, 2016
Leaving the restaurant... (5.)
Alexandre took a last swallow of his espresso. Our plates were almost empty. I'd eaten a lot of the tender steak. (Alexandre had poured juice from a little silver pitcher over it.) Then, salad, potatoes, several slices of the delicious warm five herb bread, lots and lots of champagne and some Mont Blanc, which was chestnuts whipped into meringue.
"Are you finished, Theresa?;" he gestured toward my dishes.
"Yes, but, we could take the leftovers with us." Instantly, I felt embarrassed. Maybe, Alexandre didn't eat leftovers.
He looked at the steak. "Chateaubriand is steak-for-two, but it's usually too much. Of course, we'll take the rest with us. It'll be good for breakfast."
What?... What did he mean by that? Did he think I'd be spending the night with him, or was it just a casual remark? Now, Alexandre was asking Jean-Henri to bring a box. He didn't ask for the check. I guessed they just put it on his bill. He helped me with my cloak, put on his jewelry, his tux jacket, and his cape, took his top hat from Jean-Henri and walking stick. We were out the door. The chilly air of the late Fall night felt very cold to me, through my thin gown and only an ornamental cloak.
I shivered and Alexandre, noticing it, put his arm around my shoulders, surprising me by pulling me into the shelter of his tall warm body, his height making me feel very little..(He was actually about two inches taller because of the heels on the shiny black knee high boots he wore.) Then, he hunched his shoulders over me, as if to protect me. I found that touching, looked up gratefully. He gestured to the valet and soon we were in the Brougham, moving through Cleveland streets. Alexandre looked at me briefly, then returned his gaze to the road. An uneasy silence filled the car. Of course, I knew what was coming.
His voice was soft and slow. "Would you consider coming to my house, Theresa?"
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
At the Cheval Noir... (4.)
"You're lovely, Theresa," the incredibly sexy deep voice. "You know that, don't you?... So fresh and natural, I smell rose, but I think it's not cologne, --- soap, very good soap... Are you blushing? I thought that was a lost art."
He laughed, throwing his head back, even wiping his eyes before he answered. "You're so refreshing! I mean that in the most complimentary way. You're wonderful!" His eyes told me that he was absolutely sincere.
"Yes, I'm a Duke. My ancestor Rurik was knighted by Ivan The Terrible. I'm Russian, but I was born thirty three years ago in Poland while my family was visiting there. He laughed again. "I'm not that young!"
"Thirty three isn't old," I said. "I'm twenty seven."
"You look much younger. If your hair was up in a ponytail and you were in a t-shirt and jeans you could pass for sixteen."
I smiled.. "When I WAS a teen... Well, now I take that as a compliment."
Alexandre grinned. "It was meant to be. I'm an importer, and you?"
"Well... "
Jean-Henri was back with champagne. He popped the cork, showed the bottle's label to Alexandre who nodded. Jean-Henri poured some for him; Alexandre nodded again, the tip of his tongue licking his upper lip. Jean-Henri poured more for Alexandre, poured me a glass, put the bottle in a silver ice bucket and left. He returned soon with the salad.
I picked up my napkin. "...I'm a legal secretary. I was born in Buffalo. My Great Grandparents came to the United States right before the World War One to set up a jewelry store in Cleveland, on one hundred and twenty fourth street. My Great, Great Grandmother Grand Duchess Cassia Annamaria Elfrida Von Goele-Von Ruhs had a hissy fit when her only child, her precious son Klaus, wanted to marry the beautiful scandalous adventuress Lisel Bauer. She said, 'no-no-no-no-never!,' but he ignored her and did it anyway. On my father's side we're French Huguenots."
"How interesting," Alexandre purred. It almost came out, --- "Haow intaresting-k."
I was very aware that he ate in European style, not switching his fork to his right hand after cutting his meat. He took a big swallow of champagne, as I did, --- the delicious zippy tartness on my tongue again. I was enjoying this evening, immensely. It sure hadn't turned out like I thought! I thought I'd see a great "Carmen" and go home to bed.
"What's your favorite opera?," he asked.
"Oh, "La Boheme," I said. "Mimi and Rudolpho are so poor, It's awful the way they have to live. They don't have anything. All they've got is their love, and it's a great love. But, she's so sick and, ---and, then, she dies. By the end of it I'm dripping tears, --- but, somehow I feel just great."
"I've never seen one."
"What? That's a tragedy! I adore ballet. It's very big in Russia."
"I know, the Bolshoi."
"Indeed, 'Bolshoi' means 'supreme'. My brother Nikolai was a Premier Dancer with the Bolshoi."
"How interesting," Alexandre purred. It almost came out, --- "Haow intaresting-k."
I was very aware that he ate in European style, not switching his fork to his right hand after cutting his meat. He took a big swallow of champagne, as I did, --- the delicious zippy tartness on my tongue again. I was enjoying this evening, immensely. It sure hadn't turned out like I thought! I thought I'd see a great "Carmen" and go home to bed.
"What's your favorite opera?," he asked.
"Oh, "La Boheme," I said. "Mimi and Rudolpho are so poor, It's awful the way they have to live. They don't have anything. All they've got is their love, and it's a great love. But, she's so sick and, ---and, then, she dies. By the end of it I'm dripping tears, --- but, somehow I feel just great."
He smiled. "Intense operas are a purge for many of us. 'La Boheme' is a very sad story. Off hand, I can't think of a single opera that ends happily, but we go to them anyway."
"I adore the singing. It stays with me for days. Especially, when I then play a CD of it, over and over. What's your favorite opera, Alexandre?"
"Mmmm... In spite of there being wonderful Russian operas, 'Boris Godunov,' and 'Prince Igor,' my favorite's "Madame Butterfly'." He sat back in his chair, entirely at ease. "The lovely geisha Butterfly is only fifteen when she meets Lieutenant Pinkerton. He agrees to marry her, although he never intends to. He leaves and she waits and waits and waits for him, so faithfully. Then, when he finally comes back he brings his wife Katie along! And, Butterfly, again, is so sweet to him. She even agrees give up the child he fathered. But, Lieutenant Pinkerton is a callous user, heartless... Butterfly uses her father's knife to commit sepukku."
"Mmmm... In spite of there being wonderful Russian operas, 'Boris Godunov,' and 'Prince Igor,' my favorite's "Madame Butterfly'." He sat back in his chair, entirely at ease. "The lovely geisha Butterfly is only fifteen when she meets Lieutenant Pinkerton. He agrees to marry her, although he never intends to. He leaves and she waits and waits and waits for him, so faithfully. Then, when he finally comes back he brings his wife Katie along! And, Butterfly, again, is so sweet to him. She even agrees give up the child he fathered. But, Lieutenant Pinkerton is a callous user, heartless... Butterfly uses her father's knife to commit sepukku."
"That's the Japanese word for suicide?"
Yes, most people think it's 'hara-kiri,' but that's wrong."
"Oh."
"Yes, hara-kiri is a crude form of killing, but sepukku is a ritual intended as a means of ending one's life with honor..." He sighed. "The whole thing of 'Madame Butterfly,' gets to me. The beautiful music wrings my heart. I'm usually crying by the end of it too." He shrugged his wide shoulders. I could see the muscles of his chest move under the thin white silk shirt. He looked down at his big hunk of steak, cutting it again.
I was moved by how upset he seemed to be by the injustice of the story. After a minute, I raised my champagne in a salute to him, smiling. "Most men wouldn't admit they cried."
"They're silly," he stated, frankly.
I was moved by how upset he seemed to be by the injustice of the story. After a minute, I raised my champagne in a salute to him, smiling. "Most men wouldn't admit they cried."
"They're silly," he stated, frankly.
I smiled. "I'm a beginner at opera, Alexandre. Do ANY of them have happy endings?"
He raised an eyebrow. "The Marriage Of Figaro," and "The Magic Flute," both by Mozart do. Ummm... Do you like ballet, Theresa?"
"I've never seen one."
"What? That's a tragedy! I adore ballet. It's very big in Russia."
"I know, the Bolshoi."
"Indeed, 'Bolshoi' means 'supreme'. My brother Nikolai was a Premier Dancer with the Bolshoi."
"Wow!"
"Yes... He was very gifted." Alexandre frowned. "So..." He wiped his mouth, gestured with his fork to my throat and ears, "You like beautiful jewelry."
That got me to tell him the story of my Great Grandma Lisel and the rope of pink pearls, her nude photo, --- especially, since we kept getting bottles and bottles of the exquisite champagne. Alexandre kept pouring for me, and himself. I was really starting to feel it. He looked at me with great interest as I told the pink pearl story, his black eyes almost glowing. When I finished he was quiet for a minute, considering me.
"What a story, Theresa! Pearls are my favorite gem, even though men can't today, really wear them. Back in the time of King Henry the Eighth men wore them magnificently, but not now. The pearl's become a feminine gem. They flatter almost every woman, no matter what her complexion."
He leaned far back in his chair, and I could tell that the champagne was effecting him too. "I admit I'm especially drawn to you partly because you're wearing such exquisite pearls, because you wear them so well, your simmering blond coloring, your cream-colored satin gown, so like the color of a pearl. The string of pearls at your throat and your pearl ring with rubies are the only real jewels you have on, am I right?" His deep voice had become dreamy. (Did I imagine it, that his tone got emphasized when he said, "ON"? Those warm feelings between my legs were making serious flicks now, and I could feel my heart pounding, pounding.)
I touched my neck and the pearls, feeling the pulse beating there. My voice trembled slightly as I spoke. "Yes, you're right, Alexandre." (I was pronouncing his name like he did, --- as 'Alex-ondre,' with a long 'a'.) His beautiful European name seemed to hang in the air between us.
Alexandre fixed me with his penetrating eyes like a child eyeing a hot fudge sundae. It was a weird thing to think; he was a full grown man, but it flashed to my mind as he stared, unblinking, at me. All I wanted to do at the the moment was kiss him, kiss him, KISS HIM on that plush pink curving mouth!!!... And, then I imagined Alexandre as a vampire snacking on me. If he kissed my neck, and then my lips, deeply, passionately, I'd probably faint. Then, he could catch me. He was more than strong enough to hold me, almost forever, carry me unconscious in his arms to... Or, he could flip me over his broad shoulder and walk away with me...
"Yes... He was very gifted." Alexandre frowned. "So..." He wiped his mouth, gestured with his fork to my throat and ears, "You like beautiful jewelry."
That got me to tell him the story of my Great Grandma Lisel and the rope of pink pearls, her nude photo, --- especially, since we kept getting bottles and bottles of the exquisite champagne. Alexandre kept pouring for me, and himself. I was really starting to feel it. He looked at me with great interest as I told the pink pearl story, his black eyes almost glowing. When I finished he was quiet for a minute, considering me.
"What a story, Theresa! Pearls are my favorite gem, even though men can't today, really wear them. Back in the time of King Henry the Eighth men wore them magnificently, but not now. The pearl's become a feminine gem. They flatter almost every woman, no matter what her complexion."
He leaned far back in his chair, and I could tell that the champagne was effecting him too. "I admit I'm especially drawn to you partly because you're wearing such exquisite pearls, because you wear them so well, your simmering blond coloring, your cream-colored satin gown, so like the color of a pearl. The string of pearls at your throat and your pearl ring with rubies are the only real jewels you have on, am I right?" His deep voice had become dreamy. (Did I imagine it, that his tone got emphasized when he said, "ON"? Those warm feelings between my legs were making serious flicks now, and I could feel my heart pounding, pounding.)
I touched my neck and the pearls, feeling the pulse beating there. My voice trembled slightly as I spoke. "Yes, you're right, Alexandre." (I was pronouncing his name like he did, --- as 'Alex-ondre,' with a long 'a'.) His beautiful European name seemed to hang in the air between us.
Alexandre fixed me with his penetrating eyes like a child eyeing a hot fudge sundae. It was a weird thing to think; he was a full grown man, but it flashed to my mind as he stared, unblinking, at me. All I wanted to do at the the moment was kiss him, kiss him, KISS HIM on that plush pink curving mouth!!!... And, then I imagined Alexandre as a vampire snacking on me. If he kissed my neck, and then my lips, deeply, passionately, I'd probably faint. Then, he could catch me. He was more than strong enough to hold me, almost forever, carry me unconscious in his arms to... Or, he could flip me over his broad shoulder and walk away with me...
Damn, the man could do ANYTHING, ANYTHING to me, --- and I knew I'd LET him! I WANTED HIM! GOD, I WANTED HIM! I wanted his lips, his hands all over me. I wondered what he'd feel like, --- REALLY, REALLY feel like... And, his skin, that smooth looking skin, if, if his body was stretched, trembling against me, that long sexy body, taut and straining, naked in my arms... He was so much bigger than me. I could jump at him; he'd catch my butt. I'd wrap my arms and legs around him, tight, oh, so tight. And, he'd love it; he'd love carrying me like that...
I WAS wearing Great Grandma's necklace tonight, and her jewelry was lucky, especially since it was the ONLY piece that was real gems!!! I'm a hopeless romantic; I admit it. But, I KNOW that I'll find a great love SOMEDAY. I KNOW IT. And, maybe Alexandre was the one. Sure, I knew he wasn't perfect: nobody is. BUT, still...
I put my napkin to my mouth, giggling and giggling, --- the champagne, all that scrumptious champagne! It was a LOT of champagne. Alexander's thick lashes swept his eyes again; this time when he looked up he swallowed. The Adam's apple in his muscular throat moved up, and then down. I watched fascinated, and I couldn't help wiggling a little on the seat of my chair.
"Are you alright, Theresa?." he asked.
"Yes," I said. "I'm, --- I'm a-alright, Alexandre. Really, I am."
He looked at me strangely, raised an eyebrow. Then, he shrugged, and smiled, laughed. On top of everything, Alexandre has a delightful free-sounding laugh, as musical as his voice.
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
From "King Of Thieves, --- Alexandre & Theresa have a little supper at the Cheval Noir... (3.)
Alexandre laughed. "A beauty, isn't she? A 1985 Cotillion Blue Fleetwood Brougham, and, almost TOO comfortable. I love taking her on trips, but I've almost fallen asleep in the plush of her seats." He laughed.
We were soon in front of Cheval Noir. Through the car's window I stared up at the Art Nouveau black and silver horse's head over the restaurant's entrance. Alexandre gave the Brougham's keys to the valet.
"I really like using valet parking when I drive the Brougham," he remarked. "The 1985 Fleetwood Brougham was the longest personal American car ever made, aside from limousines, a full foot longer than the mustang of that year. It's hard to find a spot big enough to parallel park!" His rich laugh again, he took my arm.
I looked up at him from under my lashes. "I think maybe you have a red Corvette."
He chuckled. "I have a red Shelby. It wasn't hard for you to figure I'd have a red sports car. I have a 1970 black Challenger too. I'm crazy about muscle cars."
Alexandre's walking stick beat a tattoo on the sidewalk as we walked to the restaurant door. It was black and gold with a greyhound's head on top.
"I like your walking stick."
"It has a sword inside; completes the opera drag, good for rapping mugger's skulls." I laughed with him, feeling very comfortable.
Alexandre's greeted the host, who he called Charles. (He pronounced it the French way, --- "Charl".) He gave Charles his top hat and walking. Then, Charles showed us to a secluded table in the back. Alexandre pulled out a black velvet upholstered chair for me. (I noticed that the chairs back here were upholstered, but the ones in front were wood.) After seeing that I was comfortably seated and my cloak was, once again, well-placed over the back of my chair, he took off his cape and tux jacket. He took out his cuff links, gold ones, set with onyx', the big black faceted stones surrounded by diamonds. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing hard looking forearms covered with sparse black hair. I stared at the knobby wrist bones, his lean hands with their long squared off fingers, their neat, clean nails. He wore a massive gold ring with a square-cut emerald, probably at least ten carats. Even in the dim light of the restaurant's corner, the emerald ring, the cuff links on the table shined, wickedly.
Alexandre saw me staring at his jewelry. He leaned forward. In the dim light of the opera house I hadn't seen his earrings, --- tiny gold rings; hanging from each one was a little diamond, sparking like a star. "The shirt's tight. It's easier to cut meat with my cuff links out and sleeves rolled up. Yes, they're Imperial originals, designed by Peter Carl Faberge. He was French, but a naturalized Russian, the official court jeweler. Faberge had hundreds of craftsmen to do his pieces. There's a special look to Imperial jewelry, Theresa. It's usually big stones, surrounded by smaller diamonds. My family bought jewelry from some of the Romanov's who survived the purge of their family in 1918. My cuff links and the ring were once worn by Grand Duke Cyril, first cousin of Nicholas the second. Cyril was one of the Romanov's who fled to Europe. Over fifty Romanovs were murdered. Thirty-five survived. Foremost of the survivors was Nicholas' mother, Dowager Empress Marie Fedorovna, and the Czars sisters, Grand Duchesses Xenia Alexandrovna and Olga Alexandrovna."
"You know a lot about this."
A dazzling smile, "Sure, my family left Russia in 1918 with other emigres. They lived for a while in France, then in Switzerland. When the U.S.S.R. was finished in the 1990s many of the Volkovs went back to Russia, but some of my family still live in France, Switzerland and Germany."
My eyes must have gone wide with this info. I'd never met an Old World aristocrat. He laughed again, that rumbling, manly sound and gave me another fabulous smile. His black were sparkling; they were truly black, not brown. I couldn't see his pupils. There was a slight cleft in his chin. Those fun sexy darts kept zinging through me. A server had appeared at our table, like he dropped out of the air. He didn't give us a menu, but bowed to Alexandre.
"What do you want, Theresa?" The head chef here is Michel-Charmion Valade . He'll make us anything."
A dazzling smile, "Sure, my family left Russia in 1918 with other emigres. They lived for a while in France, then in Switzerland. When the U.S.S.R. was finished in the 1990s many of the Volkovs went back to Russia, but some of my family still live in France, Switzerland and Germany."
My eyes must have gone wide with this info. I'd never met an Old World aristocrat. He laughed again, that rumbling, manly sound and gave me another fabulous smile. His black were sparkling; they were truly black, not brown. I couldn't see his pupils. There was a slight cleft in his chin. Those fun sexy darts kept zinging through me. A server had appeared at our table, like he dropped out of the air. He didn't give us a menu, but bowed to Alexandre.
"What do you want, Theresa?" The head chef here is Michel-Charmion Valade . He'll make us anything."
"Anything?"
"Well, sure, --- even if you want roast duck. Although, you'll have to wait a while for that. I don't think you want to stay here that long." He winked. Then, his long lashes swept his eyes, practically taking my breath away.
"Uh," I stammered, "I don't know. What do you usually have?" I'm an idiot, I thought, ducking my head, feeling a blush coming.
But, Alexandre was talking to our server. "Chateaubriand, medium rare, Jean-Henri, and Salad Noisce, garlic roasted golden potatoes, lots of the five-herb bread. And, some very fine champagne, brut." He grinned. "Surprise me, Jean-Henri, and keep it coming. Oh, for desert, Mont Blanc, espresso too, please." Jean-Henri nodded and left.
"I've never had espresso," I remarked.
"If you like very strong black coffee, you'll probably like it. It's said good espresso is poured out of the pot and cut off with a scissors."
Alexandre took my hand and raised it to his lips, putting a soft kiss on it. The touch of his warm mouth seemed to be trembling on my skin. My hand looked very small and pale, even delicate, resting on his long lean palm. (His skin was the rich medium beige my mom used to call rochelle.) He slowly turned my hand over, brought it to his lips again, put a kiss in the palm. His lips were slightly open and he breathed on my skin. I was a little shocked that he bit the big mound under my thumb, the mound of Venus. Both of his hands were around my one. He caressed it.
"Your hand's cool, but it's getting warmer."
I didn't say anything.
--- Copyright 2021, by Suzanne La Force.
"Uh," I stammered, "I don't know. What do you usually have?" I'm an idiot, I thought, ducking my head, feeling a blush coming.
But, Alexandre was talking to our server. "Chateaubriand, medium rare, Jean-Henri, and Salad Noisce, garlic roasted golden potatoes, lots of the five-herb bread. And, some very fine champagne, brut." He grinned. "Surprise me, Jean-Henri, and keep it coming. Oh, for desert, Mont Blanc, espresso too, please." Jean-Henri nodded and left.
"I've never had espresso," I remarked.
"If you like very strong black coffee, you'll probably like it. It's said good espresso is poured out of the pot and cut off with a scissors."
Alexandre took my hand and raised it to his lips, putting a soft kiss on it. The touch of his warm mouth seemed to be trembling on my skin. My hand looked very small and pale, even delicate, resting on his long lean palm. (His skin was the rich medium beige my mom used to call rochelle.) He slowly turned my hand over, brought it to his lips again, put a kiss in the palm. His lips were slightly open and he breathed on my skin. I was a little shocked that he bit the big mound under my thumb, the mound of Venus. Both of his hands were around my one. He caressed it.
"Your hand's cool, but it's getting warmer."
I didn't say anything.
--- Copyright 2021, by Suzanne La Force.
From "King Of Thieves," --- Alexandre & Theresa watch the performance of "Carmen"... (Chapter 2.)
"Theresa"... He made my very common first name sound so elegant when he said it! But, now the performance was starting. The curtain went up. The audience applauded. Carmen is a great opera, --- the gorgeous wild Carmen and jealous, murderous Don Jose... BUT, I was SO distracted, many times stealing sideways looks at Alexandre, sitting next to me.
His profile was perfect, manly, but beautiful, forehead and chin perfectly aligned . His jaw was square, nose straight, those spectacular deep-set eyes with that forest of lashes. His thick hair in it's ponytail, resting about three inches down his back, was very dark, blacker than his tux and it had a curve to it. His shoulders were broad, but sloping. It seemed as if his body under the tux was leanly muscular, as strong and perfect as his face. Something about him reminded me of a big cat, --- a leopard. Strange, I should think of that...
And, he was so charming! During the intermission he reached under his chair, bringing out a big red and black satin box of chocolates. He shared them with me as we talked about the singing, the set, and other things of the performance. The opera began again. In spite of the stunningly handsome Alexandre, I became engrossed in the thrilling singing, dancing, the romantic and tragic story. Then, it was over, --- much applause...
Alexandre turned toward me, smiling, as the house lights came up. "Ah, that was outstanding!" He stood. bent gracefully, put his top hat on his head. He swept his cape onto his shoulders exactly like an Old World aristocrat should, the scarlet satin lining flashing.. He extended his forearm to me. I placed my fingers on it, stood. I could actually feel the strength in that hard warm arm! It felt so good.
And, he was so charming! During the intermission he reached under his chair, bringing out a big red and black satin box of chocolates. He shared them with me as we talked about the singing, the set, and other things of the performance. The opera began again. In spite of the stunningly handsome Alexandre, I became engrossed in the thrilling singing, dancing, the romantic and tragic story. Then, it was over, --- much applause...
Alexandre turned toward me, smiling, as the house lights came up. "Ah, that was outstanding!" He stood. bent gracefully, put his top hat on his head. He swept his cape onto his shoulders exactly like an Old World aristocrat should, the scarlet satin lining flashing.. He extended his forearm to me. I placed my fingers on it, stood. I could actually feel the strength in that hard warm arm! It felt so good.
"It's a lovely night. Would you go with me to my favorite restaurant for a little supper, Theresa?"
Such a gentleman,... "Of course, Alexandre. I'd be delighted." We swept from the opera house like a duke and his duchess.
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Monday, June 13, 2016
Easy To Make Salmagundi, - Pirate Stew...
This is the wonderful and famous dish that pirates loved, and still do! [I made this for the re-enactment pirate crew of the Nightshade, at the 2008 Great Lakes Medieval Faire.] The name salmagundi probably comes from the French word "samine", which means highly seasoned. Salmagundi can be made with many kinds of meat. Pirates made it with sea turtle, which is, of course, endangered now, and wild boar or cattle, and fish.
I made mine with chicken... I used 2 packages of skinless, boneless chicken breasts, a package of jumbo cooked shrimp, a half dozen eggs, 2 cans of chicken broth, a large red onion, a big can of Chinese vegetables, a can of whole black olives, 2 cans mandarin oranges, and a can of chunk pineapple. I also used season salt, black pepper and garlic powder, plus shredded coconut as a garnish...
Fry chicken breasts in corn oil till done, set aside. Boil eggs, peel, set aside. Wash shrimp, set aside. In a large pot place the chicken broth, and other canned things with their juice. Dice the onion, medium fine, add. Add the shrimp, minus their tails. Dice chicken, add. Slice the eggs, add. Heat it up, slowly, stir, stir, so it doesn't burn on the bottom. You can thicken it with a little flour made into a paste in a cup of water, if you like, add this slowly to and, stir it as it thickens the juice.
Allow everything to simmer very low, till all the flavors are melded. Serve over white rice and garnish with shredded coconut.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Famous & Raucous Historical Pirating Places...
Tortuga - A turtle shaped island, north of Hispanola, or what is called today, Haiti, was a wild-and-wooly place that welcomed pirates of all nations in the seventeen and eighteenth centuries. As adorable Jack Sparrow said, - "Ah, the sweet and prolifferous bouquet that is Tortuga!"
Port Royal, Jamaica - Set at the tip of a 13 mile long natural sandspit on the southern coast of Jamaica, Port Royal had one of the best natural harbors in the world. The water there was 6 fantoms, or 30 feet deep, deep enough to accept the keels of galleons, a rarity in the tropics where many deep keeled ships had to settle for dropping anchor far off shore because of shallow tropical coves. Port Royal, in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was a lawless, rollicking, rowdy, yet, surprising elegant town, [once you got away from the notorious waterfront]. In Port Royal's shops could be found everything to set up easy, cosmopolitan living. It was a most effluent place, thanks to pirate plunder. Unfortunately, practically all of it sank under the tidal waves of the June 7, 1692 earthquake. Thousands of lives were lost then and sanctimonious preachers said the disaster was God's punishment on what was called, "The Sodom Of The New World". Captain Henry Morgan was buried on Port Royal's sandspit and divers off the coast of Kingston, Jamaica still hope to find his gravestone.
Madagascar - the huge island in the southern hemisphere, off the coast of Africa, was fabled to be the spot where the legendary pirate kingdom of Libertalia was created. There, it was said, raggedy pirates lived almost like sultans with harems of beautiful island women. Did Libertalia really exist?... Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, on the isle of Mauritius, of the eastern coast of Madagascar, the dodo birds became extinct, after being clubbed to death many times by hungry sailors.
New Providence Island - It was once called Santa Catalina, and then, in the early eighteenth century, New Providence, then, it was re-named Nassau, after it's major town. It, too, for a while, was a most lawless and swinging pirate place.
Okracoke Inlet, North Carolina - This was where the flamboyant pirate Blackbeard, Edward Teach, was killed. His pirating career lasted only about 2 years. I have been to the Maritime Museum in Beaufort, N. Carolina, and believe me, it is worth going. They have the remnants of Blackbeard's ship "The Queen Anne's" revenge on display. It is said that at the mouth of Bath Creek, if you are very, very lucky, you can still see, under the water, at times, an eerie yellow glow... It's Captain Teach holding up a lantern, looking for his lost head. Uh... Some say that skull was made into a punch bowl.
Port Royal, Jamaica - Set at the tip of a 13 mile long natural sandspit on the southern coast of Jamaica, Port Royal had one of the best natural harbors in the world. The water there was 6 fantoms, or 30 feet deep, deep enough to accept the keels of galleons, a rarity in the tropics where many deep keeled ships had to settle for dropping anchor far off shore because of shallow tropical coves. Port Royal, in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was a lawless, rollicking, rowdy, yet, surprising elegant town, [once you got away from the notorious waterfront]. In Port Royal's shops could be found everything to set up easy, cosmopolitan living. It was a most effluent place, thanks to pirate plunder. Unfortunately, practically all of it sank under the tidal waves of the June 7, 1692 earthquake. Thousands of lives were lost then and sanctimonious preachers said the disaster was God's punishment on what was called, "The Sodom Of The New World". Captain Henry Morgan was buried on Port Royal's sandspit and divers off the coast of Kingston, Jamaica still hope to find his gravestone.
Madagascar - the huge island in the southern hemisphere, off the coast of Africa, was fabled to be the spot where the legendary pirate kingdom of Libertalia was created. There, it was said, raggedy pirates lived almost like sultans with harems of beautiful island women. Did Libertalia really exist?... Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, on the isle of Mauritius, of the eastern coast of Madagascar, the dodo birds became extinct, after being clubbed to death many times by hungry sailors.
New Providence Island - It was once called Santa Catalina, and then, in the early eighteenth century, New Providence, then, it was re-named Nassau, after it's major town. It, too, for a while, was a most lawless and swinging pirate place.
Okracoke Inlet, North Carolina - This was where the flamboyant pirate Blackbeard, Edward Teach, was killed. His pirating career lasted only about 2 years. I have been to the Maritime Museum in Beaufort, N. Carolina, and believe me, it is worth going. They have the remnants of Blackbeard's ship "The Queen Anne's" revenge on display. It is said that at the mouth of Bath Creek, if you are very, very lucky, you can still see, under the water, at times, an eerie yellow glow... It's Captain Teach holding up a lantern, looking for his lost head. Uh... Some say that skull was made into a punch bowl.
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
The Myrtles, Francisville, Louisiana, - one of the most haunted houses in America, - [Part 2] ...
Can ghosts have sex with people? Hmmm... The old nursery upstairs
is the favorite trysting place for the Judge,---that is, Judge Clarke
Woodruff, the rotten old lech who would lead a young slave girl up the
backstairs during the time of their affair. Single women who sleep in
that room often report that the ghost of the Judge slips into bed with
them and skillfully seduces them!
Other hauntings: The room known as the Bridal Suite was once the bedroom of Sarah and William Stirling. It is active most of the time, as are most of the rooms downstairs. Footsteps, laughter, music that comes out of no where and the scent of perfume are common throughout the house. In the Spring and Fall parties are heard and seem to go on all night. Every Thanksgiving there is the sound of a string quartet.
Ghosts are seen on the grounds in broad daylight. Some of them are dressed in period clothes of the Civil War South some are in present day clothes. The ghosts look like regular people until they suddenly disappear! Like: A woman in a green turban who carries a lighted brass candle holder; a long earring dangles from her ear; she bends over beds... An investigator from the Star newspaper said, while she was in it, staying in the "Bridal Suite", her bed floated off the floor! A soldier dressed in Civil War Confederate gray silently guards the Myrtles...
Why are there so many ghosts at the Myrtles? Some think it's because the house was built over a Native American burial ground. Another theory is that so many emotional and passionate events happened there.
Other hauntings: The room known as the Bridal Suite was once the bedroom of Sarah and William Stirling. It is active most of the time, as are most of the rooms downstairs. Footsteps, laughter, music that comes out of no where and the scent of perfume are common throughout the house. In the Spring and Fall parties are heard and seem to go on all night. Every Thanksgiving there is the sound of a string quartet.
Ghosts are seen on the grounds in broad daylight. Some of them are dressed in period clothes of the Civil War South some are in present day clothes. The ghosts look like regular people until they suddenly disappear! Like: A woman in a green turban who carries a lighted brass candle holder; a long earring dangles from her ear; she bends over beds... An investigator from the Star newspaper said, while she was in it, staying in the "Bridal Suite", her bed floated off the floor! A soldier dressed in Civil War Confederate gray silently guards the Myrtles...
Why are there so many ghosts at the Myrtles? Some think it's because the house was built over a Native American burial ground. Another theory is that so many emotional and passionate events happened there.
The Myrtles, Francisville, Louisiana, - one of the most haunted houses in America, [Part 1]...
The Myrtles, an antibellum plantation of St. Francesville, Louisiana, is one of the most haunted houses in the United States. It's a magnificent southern mansion that is the site of a least 10 murders...
The apparitions : A servant goes from room to room, looking for children to tuck into their beds,--- a naked Native American girl sits by a pool, 2 little girls poisoned in 1824 romp in the gardens and stop occasionally to talk with a guest, an ancient overseer, murdered in the 1920s, warns and shoes people away from the grounds.
In a book published in 1882 it was suggested that a light should always remain burning in the Myrtles at night. And, to this day, that advice is followed !...
The Greek Revival plantation house sits gracefully among 91 century-old oaks. The ceilings are festooned with orate plaster work reminding people of a icing on a wedding cake. Cut glass drops as big as pigeon eggs hang from the immense chandeliers. There is hand-painted and hand-etched glass is the windows and french doors. Lacy ironwork bounds the 100-foot long galleries.
The history of the Myrtles is full of romance, mystery, violence and intrigue. General David Bradford, who led the Whiskey Rebellion in Pennsylvania, built the house in 1796. With a Spanish land grant he bought 500 prime acres for $1.40 an acre. His daughter Sarah Matilda inherited the mansion and married Judge Clarke Woodruff.
Sarah suspected that her husband was having an affair with a beautiful mulatto slave. Such affairs were common in the South at this time. The Judge would sneak the girl up the backstairs to one of the mansion's bedrooms.
The slave was afraid that she would one day be cast aside so she thought of a way to cement herself into the family's affections. She figured that she would nurse them back to health after a mild sickness. She cooked a bit of oleander blossoms in some food and served the dish to the family, thinking that they would have mild flu-like symptoms. Sarah and her 2 daughters died that night and the pathetic slave was hung the next morning.
The new owner of the Myrtles was Ruffin Gray Stirling, a Scot, who bought the plantation in 1834. He was a jovial, kind and bold man who fell off a steamboat one night and almost drowned, but he increased the acres to almost 5,000 and bought hundreds more slaves. Indigo and cotton were the main crops. Ruffin and his wife had 9 children, 8 boys and 1 girl, Sarah.
During the Civil War, which started in 1864, all but one of the Stirling boys were killed. The surviving son, Lewis, was shot in the dining room.
Their daughter Sarah led a sheltered and privileged life. She eventually met and married an attorney, William Winter. William and Sarah had 3 children and lived happily until William was unexpected gunned down in 1871 in the parlor of the house. He managed to stagger up the main stairs, 17 steps, to die in his wife's arms.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Re-told Tales: Finbheara, The Faerie King & Ethna, The Bride...
Finbheara [pronounced "Finvarra"] was the Tuatha de Dannan king of western Eire, who had a palace under Knock-ma hill in Connaugh. Although he had one of the most beautiful faerie women, Ooona, as his wife he still desired human females. And, so, he saw the bride Ethna, with her long, wavy blond hair and her skin like pink roses and knew he had to have her. So, he stole her and took her to his faerie rath.
Ethna's young human husband was not going to stand for this outrageous behavior and he mustered a troop of strong men to dig down into the hill of Knock-ma. They dug and dug and dug until darkness fell. Then, they put up their shovels and stopped for the night, intending to resume the next day. You can imagine their surprise and frustration, when the next morning they saw no evidence at all of their digging! Even the grass had grown over the spot at night! It was all as before...
So, the men began digging again, - and once again! The next days, there was no sign of the deep trench they had made to go down into the faerie mound, to Finbheara's palace. This all happened one more time. Ethna's human husband was very angry, when, suddenly, he heard above him a voice that said, - "Sprinkle salt over your digging and Finbheara will not be able to cover over it." Ethna's husband did this and saw that the dirt was not replaced the following morning. His men began to dig once more. This time deeper and deeper and deeper.
Then, they heard the voice say, - "Finbheara is sad because you have almost reached his palace. A few more shovelsful of dirt and it's walls will crumble. So, stop now and he will give you Ethna tomorrow morning."
The husband was overjoyed and ordered his men to stop digging. The next day, at dawn, the husband was very happy to see his wife Ethna approaching him, completely covered by a silver veil. The husband kissed her and took her home. But, she laid down on a couch, appearing like a dead person, a wax effigy of Ethna. The husband went back to the digging and asked for the "real Ethna". He was told that Finbheara had Ethna's spirit still with him in his palace, but that she would return to him entirely if the husband loosened and burnt her girdle, then scattered the ashes to the wind and buried the faerie pin holding it fast under a thorn bush. This he did, with great difficulty.
At the end of these tasks, Ethna became lively, her old self, and told her husband that she felt as if her time with Finbheara was like a dream of one night. Finbheara never bothered the couple again.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Friday, May 13, 2016
"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", - Part 5...
I ran as fast as I could. After all, our darling James had been
knifed! I raced up the front steps. The half-tamed fox, Granny's
familiar, Reynardine looked at me impassively from her place on one of
the wicker chairs. She yawned, showing a mouthful of wickedly sharp
teeth and stretching out her elegant black legs. I had no time to
scratch her head.
I dashed into the house, grabbed the phone. The girl on the 911 line said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes. I slid down the wall to the floor, my hand pressed to my chest, gasping. I'd seen the attacker's face, briefly. It WAS Jus Glaser. I was sure of it! Obviously, he'd been thinking to pick up a little extra cash from selling our things at Diddy's Pawn Shop in Royal Oaks, the louse! Sure, he was handsome as a new born colt, but so what? He was the ultimate bad boy, unpredictable and wilder than hell! My sister had been crazy to have him in our house! No doubt he'd given our place a quick scan, eyeballing what he wanted to steal when he knew we'd be in the back of our property celebrating Lughnassah.
Well, if there was a lineup identifying him I'd certainly try to be there. This time when he was convicted he wouldn't just be going to a correctional facility he'd be headed for the big house, hopefully. I could hear the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance. Out the door I dashed and down the steps. Granny was kneeling on the grass next to James. Matilda was standing, looking like she was going to faint. The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics jumped out. In a moment they had James on a stretcher and had lifted him. James eyes were closed. He was very pale and seemed unconscious. We got in the Tracker to follow the ambulance to the hospital.
I dashed into the house, grabbed the phone. The girl on the 911 line said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes. I slid down the wall to the floor, my hand pressed to my chest, gasping. I'd seen the attacker's face, briefly. It WAS Jus Glaser. I was sure of it! Obviously, he'd been thinking to pick up a little extra cash from selling our things at Diddy's Pawn Shop in Royal Oaks, the louse! Sure, he was handsome as a new born colt, but so what? He was the ultimate bad boy, unpredictable and wilder than hell! My sister had been crazy to have him in our house! No doubt he'd given our place a quick scan, eyeballing what he wanted to steal when he knew we'd be in the back of our property celebrating Lughnassah.
Well, if there was a lineup identifying him I'd certainly try to be there. This time when he was convicted he wouldn't just be going to a correctional facility he'd be headed for the big house, hopefully. I could hear the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance. Out the door I dashed and down the steps. Granny was kneeling on the grass next to James. Matilda was standing, looking like she was going to faint. The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics jumped out. In a moment they had James on a stretcher and had lifted him. James eyes were closed. He was very pale and seemed unconscious. We got in the Tracker to follow the ambulance to the hospital.
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