Totlandia: The Onesies, Book 1 (Fall) Page 13
Ally put out her hand. It was clasped by Jillian, then Jade, then finally, Lorna.
Now, Lorna had a reason to smile, too. “Shall we, ladies?”
—To Be Continued—
THE END
You’ve reached the end of episode 1 in the Totlandia: The Onesies series! You may also enjoy:
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Excerpt from Getting Dumped Part 1
IN MY FIRST hour driving the compactor, I crushed a doghouse, an old dishwasher, a half ton of rotten lettuce, a bag of doll parts, a table with a broken leg, and a box from Nordstrom that turned out to contain a thousand tubes of fuchsia lipstick
I was in heaven.
Climbing out of the cab for my lunch break, I grinned down at Burt and pocketed the keys.
“Whaddya think?” he asked.
“I love it!”
“You did good,” he said. “Nice job with that mattress.”
“The box springs were a little tricky.”
“You handled it like a pro. Didn’t even get the wires wrapped up around the bar.”
“Thanks! Should we go wash up for lunch?”
Burt frowned. “Wash up?”
The two of us began walking back to the office. I had gotten a tour of the facilities when I’d arrived at six a.m., but most of the office employees hadn’t arrived then and I was looking forward to meeting the rest of the team.Burt and I pushed through the doors and stood there for a moment, eyes closed, breathing in the clean, odorless air conditioning. A sexy rumble pulled me out of my trance.
“Welcome to the Department of Solid Waste. You must be the new heavy equipment operator.”
I opened my eyes and stared. Behind the front desk was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my twenty-seven years. Dark hair, bedroom eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and pecs you could pound nails with. I didn’t realize my jaw had actually dropped until Burt discreetly nudged it shut with one filthy knuckle. I swallowed hard and blinked a few times to clear my vision.
“JJ, meet Pete,” Burt said. “Pete, meet JJ. Pete is the secretary for the Department of Solid Waste.”
“Oh,” I said, offering my hand for the sex god to shake. I looked down, belatedly realizing I still wore my work gloves. And that the right one was streaked with something gooey.
“Mayonnaise,” I told him, peeling it off. “I crushed a whole crate of it. Got all over the door of the cab.”
“Excellent,” Pete said, flashing me a smile that would have caused a lesser woman to swoon.
Okay, I was a lesser woman. I gripped the edge of the counter and held on tightly, reminding myself I still had a boyfriend. Technically. Things had cooled considerably with Daniel since I’d decided to take the landfill job, and I wasn’t quite sure where we stood.
Pete regarded me through eyelashes that were thick and dark, fringing eyes the color of the Heineken bottle I’d just extracted from Shirley’s belly pan.
“Pete’s new here, too,” Burt offered. “Just started a few weeks ago.”
“Really?” I said, wondering at the reason a man who could easily make millions modeling boxer-briefs was sitting behind a plaque that said SECRETARY.
“Yup,” Pete said, smiling into my eyes. “Until you got here, I was the new kid in class. Maybe we can share a cubby and take turns on the monkey bars at recess.”
I felt my face grow warm and fought to swallow the butterflies crawling up my throat. “Did you get repositioned, too?”
“Repositioned?”
“In your job. Not sexually, I mean. Or like a cruise ship. Repositioned—” I shut my mouth, realizing it was best to stop while he thought me tactless rather than insane. Pete just grinned at me.
“No, I applied for the job a couple months ago, and I had to go through a pretty rigorous interview process to get it. Typing tests, personality assessments — the county’s human resources department is very diligent.”
“Sure,” I agreed, eyeing him with interest. Gay? Had to be. Or was that a photo of his girlfriend framed on the desk behind him? I craned my neck for a better look.
“Anyway, welcome aboard,” Pete said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“It’s a hot, brewed beverage made with beans. Very tasty.”
I felt my face flame again.
“She’d love coffee,” Burt said, clearly sensing a rescue was in order. “We’re just heading to the break room for lunch.”
Pete nodded. “Sugar?”
I swallowed. “What?”
“In your coffee. Do you want sugar?”
“Right. Yes. Please. Thank you. Amen.” I turned away and grabbed the nearest doorknob. Burt touched my shoulder.
“That’s a closet,” he murmured. “Break room’s over here.”
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Excerpt from King Solomon’s Wives - Hunted
Berhanu stood taller than his entourage and as big as the man in my memory. He had strong features, dark skin, and a full head of hair cut close to his scalp, a contrast to the disheveled, scruffy-haired man beside him, who I assumed was Ben Torrent. Two security guards walked in front of them, clearing a path, and one behind. Berhanu’s entourage still allowed students close enough to shake his hand. A few asked for autographs. Berhanu and Torrent were suns, orbited by their fans.
My mother confirmed this man looked like the Berhanu she knew. Her memories gave me a steady flow of confidence. This man was magnetic for me as he was for my mother. Light and heat emanated from him. I wished I were standing closer.
Ben Torrent didn’t look familiar at all. Movie-star stubble covered his chin, but his face wasn’t picture-perfect: a dark scar ran across his forehead and down his cheek. I would’ve remembered the scar if I’d ever seen him before.
The newspaper said Torrent and Berhanu were friends, but they didn’t seem chummy now. Torrent kept looking over, and Berhanu kept ignoring him.
The two men shook students’ hands as security herded them toward a limousine parked on St. Thomas Street. One of Berhanu’s people walked ahead and opened the car’s door. The lights came on, and the engines started. Pushing through a swarm of students wouldn’t be as easy as putting myself directly in Berhanu’s path, so I led Bahar toward the car. I positioned us five feet from where Berhanu would have to pass.
Torrent split from the group and headed for a car down the street, while Berhanu shook hands with a few more people and made his way closer to me.
I took a deep breath. Prepared. I flipped my hair over my shoulders. My palms sweat, but that was a good thing. When I shook Berhanu’s hand, I would linger. I would make him notice me, think about me, want me.
“Sumarra,” someone called. I turned. Mina was running toward us from the front plaza, wearing a brightly striped shirt and tight jeans. Her high heels clacked on the concrete. She almost knocked me over as she threw her arms around my neck. “Thank god. Thank god I found you.” Tears smeared her mascara and sweat dampened her clothes. Strands of curly hair had come loose from her ponytail and hung wild around her face.
I set her back. “Go home with Bahar.”
Berhanu was only fifteen feet away now, greeting students as he moved closer.
“Please don’t be angry,” Mina cried. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
&n
bsp; “It’s all right. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Bahar tried to guide Mina away, but she pulled free. “Listen to me.” Mina threw herself on me again, limp against my shoulders. Her breath smelled of rum. “I need your help and your forgiveness. Please, Sumarra.” When I didn’t hug her back, she slid to her knees and pressed her head into my stomach. Her shoulders heaved with her sobs.
Again Bahar tried to pull Mina from me, but she clutched my waist tightly. Now I was worried. “Mina, what’s going on?”
“He’s gone,” she said. “He’s gone, and I’m afraid.”
He? So, she’d definitely been dating again. “What have you done?”
Security motioned us out of the way, but Mina grabbed my arms and kept me still. Berhanu’s security stood between us and the car.
“Please forgive me,” Mina whimpered. “He was… I didn’t know.”
Berhanu walked right past me, intent on getting to his car. Still, he met my gaze. Maybe I only imagined it, but I thought I saw a hint of recognition, a slight narrowing of the eyes and an almost smile. But how could he know me? The line of Kings descended from Sheba was not cursed, had no special powers from the gods, and wouldn’t know a Wife on sight. They were merely people who carried the blood of a woman we loved and revered.
I tried to wriggle free so I could extend my hand to him, but Mina dug into my skin with her painted nails.
“He was a Hunter,” Mina said.
The word made me focus on her. “Who?”
“Jonah. Jonah Michaels, my boyfriend. And he took my phone,” she said. “He has numbers and Dilara’s address.” She swallowed. “He knows where they are.”
I looked back to Berhanu, who waved at someone before stepping into his car. A woman waited for him in the backseat. She wore a dark suit, dark glasses, and a scarf around her head, as if she were trying to hide her identity. Her features were still distinctive: a sad downturn of her mouth, a soft chin, a slender neck. Berhanu kissed her cheek as he sat by her, and the door closed.
Seeing the woman sent a spark of jealousy through me, but Mina drew my focus back: “Sumarra, Jonah was a Hunter.”
Now I was clutching her, too. “How do you know?”
“I didn’t know at first,” she cried. “He must have had his birthmark removed. He pretended to be addicted, then I figured out he wasn’t. He took my phone, and now he’s gone.”
Bahar finally succeeded in pulling Mina off me. She turned her and took her shoulders. “No, Mina! Tell me you didn’t.”
Mina sobbed too hard to respond.
“We have to warn them,” I said. I took out my phone and dialed Dilara’s number. Waited. “There’s no answer.”
“We’re too late!” Mina screamed.
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Acknowledgements
I have been blessed with numerous friends and family who cheer me on in my writing endeavors. My love and thanks to all of you:
Eddie Concha; Andrew, Linda and Ben Brown; Darien and Don Coleman; Andrée Belle and André de Santaana; Deb and Wendy Brown; Seth and Heather Brown; Sean and Jackie Brown; Vera and Ron Gott; Pam Gott; Kelly and Doug Gott; Melissa and Fred Zucker; Sharon Conn; Angela and Tom Johnson; Helen Drake; Bonnie and John Gray; Bettie, Sheryl and Richard Levy; Rita Abrams; Karin Tabke; Stephanie Bond; Allison O’Connor; Kate Perry; Jean and Berney Neufeld; Nancy and Craig Yarborough; Margaret and Ron Redmond; Tatjana and Gaylord Soli; Kristin Isaacson; Marnie Weber; Poppy Reiffin; Heather Atkinson; and Desiree Miller.
I also want to thank those who made this book and its sequels a reality:
My publisher, Coliloquy, is mind-bendingly awesome. I appreciate your unbridled enthusiasm, Lisa Rutherford, Waynn Lue, and Jennifer Lou; and for providing me with the great team of Courtney Koschel, Aimee Radmacher, and Mary McCaw;
I have the best literary agent in the business. Holly Root, I am always in awe of you;
When it comes to all things big and small screen, I owe a tremendous debt of thanks to Jon Cassir, who works ceaselessly on my behalf;
As much as I appreciate my editor, Megan McKeever, for her sharp pencil, her way of challenging me to make the most of my characters is why I love her.
Finally, my own totlandia was created by the three people I love most: Martin, Austin and Anna. Thank you, sweet family, for the memories that are the grist for my creative mill.
—Josie Brown
About Coliloquy
Coliloquy is a digital publisher of active fiction, specializing in reader engagement and serial storytelling. We leverage advances in technology to create groundbreaking new forms of electronic books. Our titles are available on Kindle, Fire, NOOK, and other Android-based devices. Coliloquy is based in Palo Alto, CA with offices in San Francisco, CA.
About the Author
Josie Brown is the author of five novels:
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook [2011, Signal Press]
The Baby Planner [2011, Simon & Schuster]
Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives [2010, Simon & Schuster]
Impossibly Tongue-Tied [2006, HarperCollins]
True Hollywood Lies [2005, HarperCollins; 2010 Diversion Books]
Her novel, Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives (Simon & Schuster), is being optioned by producer Jerry Bruckheimer as a dramatic television series.
Josie is also the author of three non-fiction books: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Finding Mr. Right [Alpha/Pearson]; Marriage Confidential: 102 Honest Answers to the Questions Every Husband Wants to Ask, and Every Wife Needs to Know [Signal Press]; and Last Night I Dreamt of Cosmopolitans: A Modern Girl's Dream Dictionary [St. Martin's Press]
As a journalist, Josie's celebrity interviews and relationships trends articles have been featured in the Los Angeles Times Syndicate International, Redbook and Complete Woman magazines, as well as AOL, Yahoo, AskMen.com, Divorce360.com, and SingleMindedWomen.com