#i was looking at Southern Belle images for. Reasons & i saw a couple of dresses

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

fuck it. Take This And Run

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

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[broadwaybydesign]

Don’t Demean the Arden Line! Costuming Christine Ebersole in “War Paint,” Part II

Welcome back! As promised, this review is going to take a look at some of the accessories designed by Catherine Zuber to complement her costuming of Christine Ebersole as Miss Elizabeth Arden in the musical War Paint. There are fewer production stills and images of the accessories for the Arden character than there were for the Madame Helena Rubinstein character, but that makes them no less interesting. I noted in my costume review that Arden herself tended to eschew accessories save for those which were very simple; an intense conservative when it came to the world of fashion (and politics, in fact, which is perhaps unsurprising), Miss Arden favored a simple strand of pearls in most of her public appearances, as the company itself notes:

Like Madame Rubinstein, Elizabeth Arden never really defined herself as a classical beauty according to Lindy Woodhead. But she did believe in beauty as an attainable goal, which is why she dedicated her life to cosmetics and her chain of beauty salons and spas. For her, a woman’s natural beauty should be allowed to show, and cosmetics were designed to heighten that image. The fact she leaned on a simple strand of pearls in most of her formal appearances is in keeping with that point of view. Ms Zuber clearly took her cue from the real Elizabeth Arden in designing the jewelry and accessories worn by Ms Ebersole during the performance. Let’s take a look!

I promised in the last review that I would talk about the marquisette necklace when I got to the accessories post, and here we are. It is a relatively plain and simple piece of jewelry, in an aged or antiqued silver, with a geometric design that is positively emblematic of 1920s jewelry. While the piece itself appears to be quite heavy, it is the only piece of jewelry which accompanies this costume, and as a result, it is not over the top or drowned out by the dress or other ornamentation. With a cowled dress, the necklace makes some sense in that it is almost a choker, hugging close to the neck of the wearer. I also like that this piece in particular matches up with the clasp of the belt on this same outfit; it reminds me of the way that Ms Zuber matched Ms Lupone’s brooch and hat badge in the purple outfit from a couple reviews previously. This is also the kind of piece that would have been “obtainable” for a woman of some means; it does not appear to be a custom piece (though it surely was as a piece of costume jewelry for War Paint) and might have been available in a jewelry showroom. It’s a classic piece and it really works as an accessory for Ms Ebersole during the “Behind the Red Door” number.

One of the showstopping numbers of War Paint is the Act I finale, “Face to Face.” Here, Ms Ebersole is once again costumed in a bright shade of pink, this time with a bit of ornamentation on the sleeves: 

But it is the accessories--especially in contrast to Ms Lupone’s accessories--that interest me most for this post. Recall earlier when I said that the real Elizabeth Arden was partial to simple jewelry like a strand of pearls. Here, rather than using pearls, Ms Zuber has decided to go with a sleek silver beaded necklace and matching earrings. Based on images of Elizabeth Arden available to the public, I can’t help but think this was a smart choice. The necklace is understated, offering just the slightest bit of shine to a matte dress, and acting as a great contrast to the several inches of beaded necklaces that adorn Ms Ebersole’s costar. The earrings are simple silver items designed to once again add a little bit of sparkle without being overwhelming or overpowering. Looking at the real Elizabeth Arden, it seems to be a smart choice by Ms Zuber:

As a sidenote: if that dress looks familiar and you think you saw shades of it at the Tony Awards, you’re right--Christine Ebersole’s Tony dress was in fact inspired by Miss Arden’s Southern belle look from the 1950s.

Once again, the real inspiration for the character of Miss Arden eschews ornamentation in favor of simple, classical pearls. It seems likely that she would have approved of her musical stand-in being adorned with simple silver beads. They’re elegant, with a hint of sophistication, but without being a distraction from the woman herself or the overall outfit.

There is a trope in popular culture, the grande dame, of a sophisticated older woman who goes out of her way to appear genteel and carries herself with a kind of sense of noblesse oblige. Based on Lindy Woodhead’s book, it is safe to say that the real Elizabeth Arden was an embodiment of that trope, and her fashion choices--especially in jewelry and accessories--help to prove that point. Remember the Pink Dress from the previous review? Much like the other costumes, it is only lightly accessorized:

Once again, we have a side-to-side comparison of Ms Ebersole’s costume and jewelry with Ms Lupone’s. Whereas Ms Lupone is wearing the truly massive set of necklaces discussed in the second Rubinstein review, Ms Ebersole has a simple gold necklace with a jeweled pendant. It’s elegant and understated, but it draws a stark contract to her costar. One could draw two different conclusions from the comparison. The first is that the character of Miss Arden is more confident than her rival, and thus does not feel the need to be showy; she’s secure in her appearance and knows she doesn’t need to distract the gaze of those around her. But the second conclusion to be drawn here is perhaps more compelling: the stark nature of her accessories betrays a vulnerability in the presence of her rival. Despite being taller than her rival, it feels almost like she is relegated to her shadow by the relative simplicity of her costume and her accessories. Yet again, I have to think this was a conscious, intentional choice on the part of Ms Zuber, and it is one that I really admire.

There’s one more accessory I want to cover in this review, because it’s one of the few places where I actually think the designs for the Elizabeth Arden character actually are superior to the designs for Madame Rubinstein. This still is taken from the Chicago tryouts of War Paint, and it’s one that I absolutely adore for a couple reasons:

Once again, we see a reliance on a relatively simple design, both for the costume (a blouse with a geometric design) and the jewelry (a triple strand of pearls). But what truly makes the outfit pop is the hat, which is quite different from many of the other pieces in this musical production. Rather than covering the whole of Ms Ebersole’s head, this piece is designed to adorn her, acting as a kind of showpiece and making a statement. I believe that this still is drawn from the final solo Miss Arden has in the performance, as she reflects on her life and her company as she contemplates retirement. In this most vulnerable moment...she’s wearing the most ostentatious piece of millinery in the show, and the most showy accessory that ever adorns her. It’s a simple plate-like base, coupled with netting and luxurious folds of white and purple striped silk. There is just something...fascinating and eye-catching about it. Christine Ebersole is already a rather tall woman, especially in comparison to other female members of the cast, and this hat adds another good six to eight inches to her height. But I think that’s intentional--in this moment, the character is undoubtedly feeling small and somewhat insignificant, and the accessory plays into that. She’s compensating for her insecurity with something that makes her just a little bit larger than life.

That’s the theme that I detect throughout the accessory choices for Miss Arden. The choices that Catherine Zuber made for Ms Lupone’s character show a kind of confidence in their eccentricity; yes, Helena Rubinstein is a bit odd, but she’s also in total command of herself and does not give a flying fig what other people think about her appearance. She dresses and accessorizes for herself. But the character of Miss Arden makes very safe, very conservative fashion choices, and those are reflected in Ms Zuber’s designs. Conservative costuming helps, in this case and in contrast, to show that this is a character who really is struggling with vulnerability and insecurity. As Woodhead notes, despite being more notionally acceptable to New York society as an English-speaking Protestant, Elizabeth Arden still struggled to break into “high society,” and it was something that psychologically marked her for most of her career. She could look like one of “them” and talk like one of “them” but in their eyes, she couldn’t really be one of “them.” And in the end, that maybe makes her the more vulnerable character--even if it makes her a little less visually appealing in comparison to Madame Rubinstein.

I hope that you all have enjoyed my series on War Paint. This is a musical that I think is interesting on a number of different levels, and I really encourage you all to see it in New York if you have the chance, and if not, to at least give the cast album a listen. I do not think you will be disappointed!

Stay tuned to @broadwaybydesign later on this week as I look at something completely different: a foreign production that had a brief Broadway run but which has continued to play to packed crowds across Europe. How’s that for a teaser?

[valeriocommentary-blog]

Scandal: the second viewing

This past break I have over indulged on Scandal; this is my second viewing and I was able to see all of the critical parts of this show that I enjoyed the first time. Race: Olivia Pope is the only Black woman for miles in all of Washington D.C. working for the Fitzgerald Grant organization and working in the area in general. I believe that Shonda Rhimes (producer and director) did that on purpose, because in the Black work force it is more than likely that you are the only one in that field (and sadly to say it's to fulfill that quota or fake diversity image). There are a lot of micro-aggressions that I saw this time around, first is Olivia and President Grant's forbidden affair. It is sexual and lustful, no matter how much they express their love for each other. That thread of sex is the only thing that follows them throughout the first two seasons, even in their mutual rage. Whenever they're angry or upset, that's what they lean on-- their sexual attraction. The next point was a refreshing view of a Black woman, at points Olivia is the very strong and angry Black woman but immediately after, she softens up-- she looks afraid and sad. She has CRIED. She has emotions, and it is refreshing to see a real person on screen, not a robot. It is refreshing because like everyone else, one can be strong when they have to be but (at least personally) I would hate to live my life without sadness, without fear, without any signs of weakness. There was one instance of the way White clients treat Olivia that was so subtle that most would miss it. Olivia has a white woman colleague and they both showed up to a client's home (who did not know who Olivia was) and the client immediately took out her hand to shake the colleague's hand and said "you must be Olivia." She had not glanced at Olivia before then. Without missing a beat, the colleague corrected her and the scene continued. This very subtle display of racism (assuming the white woman is in charge) is the overlook that all Black-business owners face when working with white counterparts. White trusts White, and that's just a fact because Black trust Black and Spanish-speaking trust Spanish-speaking etc. This was intentional to point out the anomaly of Black women being successful in the political industry. Gender: In this show there are powerful women everywhere, although even then they don't outnumber the men. The First Lady Mellie Grant, Olivia herself, Olivia's two colleagues: Quinn Perkins and Abby Whelan, and Vice President Sally Langston. All women who radiate power, self-assurance and have to dominate in a male dominated profession. One thing all of these women have in common (besides being bad-ass): the raspy voice. All of these women learn to lower their voices by several octaves to mimic a man's raspy voice. They do this when angry or when commanding attention and the room silences. My favorite woman to watch display this is Mellie Grant (played by Bellamy Young) she constantly switches from a sweet almost southern belle tone to a strong, raspy-voiced force to be reckoned with. The speed these women talk is also a phenomenal part of how they communicate. They talk fast-- the whole cast does-- but in order to be recognized in a predominantly male field, it seems they have developed a way to be heard and to keep them listening. Talk low and talk fast. The women all dress feminine, still radiating the strength and power even in a skirt. Color: the most predominant display of color is that OLIVIA POPE ALWAYS SEEMS TO WEAR WHITE. Now, this could be due to a couple of reasons: 1. She would be considered "white-washed" in the Black community. Her wearing white reminds the viewer that she isn't accepted in either community, never fully the Black one and never fully the white one. 2. She keeps this self-view of wearing the "white hat" which she equates to always doing the "right" thing. So her wearing white represents truth and purity. In conclusion, Scandal is an amazing show and everyone should watch it carefully to notice a lot of more social topics that it discusses in its elegant manner.

[notesfromthepen]

ALASKA

ALASKA

Running away never really works. But that rarely stopped me from trying.

Sometime in early 2001, me & 2 of my friends packed our bags & headed for Alaska.

The plan was to have our flight paid for by Princess Cruises, who had a mini resort in Denali Alaska. There we would stay in the employee lodging & work off our air fare and make some money while experiencing the last frontier on our days off. That was the plan at least…

Some of us made it farther along with the “plan” than others. In typical facing my plan was derailed inside my 1st week in the great white north. 

For the most part the flight was long & boring, until we reached the Alaskan mountain ranges. Upon our decent the landscape reveled itself.  Jagged, chipped, white teeth from some long forgotten beaches reached up through the clouds towards the plane. Rows & rows of teeth…for as far as the eye could see. This was not man’s territory. It soon became obvious. Nature would not provide any helping hands here. 

The unrelenting snow capped peaks seems to never end. I imagined the plane going down somewhere in the ominous terrain. Those instantly killed would be counted among the lucky. I could think of no plan, no scenario that wouldn’t end horrifically. In all that vastness I got one step closer to grasping the idea of infinity. 

Eventually we landed in Anchorage. The closest thing to civilization that Alaska had to offer. And we made the 3 1/2 hour drive into Healy Alaska.  We arrived at an old Colonial style house that had been renovated & aded on to until it looked like a somewhat suitable bed & breakfast. 

The three of us, me, Ben, and PJ, grabbed our bags & hustled into our new abode through a tucked away side door. Our path wound it’s way through the guts of the old building before spitting us out into the slash area of the house,. It was a living room / reception center / common area. 

If houses have souls then this particular one was somewhere between Edgar Alan Poe & Ted Nugent. The fixtures & ornaments were worn brass. The carpet was a deep, rich red. Which over traffic and time had added a tint not unlike the center of a red velvet cake…

Everything structural was wood. Wood covered with 30 plus years of lacquer, layer upon layer, like the rings the trees that they now covered. The walls, the doors, the staircase that divided the slash room, were all the deep dark brown of aged wood. We were directed up the staircase, to the right, 1st door on the right. The door swung open revealing 2 sets of bunk beds, a dresser, and a battle worn boom box. We claimed our beds and slung our bags onto our new plots.

The home was owned & operated by Princess Cruises Lines as a staging area for new employees from the lower 48. It was a temporary stop while went through the employee paperwork and orientation. Temporary digs…

Afterwards we’d be moved in to the employee village. But from the sound of it we still had about a week before any of that started.  A week to meet our new co-habitants, to drink, to smoke and to indulge. 

One of my favorite things about traveling is the blind casting of a path. Nothing more than an a general direction, into the ether, to discovering, converging, diverging, and crisscrossing paths of others along the way.

By sheer definition I guess fate cannot be avoided, but maybe it can be dared….

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at our door. The floor outside creaked with the weight of several people. PJ opened the door…3 of our house mates & down to be co-workers stood at the threshold. 2 girls & a guy. All seemed to be around our age…early twenties.  A blonde, Noel and a brunette, Beth…and in tow her boyfriend Abe, also with brown hair. The ladies were clearly running this welcoming party. Abe seemed to be more of an indifferent…a bystander at best. 

Noel spoke up first, claiming her position as the leader of this trio. She held up 2 bottles of wine. One of the bottles a midnight blue glass, so dark you could not tell if it was empt or full. “Someone left these as tips in one of the rooms that we cleaned today. Wanna drink?”

Absolutely! Come on in I replied. 

We passed the bottles around and got to know each other in the, no frills kind of way…like common fellow travelers. 

Noel & Beth were sisters. Noel 22 and Beth 19…and Abe, her fiancé, was 22. The trio hailed from Portland, Oregon. And like us Floridians, were Alaskan virgins. 

They were what I expected people from Portland to look like. Casually, and a bit ironically (I suppose), dressed in thrift store hip. A mild mixture of grunge and punk. 

All three were pleasantly strange and great for conversation. But Noel was really the stand out to me. She by no means was ever a head turner. A few lbs over weight, a nose on the slightly large side, and dressed somewhat frumpy. But through Noel I first discovered my attraction to quirky, witty, intelligent and funny women. 

None of this was understood by me at that time. I just knew that I liked sitting next to her. We traded self indulgent, witty & cynical remarks about who or what ever subject was currently making the rounds with the dwindling bottle of wine. 

While the others were in conversation, Noel leaned closer to me & whispered “you smoke?”  I nodded. She grabbed her bag and said come on. “We’ll be right back” she addressed to everyone in the room. Nothing more than an eye roll from her sister. We left. We snaked our way back through the path we entered. 

We sat down under a group of trees about 50 yards from the old house. She picked up a little glass bowl from under the pines. We smoked, we talked a little bit, but mostly we just took in this experience through our slightly altered filters. 

There’s an excitement, at the start of a journey, only truly known to those of us on the move. 

My senses were tingling with anticipation…not to mention some decent wine (not that I’ve even known the difference). 

While we sat there I saw a white fan, like the one that delivery vans use, pull up next to the house. Two people got out, then the van pulled away. 

Noel waved her arms, successful grabbing the attention of one of the distant figures. 

That’s Martie…she’s my roommate. Martin was the daughter of a preacher. A curvy, dark haired Southern Belle, complete with a southern drawl.

She joined us on the cold grass under the trees….Introductions were made and small talk ensued. Me & Noel continued to pass the pipe back and forth. Martin waved it away when I tried to pass it to her. 

“No, I’m alright” she said. There was the subtlest tone of insecurity in her refusal. She seemed self conscious of the idea of appearing indecent. Maybe she thought it too cliche…from a preachers daughter…maybe I was just projecting some of this on to her, or maybe it was the weed. 

Sitting there in silence, Martie unzipped her bag….revealing a 1/5 bottle of absolute vodka. “Look what I got!”…”interested?”

Never one to turn down road hospitality, both Noel and I in unison said “absolutely!”. 

Both of us simultaneously pleased with ourselves & disgusted at the other for the shitty pun…

The way back inside seemed to me, much more difficult to traverse than the time before. Luckily we had a sober Martie to guide us.

We returned to my room and the festivities were several decibels louder than when we left. Again, maybe it was the weed. 

Roughly an hour ago we were a room full of strangers, but alcohol and possibilities had transformed the mood to resemble revelry amongst life long friends…there even seemed to be inside jokes that had been established while we were away…how long had we been gone? 

Me and Noel returned with the self conciseness of being the only two stoned people in the room…

We sat on my bunk and commented on the happenings of our friends. The image of scrooge and the ghost of Xmas present, looking in through a window crossed though my mind. We addressed our awkwardness and took it’s power away, well some of it at least. We created our own inside jokes & laughed at ourselves and others…

Noel’s sister intermittently shooting not so subtle disapproving glances in her siblings direction. Our direction. The festivities continued through the night and into the next morning. One by one our new friends disappeared. 

Time has a way of getting away from you in Alaska. With not much separating night from day…it’s easy to count a 48 hour binge as a single day. A side affect, or benefit, depends on who you’re talking to, of a never setting sun.

We were in the Great White North and ready for sleep…we hung the blankets from the unused bunk over the window, to create some semblance of night. 

I hit my bunk and drifted to sleep with a slight grin. 

The next several days passed in similar manner. I grew comfortable with Noel & preferred her company most of all. We got close fast in the way that new friends do.

Our paperwork, orientation, & job assignments were complete. 

Me, Ben & PJ were in the laundry room washing endless amounts of towels, and bedding for the cabins. Noel, Beth & Abe stayed on as ‘maids’ cleaning out the rooms & preparing them for the next occupants. 

We moved in to the employee village. I kept Ben & PJ as bunnies. Noel & Martie stayed together. Beth & Abe got their own room.

The whole employee village was more than 6 acres. The cabins were not much more than 2 bunk beds and a table. Each unit connected to the next. Five on the ground level, and five on top. Making a single standing unit. Ten of these made up the entire employee housing. 

During the 1st few days I saw less of Noel. Work being the only reason…we would still make time to hang out after work though. Usually at Beth & Abe’s room. They had a 2 bed couples room. 

[anavoliselenu]

Monday Chapter 1

Getting married every single year was becoming a pain in the ass. Especially for the maid of honor.

“I really didn’t think he was serious about a yearly wedding.” Selena Havens fiddled with the edges of the yellow chiffon bridesmaid dress, which had entirely too many yards of material. The damn thing belonged on a slow talking southern belle, complete with parasol and white ribbons, not on her as she stood up for her best friend…again.

“It’s romantic,” Gwen offered.

“It’s stupid.”

Samantha and Blake were going on two years of marriage and already had little Eddie. At first when Blake announced he was going to marry Sam every year on their anniversary in a different state, Selena had thought it was sweet. Now after a full week of non-stop wedding planning, she and Gwen, Blake’s sister, were sweating it out in San Antonio planning their big Texas-themed wedding. Except Gwen was English and entirely misguided about Texas. Where there should be cowboy hats and western flavor attire, everything had turned south. Deep south. More like a scene from Gone With the Wind than Dallas.

“Don’t fret, Selena. They won’t all be this grand.” It took some time to get used to Gwen’s British accent, but Selena was used to it now.

“I’m not fretting. I’m pissing and moaning. Get it right! Do you have any idea how hot these dresses are going to be outside in the smoldering heat?”

Gwen displayed perfect teeth as she smiled. She pivoted in a circle, reached into a large bag from the bridal knick-knack store they’d found the day before, and removed two white and gold folding lace fans. “I thought of that.”

Well, at least it isn’t a parasol.

Gwen handed her the fan and turned to the bag again. Out came two perfectly matched frilly umbrellas.

“Ugh! I spoke to soon.”

“Excuse me?”

Selena refrained from rolling her eyes as she reached for the parasol.

Why did it have to be yellow? Nobody wore yellow!

“You don’t like them.” Gwen’s arms dropped and her excited expression fell.

I hate ’em. “They’re very…country.” In a southern plantation kind of way. But Selena couldn’t say that to Gwen. Pampered, rich, and completely naive, Gwen meant well. She executed poorly, but did it with a golden heart.

“Isn’t that what we’re going for, country?”

Selena opened the sunny umbrella and forced a smile to her lips. “This does say country.”

“Splendid. I think we have all we need then.” Oblivious to Selena’s unease, Gwen continued removing small trinkets from her bag, perfectly matching earrings, necklaces, and yes, even ribbons for their hair. Selena started to think she’d look like a buttercup on top of the cake by the time Gwen finished. “Oh, look at the time. We need to run,” Gwen said.

“I thought we were done.”

“We need to make another pass at the ranch and assure Neil that security won’t be a problem.” Neil, Sam and Blake’s personal bodyguard, was built like a brick house, completely immovable if he wanted to stay in place. He smiled so seldom Selena hadn’t known he had teeth until after she’d known him for six months.

“Can’t Neil check it out himself?” She was hoping for a cocktail in the hotel bar, followed by a hot bath in the penthouse suite. While in Texas, she was working on finding new clients for Alliance. Men and women. Samantha founded the elite matchmaking firm and brought Selena on as full partner after she married Blake. In the past two years, Selena had recruited over a dozen women and matched three couples. Unlike other matchmaking companies, Alliance matched couples based on their life goals, not for love or a happily ever after. There were men out there who wanted a wife as a status symbol, or needed a temporary partner to obtain a job or promotion. In Samantha’s case, she and Blake married because of a mandate in Blake’s father’s will. As it turned out, the two fell recklessly in love with each other and had Eddie before their first anniversary.

Selena was always on the lookout for new clients. What better place than Texas, where the men were often rich, and the women were perfectly polished and sometimes available.

“You know how difficult Neil can be. I’ll need to convince him the paparazzi won’t make it past the gates.”

The taste of that cocktail was drifting farther away. Selena reached into her purse and grasped a clip before piling her shoulder-length, hair high on her head. The humidity had flattened it to nothing on their earlier excursion. No use pretending her hair would cooperate after more assaulting heat.

“Okay, let’s go. But I’m driving.”

Gwen was used to having a hotel driver taking her wherever she wanted to go. She said she didn’t like to drive in the States because of the cars being on the opposite side of the road. Selena didn’t care for the dependence on another driver to get her around so she’d opted to rent a car.

Thirty minutes later, they were driving down a Texas highway in a compact rental car. The air conditioner running at full speed hardly made a dent in the oppressive heat. Selena clutched her fist and hit the top of the dashboard. “I don’t think the air is working right.”

Gwen sat quietly in her seat, using the folding fan she’d bought for the wedding. “It’s not far. We’ll survive.”

Yeah, but the heat was weighing on Selena’s nerves, not to mention her shirt was sticking to the back of the seat. Considering Gwen was from Europe, Selena was surprised she wasn’t full of complaints.

In fact, Gwen hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d left the hotel.

Hmmm, she’d have to analyze that.

There was a guard gate on the property. When they approached, and Selena gave them their names, the attendant waved them through. “Mrs. Hawthorn is waiting for y’all,” the cowboy said while tipping his hat.

“I love the Texan accent, don’t you?” Gwen asked.

“It grows on you after a while.”

“I think it’s charming. Everyone seems so polite.”

Selena drove the car down the long tree-lined drive to the front of the sprawling ranch house. “Americans think everyone with a British accent is intelligent. We both know that isn’t true. One night in a honky-tonk and you’d learn that not all cowboys are polite.” For some reason Selena felt it was her duty to keep an eye on Gwen, much like an older, more experienced sister would.

“I’m not as naive as you think I am,” Gwen chided.

“Hmmm.” Ya, right.

“I’m not.”

Selena glanced over and met Gwen’s scowl. Her porcelain features and perfect makeup, along with the accent, added to the innocent poster child image.

“I may have gone to boarding school, and lived most my life at Albany behind locked gates, but I’ve done some traveling on my own.”

“Let me guess, with a bodyguard the size of Neil hanging around?”

“Hans isn’t nearly as big as Neil.”

Selena rolled her eyes. “Hans? His name is Hans?”

“He’s from Sweden. His specialty is in martial arts.”

Selena would have laughed if Gwen wasn’t so serious. “So where is Hans now?”

“At home. I didn’t think he needed to accompany me here. I knew I’d be with you and could call on Samantha or Blake anytime. Besides, you don’t seem to need anyone holding your hand to keep you safe.”

That’s because I know how to take care of myself. “You’re not me.”

“No, but I’m capable of staying out of trouble without a bodyguard.”

Unaccredited confidence could lead to trouble. “You know I’m leaving the day after the wedding.”

“I know.”

Selena put the car in park and kept it running to keep what cool air they could blowing on them as they talked. “When are you flying home?”

“I haven’t decided. Mother wants me to fly home with her, but I think I might stay here for a while longer.”

“I think you’d be better off going home with your mom.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“I think you did.”

Gwen’s defenses were up. Selena placed a hand over the other woman’s. “How old are you, twenty-five?”

Gwen’s jaw dropped. “I’m thirty-one.”

Too old to be walking around with a babysitter. “I tell you what. Tonight we’ll put on a pair of jeans, find a couple of hats, and look for that honky-tonk. Maybe I can give you a few tips so you can stay out of trouble.” Not exactly the environment to recruit new customers, but leaving Gwen to her own defenses was kinda like leaving a kitten with a dozen pit bulls.

“What if I want to find some trouble?”

“Then it’s best you have someone to keep you from getting hurt. Hence, you’ll need someone like Hans.”

“Fine, no trouble. I’d like to keep myself safe, have some fun, and leave un-accosted.”

“Fine.”

Gwen smiled and pushed the door open.

The sweltering heat sucked the energy from every pore of Selena’s body. Maybe a cool bar and a beer would help knock her out of her current funk.

Selena hiked her purse over her shoulder and rounded the front of the car.

“Oh, Justin, how nice of you to come.” Gwen’s voice pierced the air with her greeting.

Selena skidded to a stop. Justin?

Gwen reached the steps to the ranch house and greeted Justin in the classic European style, kissing both of his cheeks. Dressed in casual slacks and a cotton button up shirt, Justin Billings tossed on his easy smile. As usual he said exactly the right things, at exactly the right times. “Don’t you look lovely. You’d never know it’s a thousand degrees out here.”

Selena’s heart pounded in her chest. Here stood the real reason for her unease. Justin Billings was everything she’d ever wanted in a man, but completely out of her reach. Something inside her ignited every time she saw him. Sadly, that response usually ended up in a snarky remark or defensive battle. He walked with more confidence than a tomcat in a dark ally in Brooklyn, charmed everyone he met with only a smile, and oozed sex appeal like syrup dripping off a double stack of pancakes.

Justin ran his hand through his sandy blond hair and caught her gaze when Gwen walked past him and into the house. Selena watched his chest rise and fall with one deep breath before he started down the stairs to greet her.

“Hello, Selena.”

“Hey, Justin. What are you doing here?” Damn, that sounded snotty. The heat was frying her brain.

“I take it you’re not happy to see me.”

“Didn’t say that. Wasn’t expecting you is all.” Is all? The locals were sliding into her speech.

He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers under his arms. “Gwen asked Neil to come, Blake asked me to give a report on Gwen.”

Selena glanced over Justin’s shoulder to the empty doorway. “Why doesn’t Blake ask Neil about her?”

“Neil doesn’t offer gossip, only facts. Blake would be more frustrated with a, ‘she’s fine’ response.” Justin dipped his voice to mimic Neil’s. Selena couldn’t help but smile.

“She is fine.” How did one woman instill such a need for these men to coddle her?

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Selena shoved a lock of hair that managed to fall out of her loose bun from her eyes. Justin watched the movement, his eyes wandering to the tip of her head. “Let the judge, judge then.”

“I’m not a judge any longer.”

“No, you’re a politician.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Politicians are hated almost as much as lawyers.” Which Justin was. Or had been anyway. At thirty-seven he’d climbed more ladders and overturned more goals than a man twice his age. His sights were now on Sacramento and, according to the polls, his chances were good.

“Ouch.”

“I call ’em as I see ’em.”

He stood aside, his smile never falling from his full lips. “Well why don’t you call ’em inside. It’s hard to judge my ward out here in the heat.”

“She’s not your ward,” Selena informed him as she walked by. Even in the heat, she managed to catch of scent of the musk rolling off his frame. She shivered, ignoring the pleasure his scent brought over her.

“She’s not yours either, but I didn’t see her driving up here alone.”

“Don’t you have laws to pass or something?”

He chuckled as she passed him on the stairs. “I’m not the governor, yet.”

“I’d think babysitting a grown woman was off your list of judicial duties.” The cool interior of the house was welcome relief from the heat.

“Maybe my political ones, but not my friendship ones. You’d do the same for Sam and don’t even try and deny it.”

He had her there. Not that she’d let him know her thoughts. “Whatever.”

****

Justin followed the lucky bead of perspiration that travel down Selena’s neck and disappeared down the ‘v’ of her shirt. He shifted on his feet as he thought of where that tiny bit of moisture might have traveled. At five seven, Selena’s sun kissed skin and sultry, brown eyes had a way of drawing him in.

As if sensing his attention, Selena tilted her head to the side. Her movement forced his eyes from her br**sts to her face. He didn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed about being caught checking her out. He should be, he knew. But he wasn’t. Justin lowered his eyes to their hostess who stood beside Gwen and Neil and pretended to listen.

Thirty minutes later, they stood on a vast lawn surrounded by split rail fences a few hundred yards away. The smell of horses and heat filled the air.

“We own over five-hundred acres,” Mrs. Hawthorn was explaining.

“How do you keep out unwanted guests?” Neil asked.

“I’ll have extra ranch hands available to head off any wandering spectators. They’ll have to walk a long way to reach us here. And if they drive a car, we’ll see them long before they have a chance to sneak in.”

Mrs. Hawthorn strolled over to the large outdoor entertainment area, complete with fire pits and permanent tables. Bales of straw outlined the area adding to the charming Texas setting.

Selena walked away from Mrs. Hawthorn toward one of the ranch’s employees. The cowboy wore tight blue jeans, boots, and a Stetson. The man smiled and tipped his hat when she strolled up. Justin walked a couple of steps her way but couldn’t hear what she was saying. The young cowboy glanced over to Gwen and made a couple of hand gestures. Selena seemed to thank the man and turned back to their tour.

Gwen directed her attention to Selena. “Why don’t you go on and show Justin the inside layout while I speak with the man in charge of security.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice. It’s hotter than sin out here.” Selena pivoted on her heel and bee-lined for the house. “Coming?”

Justin picked up his pace to meet her at the door, holding it open while she walked inside.

“Mrs. Hawthorn has offered half a dozen rooms for our use the night of the wedding. For guests who might have too much to drink, or for those who come at the last minute without accommodations.” Selena walked past a back staircase and pointed. “There’s a balcony overlooking the venue—one where Blake can post extra security who might be able to spot something in the distance, or an uninvited guest.”

Justin followed behind, watching the sway of her butt as she rounded the corner and walked down the long hall.

“You guys can stage in here while you’re waiting on Sam.”

She kept walking and talking. Justin barely heard a word. Much like most of the times he’d been in Selena’s presence, she numbed his brain to nothing, making it difficult to think. He’d always felt a sizzle when she walked in the room. If he had to guess, he’d say she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Yet neither of them ever acted on it.

Well…almost never.

Christmas the year before while celebrating with Blake and Samantha and about fifty friends, there was their almost kiss under the mistletoe. They’d both been drinking, barely skimming the surface of sarcasm with each other the whole night. Selena had worn a skintight red dress that was slit half way up her thigh. She’d pulled back her dark hair allowing only small bits of it to swing along her slender neck. Every time she’d passed him that night, her perfume caught hold of him. It was like she’d gripped his neck and squeezed. Sucked in by her light, he’d noticed when she peeled away from the crowd and followed her.

She’d turned unexpectedly, colliding into him. They stood there for a moment, appraising each other. Selena broke eye contact and glanced at the ceiling. She’d mumbled something under her breath and he’d looked up. God bless mistletoe. He placed a hand on the side of her face and fanned his fingers to the back of her neck. He remembered the need to kiss her slowly.

So much for that plan.

Just as he leaned in to taste, one of the party guests called his name from across the room. Selena jumped back and out of his arms.

Neither of them ever spoke of it. In fact, they went on as if it had never happened.

He supposed it was because both of them were such good friends with Sam and Blake that neither of them wanted to screw that up.

Justin went on to date, or at least be seen with other women, and Selena did whatever she did for the company she and Samantha ran.

“So what do you think?” Selena was talking to him, but he didn’t have a clue about what.

“Excuse me?”

“The house?”

“What?”

You’ve not heard a word I’ve said.”

“No, no you told me about the room we’ll be in, about the balcony.”

She perched her hands on her hips and offered a haughty look. “I went over that fifteen minutes ago. I don’t know why I bother,” she said turning away.

“I’m distracted,” he admitted. “Lot of things on my mind.”

“I have better things to do with my day, too. Tell you what, why don’t you just tell Neil you approve, and we’ll be on our way.”

Justin smirked. “Trying to get rid of me?”

Her eyes shot to his faster than lightning strikes a stormy sky. “Wanting you gone would imply I care that you’re here.”

She was trying hard to keep a disinterested look on her face, but she started to nibble on her fingernail and broke eye contact. You care. You might not want to, but you do.

“Ouch.”

She glanced at her fingernails and fisted her palms. “Oh, forget it. Let’s get out of here before I melt.”

“Sounds good.” Because standing here fantasizing about her wasn’t doing anyone any good. Besides, last time Justin checked, he had a date for this wedding and it wasn’t with the woman in front of him.

Selena strolled off and followed way behind. He really should be thinking about the Texas millionaires attending this “renewal of vows” ceremony and not about the maid of honor.

“I’ve thought of everything, Neil. You can tell my brother he’s perfectly safe and the only media pictures being taken will be from the one reporter he’s invited to attend.” Gwen waved Justin’s way. “Be a love and appease him, will you?”

Justin eyed Neil and shrugged.

“Thank you again for your time, Mrs. Hawthorn. We’ll see you in a few days.”

Mrs. Hawthorn allowed Gwen to kiss both her cheeks and waved as the two other women climbed into the car. “Have fun, girls.”

Justin stood beside Neil and Mrs. Hawthorn while Selena and Gwen drove away.

Selena didn’t even glance in her rearview mirror as she drove away.

“They were in a hurry to leave,” Neil announced.

“I noticed that, too.”

Mrs. Hawthorn placed a hand on one hip. “Wedding planning isn’t easy. They’ve been working hard. It’s a good thing they can get away for a night of fun before the festivities.”

“Night of fun?” Neil asked.

Justin followed the dust down the road.

“According to Billy, Selena asked about a local watering hole where the two of them could kick back and relax for a few hours. Dance a little and blow off some steam.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Watering hole?”

“I can’t see Miss Gwen in a Texas bar,” Neil exclaimed.

Selena maybe, but Gwen? “Looks like you’re not flying home tonight,” Justin told Neil. Passing up the opportunity of spying on Selena and Gwen was out of the question.

Chapter Two

The hotel gift shop provided the perfect pair of skin-tight jeans, cowboy boots, and cowgirl hats. Gwen wasn’t about to go into a Texas bar dressed as the daughter of a duke. Unlike shopping for the yellow bridesmaid dresses, Selena actually enjoyed their brief walk on the country side of the store.

Loud music with just the right amount of twang, and lyrics about lost love filled the bar. Several couples crowded the dance floor. Their bodies were glued together and moved as if they were one unit.

Selena took the lead and walked through the crowd to a couple of empty seats at the bar. The two of them turned a few heads and received a couple of smiles before they sat down.

“I can’t believe how crowded it is,” Gwen said over the noise.

“Makes it more interesting,” Selena told her.

The bartender placed a couple of napkins in front of them. “Ladies,” he said, tipping his hat.

She lifted up two fingers. “Two beers.”

Gwen scoffed. “But—”

“You can’t drink wine in a beer bar, Gwen.” Selena knew where her friend was going with her haughty but. Surprisingly Gwen didn’t argue.

Gwen folded her hands in her lap on top of her purse. She sat rod straight with her big doe eyes wide open. Her fingers tapped to the music and a smile played on her lips. What did Gwen see? For her, this night was about adventure and overcoming some of her social fears. Sure, there were people dancing and having a good time. From the looks of the crowd, there wasn’t anyone completely wasted, yet. Beer drinkers tended to get rowdy later in the evening.

“Here ya are, ma’am.” The bartender sat the bottles down. Selena reached into her purse to pay. “Already taken care of,” he said nodding to the end of the bar. There sat two single men with button up western shirts and Stetsons. Selena made eye contact with the one sitting closest to her. His dark hair and finely manicured mustache outlined a ruggedly attractive face. She lifted her bottle with a tiny nod.

“Did they buy the drinks?” Gwen asked.

“Seems so.”

“Should we go over and thank them?”

Selena turned away from the men and brought the bottle to her lips. After a sip she said, “No need. They’ll be here in less than five minutes.”

Gwen held her bottle and smiled over the bar to the cowboys. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re still staring at them which they’ll take as an invitation.”

Gwen dropped her glance to the floor and swiveled in her seat.

“My God, you really don’t get out much.”

Gwen’s cheeks turned red. “I’m pathetic.”

“You’ve been sheltered. Not completely your fault.”

Gwen sipped her beer. To her credit, she didn’t frown at the taste. “Sheltered and pathetic.”

Just how innocent are you? “Please tell me you’ve had boyfriends.”

Gwen’s jaw dropped. “I’ve had lovers. I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Why that’s a mighty fine piece of information, darlin’. I could swear you’re as innocent as a new born calf.”

Selena and Gwen both shot their eyes to the rugged cowboy who had made it to their side in less than two minutes.

Gwen’s cheeks grew instantly red, and her eyes opened wide.

“Thanks for the drinks,” Selena said, trying to remove the attention from Gwen’s outburst.

“My name is Rick. This here is Jimmy.” Jimmy was an inch or so shorter than Rick and a good twenty pounds thinner. Both were easy on the eyes.

“Selena,” she said, “And my non-virginal friend Gwen.”

Gwen elbowed her in the side and Selena laughed.

Rick and Jimmy were kind enough not to keep the joke going. “Mind if we join you?”

Selena nodded to the empty seat on her right. Rick sat and Jimmy said, “I’ll keep an eye out for an open table.”

Gwen moved a little closer to Selena when Jimmy stepped closer to her. This was going to get awkward in a heartbeat. “Why don’t I hold this,” Selena reached for Gwen’s beer, removed it from her fingers. “And you two dance.”

Gwen leaned over and tried to whisper. “I don’t even know him.”

Selena smiled and nudged her out of her chair. “Go. We’re here to have fun.”

Jimmy was already reaching for Gwen’s elbow.

“But I don’t know how to dance like that.”

Jimmy helped her to her feet. “Where are you from?”

“Outside of London.” Gwen sat her purse on the barstool.

Jimmy winked. “Well, English, I learned the two-step when I was five. I’m sure I can show you.”

“You sure?”

“C’mon.”

Selena followed Gwen as she stepped on the dance floor. She stiffened when Jimmy wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his frame. After only a couple of missteps, Jimmy successfully had Gwen swinging to the music in what appeared to be complicated dance moves.

“Do you always watch your friend so closely?” Rick asked.

“It’s in the handbook of girls. We go to the bathroom in pairs, tuck each other’s tags in, and we watch out for each other.”

“She doesn’t seem to be watching you.”

Selena let her gaze drift to the cowboy on her right and smiled. “She’s just trying to keep from breaking your friend’s feet. Hard to do that and watch me at the same time.” Rick was cute. His accent adding to his smooth demeanor, but he wasn’t doing a thing for her libido. Chemistry was a bitch that way. On the outside, two people might seem to be right for one another, but on the inside, they simply didn’t fit. Or they exploded much like her and Justin.

Rick must not have felt the same. He settled into his chair and kept the conversation going.

****

Justin elbowed Neil into the back of the bar far away from Selena and Gwen and did his level best to slip into the shadows.

From the look of Gwen’s faltering steps, the women had been in the bar for at least an hour, maybe two. Gwen’s hair was falling out of place and on occasion her voice rose above the others. She’d danced with at least three different men in the short span of time he and Neil had been there. If it was any consolation, Selena dumped some of Gwen’s drinks into forgotten glasses on the table.

Neil’s white knuckles clutched the beer in his hands as he watched Gwen spin around the dance floor. “She’s drunk,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“I’d say you’re right.” Justin took a pull on his beer, eyes glancing over to Selena. She was talking with two men sitting at her table where she’d spent most the night. One of them stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but then stood and let him lead her to the dance floor.

Her tight little ass wiggled in step with the music as if she were born to country western dancing. Her partner kept his hands on her hip for about thirty seconds, and then they started to slip.

It’s hard to hold the glass when my fingers want to crush it. Another couple blocked Justin’s view. He shifted in his seat but still couldn’t find Selena in the crowd. When he caught up with her, she’d called the dance short and was sitting at her table again, this time talking with another guy. When cow-dick number two reached over to touch Selena’s shoulder, Justin couldn’t take any more. “You watch Gwen.”

“Don’t worry, I am,” Neil said.

The music shifted into something slower by the time he reached Selena’s table. Not too gently, he removed cow-dick’s fingers from Selena’s back and grasped her elbow.

Her shocked expression met his and the cowboy took to his feet. “Can I help you?”

A tattoo of a cross sat on the man’s hand who was making time with Selena. It was almost unnoticeable, but Justin knew its meaning. “You owe me a dance,” Justin told her while ignoring the man

Maybe she was too shocked to deny him, but she stumbled to her feet and let him pull her in his arms. Her heat socked him in the gut as his body grazed hers.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Justin darted a glare at the men watching them from across the room. “Saving a woman from a bunch of yahoos planning on a night of fun.”

He spun her around, she spun him back and glanced at the men. “They’re harmless.”

“Really?”

“They only look rowdy.”

“So they’ve been buying you ladies drinks all night to test your limit for nothing?”

She stepped on his foot. He quickly recovered and kept them dancing. “How long have you been here…watching?”

Oh boy, he shoved his foot in far this time. “Long enough.”

“How long, Justin?”

“Neil was worried about Gwen.” Thinking of his best friend’s sister, he lifted his gaze around the room to try to find her. He caught a glimpse of her blonde hair and petite frame as someone led her out the door. “Oh, damn.”

Justin abruptly ended the dance and tugged Selena alongside him.

Neil was already ahead of him.

The crush of sweaty bodies made it hard to cut across the bar. Justin knew at least one of the men at Selena’s table followed.

“What are we doing?”

“C’mon,” he told her. They finally reached the front door and emptied onto the parking lot just in time to see Neil grab the guy Gwen had been dancing with. Neil pinned him to the hood of a truck and pulled his fist back.

“Stop!” Gwen shrieked

Neil hesitated, but only for a second before his fist flew.

The man across the hood of the truck was no match for Neil. The bodyguard let loose two blows and pulled back. “The lady said no.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” one of the men from the bar yelled as he shoved his way into the mix.

More people poured out from the bar to watch the drama. Justin was sure at least one cell phone zeroed in on him. A bar fight in a parking lot in Texas was probably not the best way to get votes.

“It’s all over, buddy. The big guy here is just protecting an innocent woman,” Justin said trying is best to defuse the situation.

“She looked willing to me,” the guy yelled before the stranger’s fist flew and connected with Justin’s face.

He spun around and came up low, tackling his attacker around his waist and shoving him onto the nearest car.

Everything exploded around him. Justin took another blow to his torso before he returned punch for punch. Adrenaline ran through his veins like fire, fueling his swings. Muscle memory took action and within twenty seconds, Justin had the man pinned to the car alongside his buddy. “No, always means no!”

The man under him stopped struggling. Men from the bar broke through the crowd like linebackers at the fifty-yard line.

“Dammit, Jimmy, what are you two doing?” someone called.

Justin pushed away from the man he’d fought and stepped out of swing range. He stared at his enemy, waiting for him to flinch.

He didn’t.”

“Neil,” Justin yelled. “Why don’t you take Lady Gwen back to her rooms? I’ll ride with Selena.”

Selena patted Gwen on the back. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

When Justin focused on Selena, she had her arm looped through Gwen’s, both of them stared at the crowed with unease.

Gwen nodded.

He motioned for Selena to move to her car.

“My purse is in the bar,” she told him.

Neil escorted both women away from the drunken men, and Justin went inside after her purse.

He picked up Gwen’s designer bag and then Selena’s. Yet when his hand landed on Selena’s bag her felt something hauntingly familiar inside. Unable to stop himself, he opened the purse and found exactly what he thought he’d see.

[promomagazine]

Interview-Photographer Paul Davis

Do you agree that you are challenged everyday to create something that has never been created before?

I would rephrase that and say that I feel like I am challenged to create something that is totally different from what I’ve done before. I constantly challenge myself to try new things and push myself in different directions. I think most new artwork is influenced and inspired by the work of those who came before and I’d never presume to say that my work has never been done or tried before.

I try to read and keep myself open to new influences and ideas.  I will usually see, hear or read something that sparks an idea. I’ll find myself returning to that  idea and at that point I’ll sketch it or write it down in a notebook that I carry that I call my “idea orphanage”. I’ll save these ideas until the time is right to adopt it. Adoption in this case means that I’ve found a way to push the project forward - which could mean finding the right model, getting access to a location or discovering the right wardrobe - and make it a reality.

At that point I start building out a team and I create detailed planning documents to help make sure that the wardrobe stylist and MUAH team members are all pulling in the same direction. I’ll often ask for their input and their suggestions during this phase because often they have ideas that improve on my original thinking.

   When we get to the day of the shoot I’ve tried hard to take care of all of the details so we can just focus on shooting and having fun and creating something special.

The one constant in my creative process is that I’m plagued with the feeling that everything is falling apart. Over time I’ve found if I just keep pushing forward that at some point things start to fall together. I live for that moment. I get excited when I feel the project turn that corner and I start to see how it’s going to work out.

What do you look for when creating a shoot and does your shoot lineup with what you expected?

I don’t have a formula that I follow but I do ask myself one question for every creative project and that is this:  “What is one thing I could do that would give this project a twist or that would make the viewer look again.”  It could be an unexpected object, an unusual color or texture or a sense of movement - anything that just might reset the viewer and make them take a moment to look a little longer.

My shoots never line up with the vision I originally had in my head. That used to bother me a lot. I compensated by trying to be a meticulous planner but I learned somewhere along the way that that is often where the fun and creativity happens. As the team works together every project takes it’s on a life of it’s own. You have a vision for the photo but then maybe the model does something different than what you were asking for you and you realize she’s interpreting your direction in her own style and that leads to a possibility  you didn’t anticipate or imagine.

Sometimes things don’t work like you hoped but many times they turn out far better than you had expected. For me that journey to find those possibilities along the way is what adds the fun and creativity  of a shoot.

I try and plan very carefully because I always want to make the most of the time we have with the team but I try not to be tied down to the plans so that if the shoot takes a different, better direction then I’m open to embracing and capturing that.

Do you have a favorite artist in mind that drives your creativity or inspires you, who is it?

Well for me I would say that Erik Almas is a photographer who always inspires me. I love his work and how he merges flawless execution with a big vision to create these amazing images. He’s really known for shooting flowing fabrics and things in a beautiful way and I’m always inspired by his work.

Jason Bell blows me away with his portrait work - I really love a lot of what he does. I love his touch and his sense of subtlety with his lighting.  Annie Leibovitz’s group portraits always leave me sad because I know I’ll never attain that level. Benjamin Von Wong inspires me with a lot of his creative concepts.

How would you describe yourself as a person & artist?

Well I enjoy laughing and I like to have a good time on set. I don’t take myself too seriously because I want people to enjoy the process of working together and I want everyone to be proud of what we do. That said when it’s time to get down to business I want to make the most of the time we have for every shoot so I’m organized and I try hard to plan carefully. As an artist I lean toward dramatic themes and clothing. Rich, ornate, dark, gothic clothing and makeup are always exciting to me. I hate to admit it but I like spectacle and making a scene bigger than life.

How did you know you wanted to be a photographer?

Well looking back it’s easier to see now than it was at the time. In high school and college I kept manilla folders of photos that I had torn out of fashion and advertising magazines. I don’t know why I did that but I would save them and try and draw them or I would just go through and look at them occasionally.

Later after I had picked up a camera and started trying to learn how to use it, I got to go and help out on a couple of photo shoots and I fell in love with the whole process of creating interesting photos and working with other people to do it. The more I saw of it all the more I wanted to be part of it.

Do you have a favorite designers who inspire you? Alexander McQueen is the guy that comes to mind first.

Why is that?  Everything is over top and creates a spectacle. There is a lot of detail and lot to see in his work. I love a lot of what he’s done and I always find myself drawn to his style.  

 What was the main reason that you decided to become a photographer?

I wanted to spend more time with my father. My father is a photographer and he had bought a Nikon D200 digital DSLR and he liked to drive southern Arizona taking pictures. We would drive around exploring ghost towns and graveyards together and there was something about the photography that resonated deep, down inside.

Later, as I started photographing people, I found that really enjoyed meeting and working with people and teams. I just felt like it fit me because I’ve always been more comfortable organizing and observing from the fringes rather than trying to stand in the spotlight. The more I did it the more I enjoyed it and I get a lot of personal satisfaction knowing guiding a project to completion.

I had seen photos of this playa in Wilcox, Arizona a while back. It’s so expansive, flat and dramatic that I had thought for a long time that it would be a great location for a photo shoot.  I wanted to shoot outdoors with some beautiful dresses that would be enhanced by contrasting with this beautiful, stark place.

I contacted Esteban and his fall line of clothing seemed like a perfect fit. His latest collection has not only some of the longer, flowing dresses but the textures and colors seem to lend themselves very well to that landscape.

To be a photographer, you had to undergo a lot of struggles. What was the most difficult obstacle for you when putting together a shoot?

For me, being based out of Tucson, Arizona, it’s generally finding clothing and a good wardrobe stylist. I don’t have access to the resources I would if I were in LA or NY. If I can get the clothing worked out  then almost everything else just comes together.

My personal life absolutely impacts my photo shoots. I am a husband and a father so I end up planning shoots around those obligations first. I don’t have a set schedule per se but I do plan ahead to make it work with all of my other obligations.

How is your style of photography different from any other photographers?

I’ll be honest and say I don’t really know. I’m still working to create a style and find my own voice. I’ll leave it others to define my style and how I might be different.

What are your world-dominating goals?

I don’t have a world dominating goal in that sense of the question. First and foremost, I want to be a good husband and father. After that my goals are to work as hard as I can to become the best photographer I can be and to be known as both a professional and as an artist. Success to me is being able to shoot more of the subjects and themes that I enjoy with people that I respect and enjoy working with. I want to keep learning and pushing myself to never be satisfied or sticking with what is comfortable. I think if I do those things then the rest will take care of itself.