nook niceties

I purchased a used first-generation nook off eBay in February of 2011. I can't believe it's already been a year.

One of the features I love most about my nook is

Would you believe...?

I am an introvert. Don't believe me? It's true.

A little rambling background to set the stage:

A couple weeks ago I received a new Time magazine. Conveniently it comes to my nook 24 hours before it arrives in my mail. Gives me a jump on the topics. I was able to use it for two completely different, but urgent deadlines, for my classes. LOL. First, I had to analyze if it was skewed to one gender or the other. My analysis: men, but only slightly because of the actual ad composition. Both the lack of people, and when people were pictured, it was 3-1 males appearing in the picture. But Time magazine has been a staple in my life since I was 12 years old. My parents always had a subscription and I got one as a graduation present from high school since I was headed to college to study political science. IMHO, there is no better general consumer source for political news. There are lots of professional level political sources, and I've had subscriptions to them at one time or another, like Foreign Service Journal. And as a journalist, I received Columbia Journalism Review for a number of years.

Anyway, this issue of Time magazine had on the cover "The Power of (shyness)" with a little kid with a bullhorn standing in the corner of the room. The cover article was "The Upside of Being an Introvert (And Why Extroverts are Overrated)" by Brian Walsh. Great article. Read it through and then the associated sidebars and the related health advice column by Dr. Oz. I absorbed the graphic about introvert and extrovert presidents (made a lot of sense). Then, even though I am not a "Cosmo" type (taking all those intimate quizzes for women in Cosmopolitan; I really don't need to know my sexual potency IQ) I decided to take the quiz for rating oneself on the spectrum of extrovert-introvert.

And therein lay the surprise.

I predicted I was probably a mid-streamer and would have a result somewhere between 9 and 12. After all, I spend a lot of time out in public areas, work with people, volunteer to do things when I'm part of a group, etc. Boy was I wrong. On a scale of 1-20, with 1 being an extreme extrovert and 20 being an extreme introvert, I rated a 17.

Huh? Then I thought about it. I am an oldest child and being "out there" was particularly expected of me. However, I always feel frazzled afterwards, even when nothing goes wrong. Now I know why. Because no matter how adept I am at it, being "out there" isn't really my natural mien. I always wondered why I came home from school days as a kid exhausted, even though I was upbeat and positive. Turns out that many people for me is exhausting. As a child I nosedived into books for hours as my escape. By middle school, I was writing. When I was a journalist, I preferred the one-on-one interviews to the "breaking news" cattle runs surrounded by dozens of other news teams. It's probably why I didn't last long in that field actively. I ended up freelancing.

Even now, I will give a person a hundred percent of my attention and myself, but then afterward I need to curl up in a corner and spend time alone to get my reserves back. As a teacher, I've also struck a balance. I eat lunch quietly. I go to the bathroom between classes, just to take a few deep breaths, remind myself not to take any negative energy from the previous class with me into the next one. At the end of a school day I'll nap. A couple hours later I can get up and go about my personal activities.

Thankfully my spouse is well-adjusted to my introvert ways, knowing how to balance our public outings between frenzied people-filled parties and quieter opportunities to interact with just a couple or two.

Hail the introverts! (Go Obama!) If you're interested in reading the Time magazine, it's the February 6, 2012 U.S. edition.

A holiday final note: On this Valentine's Day, I am separated from my sweetie, who is announcing a girls' regional basketball semifinal for our local high school. Go Grenadiers! But I am not sitting home alone. I am off to my night education class with just 20 others. And I'll probably collapse right into bed afterward.

To all celebrating today, enjoy!

long time no see...

An exercise in not telling all the history between characters up front, and starting more with the dramatic re-encounter moments. So, the result? Two tightly controlled point of view scenes...

 

Genna's martini glass froze less than an inch from her lips as she lived a million memories in the seconds it took for her to identify the strikingly gorgeous blond woman arriving to the National Advertising & Media Consultants mixer. Her current conversation companion, NAMC president Etienne Markus, didn't miss the new arrival either. However, he found his voice.

“Is that Mackenzie Levenhagen?” he asked. “I hear she's up for a partnership position after her two biggest accounts went platinum in the last six months.”

Genna carefully modulated her voice, freeing herself forcibly from emotions swirling around the subject of Mackenzie Levenhagen. “Yes, I believe that is her.” She sipped her martini, wetting her suddenly dry mouth as other parts of her body grew warm, swollen, and wet, remembering all too well her history with the other woman.

Memories assailed Genna of hot kisses in cool boardrooms, and the eroticism of being trapped between lush, soft curves, fondling fingers, and the wood paneling of the executive washroom.

“Excuse me,” she ground out slowly, then drained her glass. “I need a refill.” She did not await a response, instead slipping away behind Etienne and making a beeline for the cash bar. Almost breathless, she handed over the empty glass to the bartender, a tuxedoed male with a permanently affixed smile.

“Martini, double,” she requested. Unable to control the urge, she turned her head and sought out Levenhagen's current position in the room. The blonde stood with William Ontwerp, senior majority partner of Ontwerp & Salomon, a New York City advertising agency. He was introducing Levenhagen to several of the NAMC board members who had, no doubt in Genna's mind, flocked toward the arrival as much for her beauty as recognition of her recent, and highly publicized, accomplishments.

“That'll be four-fifty, ma'am.”

Genna tore her gaze away from the woman running a long finger along the rim of her white wine flute, remembering too easily how those same fingers felt sliding over her own skin. She handed over the requested money, telling the bartender to keep the change with her thanks. She took the glass and watched as William guided Mackenzie away from the group of NAMC members with a hand on her lower back. The couple reached Etienne, and Genna was torn between returning to her host or avoiding the other woman as she needed to do.

Genna drained her martini while pondering her quandary. The musicality of Mackenzie's laughter, even as quiet as it was, reached her ears and rippled sensually down her spine.

William turned inward toward Mackenzie as Genna watched, intimately whispering in an exposed ear adorned with a twinkling diamond stud while Mackenzie shook Etienne's hand. Mackenzie said something to both Etienne and William in return. A the end of speaking, her eyes rotated away from her companions, taking in the entirety of the room, finding and locking on Genna's gaze across the room.

Mackenzie's eyes widened in clearly conveyed surprise. Genna's hazel eyes narrowed.

“Genna. Genna McNealey! How wonderful it is to see you again!” Genna jerked at the sudden interjection from beside her left shoulder. Gregarious Anthony Salazar, CEO of Anthony Advertising, a small but strategic player in the Chicago market, lifted his beer in a gesture of salute.

“Tony,” she greeted him, grateful beyond measure for the interruption.

“Congratulations on getting the keynote this weekend,” he said.

“Thank you,” she accepted graciously and let him kiss the back of her hand. “I hear that you achieved a 32 share in Chicago.”

“Yes, I did.” The man preened, switching his drink to his other hand and brushing the newly free hand through his midnight black elegantly styled short curls. Except for the very rugged and squared jaw, Tony was almost too pretty to fit the personality of womanizer, which Genna knew him to be.

“Good for you,” she said easily. “Perhaps we should collaborate sometime when one of your clients wants to go national.” She stressed collaborate and strategically brushed his arm, coming closer and dropping her voice as she drew his gaze to meet hers. She saw her reflection briefly in his brown eyes and smiled, bringing out dimples in her cheeks. His breathing hitched and his pupils dilated in arousal. She stroked his hand, but avoided his fingers trying to close around hers. “Excuse me,” she said. “I see someone I simply must catch up with.” Briskly she strode away, aware every step how Tony's gaze followed the sway of her ass in her tight, classic-style black cocktail dress.

“Genna, I see you're still leaving bodies in your wake.”

Genna, out of courtesy, stopped. The man who had spoken, Carl Jackson, and his wife, Emily, stood in a loose circle with four others. “They look but never touch, Carl, you know that. And Tony might just bring us his next national client.” She sipped from her martini, avoiding her business partner’s disbelieving expression. He didn’t wear it long, however, choosing, as she knew he would, to introduce her to some new players on the map.

“Genna McNealey, I’d like you to meet Pamela Zambruck and her brothers, Nelson and Ormond Zambruck, equal partners in Zambruck Image Consultants.”

“Home office in D.C.,” Nelson said, reaching for her hand first.

“Very nice to meet you,” Genna replied, finding the eldest brother’s hand strong and sinewy in her own.

“Ms. McNealey,” Ormond greeted deferentially, obviously the younger brother with the fresh eagerness of a recent college graduate about him. “It’s a pleasure.”

I’m sure it is, kid. The thought was not entirely uncharitable though his hand was barely in hers for two seconds before he stepped back.

Pamela Zambruck stepped forward only to stop in the midst of reaching for Genna’s hand. Genna was surprised until she felt the prickle along her neck signaling a presence at her back. Someone had walked up behind her to be introduced.

She glanced at Carl who gave nothing away in his look, then turned to meet the new arrival.

“Genna,” Mackenzie Levenhagen said. “It’s good to see you again.”

Genna took a step back and to the side, simultaneously distancing herself from the feelings that swelled up to choke her and opening the social circle. “Hello... Mackenzie.” Damn her for using her first name, implying a more than business acquaintance. If she didn’t reply in kind, everyone in the immediate vicinity immediately would sense something amiss.

Pamela’s voice erupted behind Genna, excessively bright and eager. “Mackenzie Levenhagen! What a pleasure it is to meet you!”

Genna watched Mackenzie blush as Pamela shook her hand. “Thank you, Miss --?”

“Pamela Zambruck.”

“Miss Zambruck then.” Mackenzie took a step back from the circle again. Genna noticed the white wine flute in Mackenzie’s hand was untouched, a clear sign the woman was nervous; she didn’t want to let herself get out of hand.

Genna though felt victorious as their gaze intersected briefly. Mackenzie’s broke away first. “Excuse me.”

William Ontwerp walked up as though he had simply been waiting for the way to clear. He lifted his wine flute and made a toast, toward Genna, with a surprising sidewise oblique swipe at the history he knew. “Congratulations to you, Genna, on your many accomplishments this year. Thankfully your one loss became my agency’s gain.” He nodded to Mackenzie’s retreating back.

She tossed him a brief, hopefully imperceptible, glare where she gave her hatred and jealousy of Ontwerp free rein before smiling tightly. She accepted the accolade and ignored the dig. “Thank you, William.”

“See you tomorrow, Genna.” William raised his glass again circling slowly and then left the group with a shallow bow, dipping his head. Genna noticed he followed Mackenzie, who had exited through nearby doors to the hotel’s pool deck.

“Genna?” Carl Jackson caught her attention.

“I’m sorry, Carl. You were saying something?”

“Not yet.”

Genna took the warning to heart, swallowed the rest of her martini. “If you’ll excuse me. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Retiring?”

Deliberately misinterpreting him with a tight smile, Genna tossed her head to make her words seem lighthearted. “Not for quite a few years yet, Carl. Just returning to my room. Emily, Carl, good night. Nelson, Ormond, and Pamela, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Good night, Ms. McNealey.”

“Good night.”

Still haunted by the shaken expression in Mackenzie’s blue eyes, Genna set her glass on a tray and went in search of the elevators.

* * *

Mackenzie dawdled over the coffee and comestibles, visually searching the variety of pastries for just the right one. In reality though, she was delaying to the very last second possible before having to sit and endure watching Genna McNealey give the keynote address to kick off the conference’s two full days of panels.

The woman’s voice – one Mackenzie had always compared to what whiskey might sound like mixed with hot coffee and cream – couldn’t be escaped. Just the brief encounter at the social last night had been more than enough to renew Mackenzie’s heartache which she’d finally thought cured after almost a year’s passing.

It wasn’t to be. As she saw people filing into the conference room, she made a pastry selection, only to bite into it and realize it was strawberry, which she detested.

She kept it though. Maybe it would distract her thoroughly enough to diffuse the effect of Genna’s voice.

“Mac,” Werry, her conference companion and boss, William Ontwerp, looked up as she sat next to him. “Is that strawberry?”

Mackenzie nodded. She looked at it, then drank her coffee instead.

“Sleep well?” he asked sociably.

“Just fine,” Mackenzie lied in a tight whisper. The NAMC president had just walked to the lectern microphone.

“Good morning, everyone.” There were a few groans as people quieted. “More than a few hangovers this morning, I’d guess.” He smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “Our business has seen some downturn from the economy. Business clients who used to use our services have folded. But the public still needs our opinions to guide their purchasing, what they want to buy, what they need to buy. One of the most creative minds in our game – winner of an unprecedented six awards in a single cycle – has agreed to share how it happens. Please welcome a woman who hasn’t needed more introduction than that in almost a decade – founding partner of McNealey & Johnson, the unrivaled Genna McNealey!”

As Etienne stepped back from the microphone, those assembled rose to their feet, applause drowning out the scrape of chairs against the tan carpet. Genna walked to the lectern from a chair at the end of the front row.

Despite the ache growing in her chest, Mackenzie couldn’t look away. The cocktail dress from the previous evening – bright and elegant – had been foregone in lieu of what Mac had come to call the experienced woman’s “wow win” ensemble. She took her average height, adding two inches in neutral taupe heels, nude stockings on elongated warm cocoa tanned legs. Beautiful knees just peeked from beneath the clean cut edge of a cool gray straight-styled skirt. Over that she wore a tailored cinch-waist burgundy jacket. Mackenzie caught her breath though, eyes riveted to the teardrop cut ruby hanging by a whisper-thin silver chain around Genna’s tanned throat, visible between the opened top buttons of the crisp white blouse perfectly cut to accentuate Genna’s curvaceous figure.

Mackenzie’s hands shook, just as they had the night more than a year ago when she presented the ruby necklace to Genna. Oh. My. God. What did it mean?

The applause of the audience on its feet suddenly crashed back in on Mackenzie and she felt dizzy. She had become rooted to her seat as her former employer approached the lectern. She jerked her gaze up to Genna’s face, finding only the trademark and devastatingly disarming smile, and the piercing, incisive “I’m speaking directly to you” intelligent hazel eyes.

Genna waved everyone to sit. Mackenzie settled uneasily onto her chair.

“All right, all right. That’s enough. Thank you for the introduction, Etienne. You know, I got into advertising to work behind the scenes, not because I like standing up here. But you just keep pulling me out of my shell.” Genna’s laugh caused a replying ripple of laughter through the audience.

The sound only caused sharp pain, like that of a plunging knife, into Mackenzie’s chest.

“So. Let’s see. I’m supposed to give you all my secrets today, hmm? I’m not ready to retire yet. So... how about I give you the same advice I give all the fresh faces that come to M&J?”

Mackenzie inhaled, instantly recalling the day she received the M&J welcome speech. Genna Mackenzie had been beyond inspiring, speaking not only to the creative mind, but to the power of persuasion, giving people what you have groomed them to demand.

 

random scene

Trying for a bit of vivid writing...

The morning sun streaming in usually made her smile. Today Tanya greeted it with a grimace and shut her eyes tightly as she tied off the curtains of the south-facing window. The cool air hovering near the glass passed over her bare arms causing her to shiver. She tilted her chin up, catching the sun's furtive warmth on her throat. Her equillibrium shifted and she took a half-step backward. She grimaced again, laying her left hand over her abdomen where she'd felt the cramp. After a deep breath and slow exhale, she crossed the bedroom to her bathroom, stepping around the leather steamer trunk at the foot of her bed.

In the bathroom, she flipped on the switch, illuminating the fluorescent bar above the simple rectangular mirror. On the counter sat the box purchased furtively among some feminine hygiene products the night before while driving home from work. With a population of 10,000 people, Tanya was fairly certain, despite not recognizing the 20-year old behind the convenience store counter, the rumor mill would carry the information along quickly. Everybody knew someone who knew someone... And Tanya was too long connected with those who held the reins of power in Loganville -- namely Lucas Logan -- for it not to go unnoticed that she had purchased a pregnancy test.

She should be happy. She was 35, but healthy, and she wanted children. She had even wanted children with Lucas. She'd put him off for more than three years. They'd dated for a little more than a year. Perhaps he would have proposed. But that was all academic. Because he was dead. She didn't know what she'd do if she was pregnant. She'd never thought about single parenthood, and they'd been careful. Obviously there were failure rates to everything. Now she had to think about it.

Lucas already had two children with his ex-wife, Britt. Tanya didn't spend a lot of time around them, but she knew the eldest was a teenage girl and the younger a boy, seven or eight years old. They were both blonde, like their mother. Lucas was, or rather, had been -- some might feel clever saying -- as dark as sin. She pictured his face, rather square-jawed under perpetual five o'clock shadow. His deep blue eyes had always grabbed her attention when cast her way. She'd caressed the clean, prominent patrician features, framed by his black-as-night hair, which he kept swept back and short. He was the very definition of handsome in Tanya's -- or anyone's -- book. Or, at least, he had been.

She picked up the box and slit open the end with a plain but well-manicured nail. Retrieving the chemical wand, she held it in her left hand while unfolding and reading the instruction sheet with her right. She inhaled and exhaled again. Okay. In one minute she'd know.

About ninety seconds later, Tanya sat down on the toilet seat again, her knees gripped in her hands to keep all of them from shaking so much. So, it was true. She was pregnant with Lucas's child. She glanced up at the ceiling and felt her lips tug into a wry smile: well, Lucas, you're a father... again. In just that moment she knew she would keep the child, imagining a younger version of Lucas running headlong toward her from a playground, Tanya yearning to keep him safe.

She glanced at the mirror again, finding the small year-long calendar she kept pinned in one corner. Lucas had died just about one month ago, on an early autumn evening in October. The report said he'd been racing along the rural Georgia roads at dusk when he lost control and skidded off, slamming headlong into a stand of trees. She could believe it; Lucas had liked his cars sporty and fast. She recalled a number of times as his passenger requesting he slow down. Which he had immediately done. Lucas was not a stupid man. He might have played the games of fast cars and fast women, but Tanya was sure something had been shifting in the last year while they'd been dating.

Lucas had become more circumspect, working more at the Logan Enterprises offices and overseeing the healthy growth of its many subsidiaries. He'd even become civil with Britt, his ex-wife. Both of them had been looking forward to hosting his daughter's birthday party when she turned sixteen sometime in early spring. But a moment of reckless abandon had left them all bereft.

Standing, Tanya again brushed her abdomen. Time to schedule an appointment. Once she knew what to expect, she'd figure out who needed to know what next.