Dancing Merengue Dog

Thunderstorms

So, while reading a few short stories online, I came across a story about a couple who for different reasons are afraid of storms and their affects. It of course made me think about my own fear of storms, or rather my own sense of foreboding and hesitation over them. Like all fear it is connected to a memory, a bad one.

I was a young woman, a girl really and it was storming outside. I had gone to visit a friend of mine and was spending the night. She'd gone to take a shower and her brother, whom I found incredibly attractive, was home. He'd come into the living room where I'd been watching the Olsen twins in "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" (yeah, this was a while ago). He'd asked me how long I'd known his sister, if she was my best friend, things like that. He was making small talk, putting me at ease, which didn't take too long. I was a lot more mature than my other friends by the time I was 10. Much of which was due to things I'd experienced earlier in my childhood. I remember that it didn't take long before I was smiling and laughing with him. I'd been raised in a very strict, very correct and upstanding "Christian" household. I put the quotations because while my mother was the embodiment of a true Christian, my father was only the shell of one. But that's neither here nor there.

Because of my upbringing in this staunch Christian household, my parents had pretty much glazed over the whole sex talk thing. I do believe that when I started my monthly cycle at the age of 9, my father took me out for ice cream, told me that now I could get pregnant. That sex was where babies came from and that sex was only for married people. So when my friend's brother asked me to come to his room and then asked me if I wanted to play a game called sex, I was of course, reticent, about the whole thing.

"My mommy and daddy said that sex is only for married people and that that's where babies come from." I'd told him with sincerity and innocence, completely trusting.

"Oh no, they got it wrong. Making love is for married people. And babies come from inside of the mommy's belly. But you can't get a baby from playing sex and anyone can play it," he'd responded, sounding so sure, so certain, so knowledgeable and HELPFUL that I believed him almost instantly.

Well, anyone can deduce what happened between me, a 10 year old girl, a P.K. (Preacher's Kid) and this 16 year old "man". After getting me to take off my clothes and lay down on the bed, after hurting me, after ignoring my please and cries for him to stop, after he'd finished with me, told me to get dressed and then pushed me out of the room, I was afraid of storms. You see, it had been storming really hard in Meridian, Mississippi that day. Oh I can sleep through some of them, if I fell asleep before the storm started and I've taken the right "painkiller cocktail" I can sleep through almost anything, but if I'm awake when the storm starts, well, I stay awake through the entire thing, my hands slightly shaking, my throat tight, my mind struggling not to remember.

As I read this story, I struggled with my own memories of that night. Then I struggled with memories of the two men that I'd shared that story with and of their two different reactions. I'd shared that story with Christopher, my fiance, shortly after seeing a senior citizen get mowed down by a vehicle in the middle of the street (I still remember that incident with clarity) and with Brandon, someone I still cannot identify even after all this time (was he my boyfriend, my friend? What the hell were we to each other?). And just like the two of them, their reactions were like night and day. Brandon listened to me as I shared with him this painful story, said "Aaww baby, I'm so sorry. C'mere" and pulled me into his arms, rubbing my back as I jumped at every sound of thunder, falling asleep way before I did, forgetting the entire incident in the morning. Whereas Christopher, my knight in shining armor, listened, pulled me roughly into his arms and then demanded the name of the boy who'd raped me. When I refused to give it to him, because really, it had been 11 years by that point, the statute of limitations was up and honestly, I'd gotten past it....for the most part. Realizing that I had no plans to tell him, he'd sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We sat there for almost fifteen minutes just holding each other. Then he'd laid down on the bed and held me in his arms, then he began to talk to me about our future together. How many children he wanted us to have, the house he wanted us to live in, how he'd be the man behind the woman when I took over the world with my writing, acting, singing, dancing and non profit organizations.

Christopher whispered words of love to me, cherishing me as I relived the painful memory. Then he held me in his arms, singing softly to me (off-key and out of tune) until I fell asleep.

People will always have different reactions to your life story. Everyone has one, everyone has a special sort of "life hell" that they'll have to endure and people around you will respond to it and to you differently. You'll lose people from your life when they're unable to handle it or to understand you or the situation(s) you'll endure. People will enter your life because they see you going through hell and it makes them feel better about themselves and their own lives. Then there are those people, the Christophers, who want to fight on your behalf, who love you, who draw you through the thunderstorms, protecting you, loving you, until the hell, the storm passes or until you find peace.

It's the difference between those people who are temporary dwellers in your life and those who are etched into your life. In a year or so, a few months Brandon will be completely forgotten by me (and not a moment too soon), but Christopher will be remembered by me forever. He, I will never forget, and will never want to forget.

I may have met Brandon after Christopher passed away, but it's Christopher who is freshest on my mind. He is the reason why I only shake a little when I hear a thunderstorm rather than fiercely shaking and crying silently when one hits. I will remember him forever. I will love him forever. And that's just something that you don't ever forget.

Is there something in your life that's tied to a painful memory? How can you tie that thing to something positive? Who is the person in your life who can help? Think about this today.

Have a great weekend all!

My Challenge (via-Twitter & Facebook)

I'm going to start doing a challenge. Act as if I'm on a particular television show or in a particular movie genre. It should be fun, and I think I'll post people's reactions and some pictures. That's just what I need, for people to think I'm more weird than I already am. So if you have any ideas, I'm totally open to hearing them.

SO.......

So I totally posted two, or was it three?, blogs via my cellphone over the past few days. Talking about gossip, ignorance, racism and sex....I checked my site and I see:
??????{N??Z[W?????/..??]

You get the idea.

It totally sucks because I had moments of pure "blog genius" and now they're completely erased, which only goes to show you....

ALWAYS SAVE!!

Save pictures, save memories, save letters, save texts, save essays, save blogs....save it all, you're not promised tomorrow, the next moment, or even the next blog.

So save people. Whatever you do, just save.

His Story

He was born Justin. Half French, half Italian, he was gorgeous. He IS gorgeous, atleast he was the last time I saw him. Now his body is being covered with black sores, his body, usually a hard mass of muscle and physical perfection is losing its definition as he loses weight during this hard time of his life. We met in high school, he was just another addition to my ragtag bunch of friends, all of us different, gay, transgendered, straight, bisexual, Wiccans, Atheists, Christians, Buddhists, Agnostics, Spiritual, Hermaphrodite, Cripple, we were a bunch of people who became friends because of our love for the theater, drama, music, sex, alcohol, and amazingly enough our mutual love for Brad Pitt.
Justin, Ryan, Angel, and I naturally gravitated towards each other. We were far and away the most dramatic and flamboyant of our little makeshift "family" of 15. We were all outcasts, the black sheep, who just happened to be the most popular people around. All for different reasons. Angel, the gorgeous Puerto Rican boy who women desperately wanted to turn straight and for whom men were willing to turn gay, was always known as being the life of the party, with his flair for fashion, he was Lady Gaga before Gaga existed. I was the chameleon, able to blend in with my surroundings yet staying true to who I really was. I was popular because of my talent, my ability to accomplish whatever I truly set my mind to and because while I wasn't considered "beautiful," guys were still drawn to me. Ryan, the hermaphrodite of our "family" was popular because of how smart he was, his sarcastic wit, and because he was one of the few open-minded, TRULY loving Christians that existed. Justin, however, was a force to be reckoned with. A hulking mass of sexiness, he was popular because he was beautiful, his smile could stop traffic, he was the biggest sweetheart in the world and while girls were often brokenhearted when he told them he was "a flaming homosexual" they were only too happy to consider him a friend.
Justin was free-spirited. Then again, we all were. Spending our days skipping class or daydreaming about moving to Los Angeles and becoming "Super-Celebrities" in our own ways. Justin wanted to be the highest paid porn star in the world and be President of the United States....simultaneously. He dreamed big and often. He was also one of my biggest supporters/fans. Justin could never understand it if a guy didn't find me attractive, or if someone told me "no," or if I got turned down for anything. He always seemed truly shocked. That was Justin's thing though, he believed that all of his friends were the best thing walking and could never believe it when someone disagreed with him.
Justin grew up in a family where his parents were just as free-spirited and flighty as he was. They changed ideals, beliefs, religions, and values about as much as they changed the furniture in their house. Perhaps that attributed to Justin's restless spirit, or perhaps it was always there, regardless, Justin was not one for committing to anything, not a job, not a place, and especially not a relationship. So it was to the shock of all of us when he told us that he had not only been in a committed relationship with the same guy for a year but that he was in love with him. Being the type of friends that we are, we immediately teased and berated him for it before asking to meet the guy in question, Isaac.
Isaac was your typical rich boy, spoiled, entitled, arrogant, thinking he was God's gift to men AND women and I of course had a problem with him dating my best friend, especially when he hit on me one night and told me not to tell (which of course I did). Isaac and Justin's relationship was fraught with violent arguments and fighting, excessive drinking and drug usage, and other addictive behavior. Isaac also cheated on Justin....repeatedly. Justin always took Isaac back, much to the chagrin of the rest of us.
So I wasn't too shocked when Justin called to tell me that Isaac had confessed to having an affair for four months, not even when he told me that Isaac had been cheating on him with a woman, I wouldn't have put it past Isaac to cheat on him with a dog if giiven the right motivation and circumstances (gross I know, but hey, I'm being honest). However, I was shocked when he told me that Isaac had gotten this other woman pregnant and the two of them had decided to keep the baby and to try to be together.
Justin was devastated and rightly so. So, being the family that we are, we all pitched in and helped to fly Justin from New York over to London, England where Angel and James lived with their own house, thinking to help Justin heal over his harsh breakup by indulging in the life of a British man. It seemed to work for a while, Justin began laughing and smiling again, returning to a glimpse of his former, vivacious self.
So I was shocked when he called to inform me that he'd had to go to the doctor....again, to get bloodwork done. Then when he told me why, my heart stopped.
You see, our family started off with 15 in 1997, and now in 2010, we are just 5. Losing the other 10 to drugs, jail, and AIDS. So when Justin told me that he was having another "outbreak" of sores, weakness, and feeling sick, I felt the air in my world being sucked out.
Justin is a big, huge, important part of my life. The results of his test came in and when he called me, sobbing openly on the phone, my heart broke. I am so afraid of losing him and so angry that he didn't get tested sooner, earlier, yearly. He knew his partner was unfaithful and yet chose to remain in denial rather than face reality and get tested. His partner put his life on the line by sleeping around and yet Justin is not completely innocent because he didn't use protection and he didn't get tested.
Now, our days will be filled with nostalgic memories, hospital visits, medicine, attempts at trying to cram as much of Justin's "bucket list" into what remains of his life, trying to be hopeful, and all of us will spend our days with this black cloud looming over our heads as we try not to focus on the fact that we will be losing another family member to this horrible disease soon.
We have a responsibility, not just to ourselves but to our partners, our loved ones, the world and our family to get tested as often as possible, to stay healthy, informed and aware.
Justin hasn't lost his vivaciousness or his flair for life, he's wiser now, he's sicker, but he's still the same guy who tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to my Drama class, one day, our freshman year in college, because he said that "Divas don't walk."
His story has motivated those of us who remain to get tested but to also tell his story so that through his life and impending demise, we might save the lives of others.

By the way, Justin's favorite movie is "Rent" and his favorite part? The restaurant scene where the cast sings "La Vie Boheme." Favorite line: "Actual reality, Act now, FIGHT AIDS!"

Wow

It's been a while since I've written a blog. Blame my long, physically demanding hours at work. I literally come home and pass out every morning. There have been so many things that have gone on that I wanted to share but of course, I was just too tired to do so, but I did think about this blog if that's any consolation.

First thing first (what's up with that phrase anyway? It makes no sense, if it's the first thing of course it will be first. Why reiterate that fact? Anyway...). At my job (I work overnight at Walmart) the gossip has gotten absolutely ridiculous. When it first started about me, I figured that it was because I was "the new girl." I mean, it happens, people speculate about a person, why they are who they are, how they got there, etc. So at first I overlooked the "she's stuck-up," "she's a bitch," "she thinks she's better than everyone else" comments. Then it became "she's a nympho," that one kind of bothered me, but still I said nothing. However, as if my silence and non-response was pissing off the gossipers, it got worse: "she had sex with five guys that work here, she let them run a train on her," "she got kicked out of the military for having sex with her drill sergeant," "she's a lesbian," "she's bisexual," etc. The gossip got more malicious, more damaging and started pissing me off more and more. These people don't even know me, and the ones that are talking are the ones that I don't speak to at all. Maybe that made them mad? I don't know and at first I didn't care, however, it got to the point where I had to let "Bonifah," the name I gave my temper, come out. I subtley threatened or warned some of them, and confronted others.
Do they not know how destructive gossip is? How damaging? Gossip can ruin lives, cause breakups, people kill themselves over gossip. I'm not there, trust me, but I am pissed off to the point where I realize that I may need to transfer and soon in order to preserve my sanity. This is why I don't like people most of the time. Just people in general. And that's very hard to reconcile with my optimistic-"people are basically good"-hopeful-happy personality. I'm not angry, violent, or frustrated by nature, but I'm that way every time I set foot into that building.
So, there's the gossip and then there's the guy. We'll call him....J.D. because those are his initials. So J.D. and I began our flirtation about two months into my employment at my store. I was serious about it, he seemed serious about it. We made out in the store, we constantly texted each other, we talked about the parameters of our "relationship." Then I went into the hospital for castochondritis and he proceeds to tell me that it was all a joke on his part. WTF?! Yeah, I was pissed. But I can read people very well. I tend to overlook or ignore my instincts and intuitions about certain people, but I'm usually right (it's a: "something's just not right" kind of thing). So, because I felt like he actually was attracted to me just scared or hesitant to get involved because we worked together, I kept talking to him, flirting with him, hanging out with him. And we definitely had our moments where it was apparent to anyone looking at us that we liked each other, and then I found one of the roots of our problem. We'll call him J.B. since those are HIS initials.
Never have I wanted to strangle someone as much as I wanted to strangle J.B. Here's this young, African-American BOY (J.D. is Puerto Rican and I'm apparently in my I want a Hispanic man phase- ie, Adam Rodriguez who is HOT.) who feels as if he's ENTITLED to me or that I'm OBLIGATED to talk to him or want him because HE SAYS SO (Yeah, I'm still pissed off about it). He's an arrogant S.O.B. who makes my skin crawl when I think about being around him and my stomach lurch when I think about being alone with him. He's young, stupid, did I mention arrogant? Someone spent way too much time telling him, or leading him to believe, that he was God's gift to women. He tried to be the jerk that picks up women by insulting them (if you've ever seen Criminal Minds Season 04 Episode 09 "52 Pickup" then you know the technique). I'm definitely one of those women that is not only immune to that particular technique, I'm turned off by it. He angers me when I have to talk to him or deal with him, think about him or whatever. As you can probably tell.
Anyway, apparently J.B. was talking to J.D. about me behind my back, egging him on, prompting him to do things, to say things, etc. Living vicariously through him, dating me through him. Which is sick and yes, childish. Like some Cyrano crap. Except the words and the looks all came from J.D.
Last but not least, my birthday is in November, November 16th (Let's give it up for Scorpios! Woohoo!!). And some friends and I are going to Las Vegas, NV for my birthday. I'm supremely excited about the whole thing. We're going to be staying in the Bellagio Hotel and spending four days there. I can't wait to see what happens, who gets married, which celebrities we'll see (GOD, please let Shemar Moore be there and let him be attracted to me! That would be THE PERFECT birthday present-Four days and nights of hot blissful, toe-curling, earth shattering, addictive sex with that FINE piece of man chocolately caramel), how much we lose and win gambling. It's going to be great!!
Well, writing this blog has actually made me tired, which is a good thing. I'll be going to sleep now, I hope all of you out there have a great day/night. Be happy and from what I've learned this past week, don't be afraid to stand up for yourself or to pursue what you want, you'll be happy that you did in the end.

Prologue-Chapter Three of "Glorious Mistake"

Prologue
Savannah tiptoed over to the bathroom to look for it there. Where could it have gone to? She wondered. Looking around quickly she tried not to yell out in excitement when she saw her bra hanging from the lamp by the bed. Rushing quietly she snatched it from its post and stuffed it in the pocket of her hunter green wool trench coat. Slinging her Jimmy Choos over her fingers she picked up her purse, combed her fingers through her unruly black Caribbean hair and walked to the door, careful to make sure that she didn’t make any noise. Opening the door she walked quickly through, before the door closed, she made sure to turn back and get one last glimpse at her latest mistake.
There he was, his black hair almost concealing his face, where it hung off the bed. He was a beautiful specimen, she had to admit that. His athletically muscled body was a direct contradiction to his rumpled Armani suit that was haphazardly tossed on the table. They had been in a little bit of a rush the two of them.
Having met in a bar the night before, Savannah was well on her way to what she liked to call Drunksville when she saw him walking in with who she could only guess was his angelic posse. All of them gorgeous, but it was him that caught her attention. She’d nudged her best friends, the group of them affectionately called the Alphas because of their A+ grades, looks, status, class, and culture; and made her way over to his table. When he looked up her heart had slammed in her chest and for the first time she’d been struck mute, then when he smiled at her, she’d been struck dumb. When he stood up from his table and held out his hand the only thing she could do was accept his invitation and follow him out onto the makeshift dance floor. The two of them danced three dances, their eyes locked on each other, neither of them speaking.
At the end of the last song she finally spoke.
“My name is Savannah,” she whispered.
“Hello Savannah, my name is Armando,” he stated, his voice a deeply sensuous growl.
“Well Armando, thank you very much for the dance, I really enjoyed it,” she replied as she turned to walk away.
“Wait a minute, Cara mia; are you seriously going to walk away from me like that? After sharing such passionate dances with me? I cannot allow you to do such a thing. It would not be good for either of us,” he said as he tightened his grip on her hand.
“Well then, what are you suggesting sir?” she questioned flirtatiously.
“You and I, we need to get to know each other better, much better. Will you come to my room for a drink?”
And while Savannah did not engage in one-night stands or drunken liaisons it was something about this handsome, muscled Italian that drew her into him.
“Yes, I will. Just let me tell my friends and I’ll meet you by the elevators,” she smiled at him seductively.
“I look forward to it,” he stated before kissing the back of her hand and walking towards the elevators.
Savannah walked quickly over to her friends. They all stood waiting with bated breath, the knowing smiles giving away the fact that they’d been watching her the whole time that she’d been dancing with Armando. The Alphas, she thought to herself as her eyes perused her four best friends. They all looked completely different from one another, all of them coming from different backgrounds and familial structures, but all of them professional and at the top of their game. There was Ming Lae, whose father was Asian and mother was black. Ming was the highest paid lawyer in Atlanta where she practiced family law. Ming’s long black hair was the source of much teasing when she was growing up, usually by girls who were jealous of her beautiful caramel color, seductive eyes, and petite figure all topped off with the most beautiful black hair in the world that came to her hips. Ming had her hair swept up into her signature coiffure but it did nothing to diminish her beauty, neither did the black pantsuit that she‘d chosen to wear that evening. Ming’s parents had met during her mother’s second tour of duty in Japan when she served in the Army. Their love story was the biggest reason that the Alphas all decided that they wouldn’t settle for second best.
Then there was Susan. At first glance she looked the part of the All-American girl with her blonde hair, blue eyes and supermodel figure, however, after getting to know her the fierceness of her personality and the intelligence that she possessed overshadowed and obliterated all preconceived notions about blondes. Susan’s parents were wealthy, both of them having come from money, they met in prep school and got married right after they graduated from college. Susan’s birth came as something of a shock to her parents as they’d been told after three years of trying that they were unable to conceive children, and then lo and behold they were told on the anniversary of their fourth year that they were going to be having a baby. They called Susan their miracle baby as she was the only child that they had. It was because of this fact that they tended to be overprotective of her. Susan didn’t let it bother her; she just smiled and continued her work as a scientist in her lab in Illinois. Susan was determined to discover the cure for cancer and HIV, and she was well on her way, the drug that she’d invented had been known to extend the lifespan of HIV patients for 10 years. Susan’s blonde hair was pulled up into her signature “Geisha girl” style, complete with chopsticks and a flower at the back of her hair, her lithe body wrapped in a purple dress.
Savannah’s eyes traveled over the comic of the group. Ava was seen as being the comedienne because she was always cracking jokes when they all got together. Ava stated that it was because of her serious job as a detective for the Special Victims Unit in New York’s Police Department that she was such a character when they all got together. Ava was a Spanish beauty and one look at her all breath left the body, male or female they were all attracted to her. Her body was athletic and firm due to the rigors of her job, her black hair, usually in a bun, was in curls framing her face and falling down to her shoulders. Her uniform had been left in her apartment in New York and tonight she was wearing a gorgeous red Salsa dress, laughingly stating she didn’t know why she wore it as she and Savannah were the only ones who knew how to do the Salsa, the rest of them were merely “fuddy duddies.” Ava had been raised by her grandmother after her parents died in a revolt that took place in Madrid. Ava’s grandmother was a loving woman who taught Ava how to be strong in body, mind and spirit, but also teaching Ava early on that men were not to be trusted. It had taken years for Ava and her current boyfriend of five years to overcome the hurdles of her upbringing. They had though and Ava had stated that very day that she thought that he might be proposing soon.
Looking over at Evangeline, Savannah felt her face pull into a smile. Evangeline and Savannah were the closest of the entire group. That had a lot to do with the fact that they were roommates in college and the fact that they both lived in Texas. Evangeline was raised by her single mother after her father was gunned down at the courthouse when he went to testify against a racist group that had been terrorizing the neighborhood. Evangeline’s mother was a beautiful Native American and her father had been a strong, educated African from Darfur in the Sudan, who’d migrated over to the United States to create a better life for himself, when his father was killed and his sisters and mother were raped and then kidnapped right in front of him where he hid in the closet where his eldest sister, Mulani had shoved him along with his youngest sister, Kolata. After the terrorists left, he’d taken his sister and they’d fled. By panhandling, begging, studying English, enlisting in school and working odd jobs, he was able to get them to the states. Once he did he met and fell in love with Evangeline’s Native American mother. They’d endured a lot even before the murder, but after Evangeline’s father died, the family really suffered a blow. However, Evangeline and her mother are extremely resourceful and strong and they were able to overcome the pain and anger that came after being dealt that blow. Evangeline had gone on to be one of the world’s foremost and most sought after diplomats, speaking out against oppression of any kind. Her writings and books sold for a bundle, but Evangeline was still just an Alpha, whose idea it was for them all to get together at least once a month in a vacation spot or hotel so that they could all unwind from the pressures of their lives and jobs.
However it was Savannah, with her milk chocolate skin, tall lithe “porn star” figure, almond shaped eyes, full lips that surrounded a gorgeous smile, and beautiful black hair that hung to just below her shoulders that usually commanded the most attention when they were all together. Having grown up with both her parents, Savannah always joked that she was not the normal statistic. Living in government housing for half of her life, Savannah watched her parents struggle to make ends meet. Her mother ran a hair salon from their living room and her father worked at the local warehouse as he struggled to start his own trucking company. Savannah began going to the local library and studying foreign languages and countries in order to escape the poverty of her own life. It wasn’t too long before Savannah was fluent in Spanish, French, Italian, Arabic, Swahili, Russian, German, Hebrew, and Japanese. Her teachers paid for her to go on every school trip and before long everything in her life was great. By the time junior year of high school came around, her father’s trucking company was nationwide, her mother owned one of the most well-known high end hair salons and boutiques, one that even celebrities flew all the way to Texas to come to. From Gabrielle Union to Mandy Moore, her mother’s salon and boutique had been written up in every magazine and newspaper out there. As for Savannah, she’d gotten a full-ride scholarship for languages to the University of Texas and shortly after graduation had gotten a job as a translator for a multi-cultural corporation. It was there at UT that she’d met Evangeline in her dorm room, Ming Lae in one of her Foreign Affairs classes, Susan in one of her Science classes, and Ava in one of her English classes. She’d introduced the girls to each other, and while out in the library one night studying, the group had achieved their name when a guy who had been snubbed by Ming Lae came over and called them the Alphas, because they lived and thought like they were A-pluses. The five girls had laughed as he marched off in a huff but as they said the name simultaneously, they realized that they liked it. Others thought that they were a part of a sorority, and many girls were disappointed to find out that they weren’t. They sure felt like they were, however, being as close as sisters can be.
And being just like sisters, when she told them where she was going they all had something to say. Regardless of the warnings and the cautions, Savannah had gone anyway, and now she was walking away from the door of the gorgeously handsome Italian stranger that she’d just had an explosive night with. Sighing dejectedly as the elevator doors closed with a ding, she knew that the only thing she’d have to remember that night with were memories, the sweet ache between her thighs, and a name…..Armando.
If only things could’ve been different, she thought to herself. “Ah well,” she said aloud as she walked off the elevator to the front doors of the hotel, valet slip in hand, “it’s just as well that we forget each other. He won’t remember me and I will forget about him after tonight.”
And as she drove away in her silver Lamborghini, she really thought that was true. But we know how sometimes mistakes….even glorious ones have repercussions.
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…”-Juliet, Romeo & Juliet ACT I, Scene IV
　
　
　
　
Chapter One
Savannah wiped her now sweaty palms along the length of her hip hugging brown skirt. Sighing she checked her appearance in the full length bathroom mirror once again, making sure to smooth any stray hairs and smacking her lips together in frustration when she noticed the stain on her shirt collar. “Victoria!” she gritted in frustration. Turning back to the sink she grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the sink water. Wiping furiously at the spot her actions slowed as she thought about Victoria, affectionately called “Vicky.” She was so sweet and cute it was hard to stay mad at her. Calm once again, Savannah checked her appearance once more in the mirror. From her new haircut, stopping to just below her chin, to her new brown suit with a brown and white striped collar shirt and her stockings and brown Jimmy Choos, she looked the part of a professional.
Sighing again, this time in satisfaction, she squatted down delicately, picking up her brown portfolio, slung her attaché case on her right shoulder and turned to leave the plush, elegant and sophisticated bathroom in the high-end company that she was having a meeting at and smiled as she passed the janitor who was coming in to clean. Stepping out into the hallway, she looked at the Directory posted up on the wall to make sure she was heading in the right direction and turning to the left she set off to the office of Mr. Santorini.
Quickly refreshing her mind of all she knew of Mr. Santorini, Savannah barely noticed the many offices that she passed, the thick maroon carpet that she walked on or the men who stopped and stared with their mouths hanging open in appreciation. Her mother had long ago told her that she walked like a supermodel, even pushing her daughter to attempt to become a supermodel. Savannah loved her languages, however, and in order to appease her mother, did a little bit of modeling while attending college in order to have extra money to go on trips and for shopping excursions. She’d grown independent early on and had hated asking her parents for money so having the occasional odd jobs had helped in that aspect. Refocusing her thoughts, Savannah reminded herself that she’d been told that Mr. Santorini was known as the quintessential Italian ladies-man. He was very big on family, loyalty, trust, and dependency. She hadn’t been told if he was married, young or old, but none of those things mattered. She’d stopped her work for the government two years ago so that she could be closer to home and now worked for a company that hired out translators for mergers, vacations, classes, conferences, conventions, and hostile corporate takeovers. Savannah had done more traveling in the last two years than ever before, but never for too long and always coming home.
Finding herself outside of the office of Mr. A. Santorini, Savannah took a deep, cleansing breath, not knowing why she was suddenly so nervous; she’d never been nervous before and stepped into the lobby of his office. Savannah gasped as she took in the vastness of the lobby before her. Her eyes took in the maroon and gold furnishings. From the comfortable looking chaise lounge to the fully stocked magazine rack to the gorgeous gold trimmed maple desks where two women sat, everything there spoke of elegance. Savannah walked sedately over to the desk of the woman whose nameplate stated that she was the receptionist and waited for her to finish her call. Trying not to gape at the phone’s multi-line system that had every line lit up, Savannah allowed her eyes to roam over the walls. Taking in the pictures of buildings and well-known products Savannah tried not to be intimidated by the popularity and success of the company.
“Miss?” Savannah heard herself being addressed and focused on the receptionist, realizing that she’d probably been called repeatedly.
“Oh! I apologize. I was just admiring the work that your company has done,” she admitted to the amused receptionist.
“It’s perfectly fine ma’am. How may I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Miss Savannah Hunter and I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Santorini,” she explained with a smile.
Elizabeth tried not to gasp when Savannah smiled at her. She’d never been attracted to a woman before but when Miss Hunter smiled she found herself reconsidering her earlier misgivings. Smiling warmly at her she responded with a friendly smile.
“Miss Hunter! Mr. Santorini has been expecting you! He just stepped out for a minute but asked that you wait in his office should you arrive. If you’ll just follow me I’ll show you in?”
Instantly liking this receptionist, Savannah agreed wholeheartedly and followed the receptionist into the office directly behind her desk. Walking in, Savannah was once again shocked, only not by the elegance of the office but by the simplicity of it.
“I know it’s amazing isn’t it? Mr. Santorini let his mother design the entire building, but he designed his office. It really shows what kind of man he is,” Elizabeth stated, “My name is Elizabeth, by the way, and if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”
Savannah smiled at Elizabeth once again and politely refused her offer of a drink. Turning back to the office, Savannah made herself comfortable at the plain cherry wood table on the left side of the office and opened her portfolio. Setting up for the notes and reports that she’d made in order to help her client, Savannah caught sight of something out of the window and wandered over to investigate. Turning when she heard the door open, she opened her mouth to greet Mr. Santorini, the words died in her throat however, when she saw him.
“You’re Mr. Santorini?” she whispered.
Armando could remember only two times in his life where he’d ever been shocked speechless. Both of which had something to do with the woman standing in front of him. He stood still in shock as his eyes took in the woman who had haunted his dreams for the last two years. She still looked amazing. Her hair was shorter, but it looked good on her. She’d filled out some. She was still slim, but her bosom looked bigger and her hips had spread a little. In one word she looked, GORGEOUS.
Swallowing deeply he answered her question, “Yes, I’m Mr. Santorini. And I take it that you’re Miss Hunter? What a coincidence. When you snuck out of my hotel room two years ago, I thought that I’d never see you again, and now here you are, about to work for me,” his voice was silky sweet as he slid into Italian, sure that she could understand him.
Smiling at him without humor, Savannah answered him back in Italian, “I left two years ago without saying goodbye because I felt that it was what was best for the both of us,” ignoring his grunt of disbelief she continued, “you may not realize it now, but I promise you, it’s what was best. I mean, especially considering my last two years. But, contrary to what you believe, I don’t work for you; I work for my company, whom you hired for consultation. I am your consultant, your translator. I am here to assist you, but let’s get one thing straight,” she walked closer to him, “if you start acting high-handed with me, I will walk out and send in my assistant to help you instead.”
Turning around and walking away from him, she sat down on the couch in the room and setting her attaché case on her lap, she opened it, “Now, let’s get down to business shall we? We’ll leave our brief history in the past where it belongs and get through this initial meeting.”
Armando nodded even as he headed to his chair. Sitting down behind his desk gave him a sense of normalcy, a sense of control and power. Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten.
“Mr. Santorini?” Savannah questioned, her voice filled with concern.
“Give me a second,” Armando whispered. Thinking of his home in Italy, Armando took his mind off of the enticing woman in front of him. When he reached one, he opened his eyes, his implacable business mask firmly in place.
“Well Miss Hunter, let’s get to work.”
　
Five hours later the two workaholics closed their folders and rose from their chairs. Picking up her suit jacket, Savannah glanced at her watch and realized that she needed to go home to check on Vicky. Placing the jacket over her arm, she grabbed her attaché case and smiled at Armando.
“Mr. Santorini,” she stated before nodding her head and turning to leave.
“I’ll see you in the morning Miss Hunter, and please, be on time,” Armando replied as he packed up to leave also.
Savannah smiled, thankful that her back was still to him. “Of course Mr. Santorini. Ciao,” she answered as she walked out of the door without looking back.
Armando sat back in his chair as he watched her walk down the hallway, grinning in male appreciation of her supple form. It wasn’t until he heard the ding of the elevator doors signaling that she’d gotten to the bottom floor that he allowed himself to look around the room. It was then that he noticed that she’d left her notes from that day. Knowing that she needed it in order to prepare for tomorrow, Armando leapt out of his chair and snatched up the folder, running down the hallway to try and catch her before she got to her car. Suddenly he stopped. While she wanted to forget everything that had occurred between them two years ago, Armando wasn’t in agreement like she thought he was. No woman could forget him, whether they wanted to or not, and while he’d forgotten nearly everyone woman he’d ever slept with, she was the first and only one that he’d been haunted by. She might think it was a mistake, but he believed in what Italians liked to call destino. They were brought together for a reason, and it was for that reason that the Universe kept throwing them back together. He wouldn’t rest until he found out what that reason was.
　
　
　
　
　
Chapter Two
Savannah pulled into her garage and sighed as she turned off her engine. Another long day, one filled with reuniting with someone that she’d hoped to forget for the rest of her life. Although, it was nearly impossible for her to ever completely forget Armando…Santorini. She sighed again, what cruel twist of fate had her consulting for his firm? And the very fact that it was such a complicated situation, one that would require them to work together in very close quarters, alone, and for very long hours, did not make the matter any better. Groaning aloud in her car, Savannah opened the door and got out of the car gracefully. The fifteen years of forced ballet training and classes imposed upon her by her parents was always evident with her graceful walk and fluid movements. Walking into her four bedroom family home, Savannah smiled. It didn’t matter what kind of day she’d had, whenever she walked into her home she always smiled. It was so very homey. With it’s butterscotch colored walls, a kitchen that any chef would kill for and a large backyard, she had the home that she’d always dreamed of.
“Now all I need is a man to complete the picture and I’ll be set,” she stated to the heavens as she kicked off her shoes and placed them in the shoe basket by the garage door. Pushing away the unbidden image of Armando Santorini, she walked quickly down the hallway to the living room and the sounds of the television and laughter.
Sitting on her favorite pink blanket in the middle of the floor was her beautiful, 15 month old daughter, Victoria, laughing at the images of her favorite cartoon characters on the television. When Savannah stepped fully into the room, Vicky’s eyes quickly turned to her. Smiling widely and chanting “Mama”, the gorgeous newly walking infant, who often turned heads with her olive skin tone, wide slanted hazel eyes, full head of thick, black hair, and cute rosebud lips toddled away from her babysitter towards her mother. Savannah’s throat closed up with emotion as it always did whenever Vicky called her “Mama.” Scooping her up, Savannah kissed Vicky’s cheek and snuggled her neck, smiling as Vicky giggled. Cuddling her close, Savannah looked up and met the gaze of her babysitter, and best friend, Evangeline.
“How was she Vangee?” Savannah asked as she walked with Evangeline to the door.
“A complete angel as always,” Evangeline replied her eyes softening as she looked at Vicky.
“That’s good. You don’t want to stay for dinner? I’ve got some crazy news to share with you,” Savannah said as Evangeline opened the door.
Both women were so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them noticed the tall, Italian man walking up the walkway with the portfolio in his hand. Armando had found Savannah’s address when he’d opened the brown portfolio and had promptly gotten in his car to drive over. He kept telling himself that he was only in a hurry to bring her the documents so that she’d be prepared for work the next morning, but if he was completely honest with himself, it was because he’d wanted to see where she lived and he’d wanted to see her just one more time.
Back in the house, Evangeline and Savannah stood in the open doorway talking quickly because Evangeline had to get back to her own home to let her two dogs out so that they could “do their business.”
“So what happened today that has you in such a tizzy?” Evangeline asked amused at Savannah’s tone.
“You will never guess who Mr. Santorini is,” Savannah began.
“Who?” Evangeline asked, intrigued by the way Savannah’s voice was shaking.
“Armando.”
Evangeline gasped…she had to have heard incorrectly. “Armando who? The only Armando I know is the Armando, that you foolishly hooked up with two years ago in a bar. The smooth, muscled, sexy Italian. The father of Victoria. That’s the ONLY Armando that I’ve EVER heard you talk about, so what Armando is it that you’re working with?” she questioned, her eyes going wide in shock.
“Vicky’s father, Armando!! What am I going to do Vangee? What if he comes by and sees her? She looks just like him, he’d have to be stupid to not know that she was his daughter after taking one good look at her,” Savannah said frantically.
Evangeline and Savannah turned and gasped in shock when they heard a deep voice state in a voice that sounded equal parts shock, barely concealed rage, and amazingly amusement: “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not stupid then” and they saw Armando standing not two feet away from them, his eyes glued on the little girl who stared at him with hazel eyes, wide with curiosity at the stranger.
Armando was going to have to revise his earlier statement, there had been THREE times that he’d ever been shocked speechless, and amazingly they all STILL had to with THIS WOMAN!! She’d gotten pregnant when they’d hooked up two years ago, had his baby, a daughter apparently, kept the baby, and had never thought to tell him that he was a father…he was a father!! That thought alone rendered him speechless, but to be looking at the product of a hot, passionate, glorious…MISTAKE was too much…even for him. Looking up into the unblinking, shocked eyes of the woman who had SO MUCH explaining to do he said in voice that sounded almost like a growl “In the house…NOW…we have MUCH to discuss!” Barely glancing at her friend who by now had made her way completely out of the door and was standing in front of her friend as if protecting her, Armando made his way inside and waited for her to make her goodbyes. He heard her whispered conversation as she assured her friend that she’d be okay, and that yes, she could leave, and that yes, she’d call if something happened and that no, she didn’t think he was dangerous, all before he heard her come back in and close the door. Turning around slowly to face her, he watched as she gracefully strode past him, clutching tightly to the little girl who was still staring at him intently.
He followed her into her living room and watched as she placed the infant down on the blanket. The little girl continued to watch him, though now she did so with her thumb popped into her mouth.
“Vicky, no. Mommy told you that you can’t suck on your thumb,” Savannah whispered as she pulled Vicky’s thumb out of her mouth.
“Vicky?” he questioned, some of his anger having abated.
“Yes,” Savannah answered, turning to look at him as she handed toys to the child, “It’s short for Victoria.”
“My mother’s name is Victoria,” Armando whispered.
“I know. You told me in your room, one of the times that we rested,” Savannah whispered back, refusing to look at him.
Armando swung his gaze to her face. “You remembered that? And that’s why you named her Victoria?” he inquired.
“Victoria Diane…Diane after my mother, Victoria after yours…her…father,” Savannah hesitated and then looked up at him.
The two of them stared at each other for a long time.
“Why Savannah? Why didn’t you tell me? It’s been two years, why didn’t you tell me that I was a father?” Armando asked, his voice breaking with emotion.
“Because it was a mistake. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen…” Savannah began.
“The truth,” Armando demanded in a hushed voice.
“Because I didn’t want to have to see you again and possibly lose my daughter to you,” Savannah finally stated truthfully.
Armando nodded and then looked back at Vicky who had stood up by this time. He saw so much of himself in her. From her eyes to her chin, he could see what Savannah had meant from her earlier statement, he’d have to be an idiot to not know that she was his child.
“Do you want to hold her?” Savannah asked, her voice quavering with nervousness.
“I’d love too,” Armando answered, not caring that Savannah was nervous about it. She’d known for two years and had told him nothing. She’d kept his daughter from him. As he accepted Vicky into his arms and the two of them sat staring at each other, his heart constricted with a protective and possessive instinct that he didn’t know that he possessed. Smiling at Vicky, he was surprised and pleased when she giggled and threw her arms around his neck for a hug. As his arms tightened around her, Armando fought back tears. This was his daughter, his princess, he was her father and he would be damned if anyone would keep her from him…not even her gorgeous, distracting mother.
　
Savannah stood watching Armando hug Vicky, her heart in her throat. It was such a touching scene that for a moment Savannah found herself feeling slightly guilty that she hadn’t found some kind of way to alert Armando that she’d been pregnant with his child. Vicky was cuddled against his chest and Savannah was more than a little shocked. While always a happy and friendly baby, Vicky had never taken so quickly to someone that she didn’t know. Sighing at the idea that her daughter knew her father even though he hadn’t been around for the pregnancy or the past 15 months, Savannah moved to sit down on the couch next to Armando. Smiling at Vicky when she looked at her, Savannah fully expected for Vicky to reach for her. So she was even more shocked when she snuggled closer to Armando and closed her eyes in sleep.
“Wow,” she heard Armando whisper and she looked up into his eyes.
“Yeah, I know. She’s never done that before,” Savannah whispered back, her gaze having returned to Vicky.
“So when was she born?” Armando asked, his tone still hushed.
Looking back at him, Savannah realized that it was time for the interrogation to begin. Steeling herself against the overwhelming emotions that she always felt whenever she talked about the birth of her daughter, she whispered thickly, “December 25th.”
“She’s a Christmas baby?” Armando asked, a smile evident in his voice.
“Yeah, my little Christmas miracle,” Savannah responded.
“Was the labor hard?”
“Not harder than any other I would suspect.”
“Were there any problems during the pregnancy?”
“No, it was amazingly easy. I mean, besides the morning sickness and the mood swings, everything else was a breeze.”
Armando smiled down at Vicky who now slept peacefully in his arms. “Well, that’s good,” he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, “I want to be involved in her life.”
Sighing resignedly Savannah nodded. “I figured you would say that when I saw your reaction to her. I’m sure that we can work out something.”
Handing Vicky over to Savannah, Armando rose from the couch. The notes that he’d brought to give to Savannah forgotten on the floor. “Yes we will work something out. I will not be a weekend or a holiday father. I want her to know me. I want to know her. I want to be there for everything. Every little moment of her life. I’ve already missed so much, I won’t miss anymore.” Walking slowly towards the door, knowing that Savannah was following behind him, Armando made a quick decision. Not normally an impetuous person, he was surprised that his instincts didn’t protest at the spontaneous idea. He felt nothing but peace over the whole situation. Turning at the door, he faced Savannah.
“I won’t be so old fashioned as to ask you to marry me. However, one of two things will happen within the next two months. You will either move to Italy where I reside for 90 percent of the year,” Armando began, watching as Savannah’s eyes widened at the idea, “Or…I will move here, and not just in the area…but in your home, so that I can be close to my daughter,” pausing, he waited to let his words sink in. “You have three days to decide. I will see you in the morning. Come prepared to work. And do not think to run away with my daughter, because I will find you, I have the time and the unlimited resources to find you.” Looking down at Vicky he whispered softly. “Ciao bambina. I will see you soon.” Looking back up at Savannah who still seemed to be frozen in shock, he commanded, “Bring my daughter into the office with you tomorrow also. We can work with her there, and it’s time that everyone got a chance to meet the heiress to the Santorini empire.”
Opening the door and walking to his car, Armando felt the first true stirrings of peace settle around his mind and his shoulders, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, and the rapid beating of his heart when he thought about Savannah living in close proximity to him? Well…he’d just blame that on indigestion.
　
　
　
Chapter Three
Savannah hesitated outside of the doors of the Santorini building. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the handicap button on the side of the building to open the doors and pushed the stroller that held Vicky through. She couldn’t believe that she was bringing her daughter to work with her. After agonizing over it all night, tossing and turning in her sleep, she’d come to the conclusion that Vicky was an enigma to her workaholic, bachelor father and that once the fascination of the situation wore off that he’d sign away his parental rights and never look back. Pushing the stroller off the elevator and heading towards Armando’s office, Savannah ignored the chill down her spine that told her that she was wrong. She had to believe that things were going to turn out that way. It was her only method of survival, because to imagine Armando Santorini in her life, everyday, for the rest of her life, or at least until Vicky turned 18, was too much for the single mother to handle.
Walking into the lobby of Armando’s office, Savannah was once again struck by its opulence. People looked at her parents, their home, her schools and automatically assumed that she came from a very wealthy family, not realizing that she didn’t start out that way. Smiling at Elizabeth, she nodded when she was waved in. Squaring her shoulders once more she knocked on the door and then gasped when Armando opened the door. The entire office had received a makeover, though how it had been done since the night before was absolutely amazing. The once all-masculine office now looked as if it belonged to a family man. In one corner of the office, behind Armando’s desk was a pink playpen, filled with teddy bears and baby dolls. In the other corner, again behind Armando’s desk, was a changing table; also pink. Stopping in the middle of the room Savannah spun around in a slow circle. A television that was playing cartoons was placed in the corner in front of a pink blanket that looked amazingly like the one that Vicky had been laying on the night before. Savannah turned to look at Armando, a questioning look on her face and was stopped from asking him any questions when she saw the puppy “desire-to-please” look on his face.
“She’s going to love it Armando. Thank you,” she said instead.
“You think so?” Armando asked, looking nervously at Vicky who was looking around with a look of awe on her face.
“We’ll just let her prove it to you. How about that?” Savannah replied, locking the stroller in place, walking around the front and taking Vicky out. Walking to the playpen, Savannah pulled out a handful of bears and dolls and put them outside the play area. Setting Vicky down on her feet, Savannah stepped back and smiled at Vicky’s squeal of delight. Vicky toddled over to the bears and dolls, picking them up and squeezing them in her arms, before moving on to the next one. Each one got a hug, the dolls receiving kisses in addition to the hugs. Picking up one teddy bear who had on a tie and jacket, Vicky seemed to study it before walking over to Armando with the bear outstretched. Armando knelt down to receive the bear, looking up at Savannah for an explanation.
“I think she’s telling you that the bear looks like you,” Savannah chuckled.
“Oh!” Armando nodded. Turning back to Vicky he asked in all seriousness, “You think the bear looks like your Papa?”
Studying him intently, Vicky smiled after a few moments of intense concentration, then launching herself into Armando’s arms, she said one word, a word that rocked both Armando and Savannah to their cores: “Papa!”
Savannah was rooted to the floor. Not even the winds from a hurricane or a tornado could have moved her from that spot in the middle of Armando’s floor, looking at her daughter, her baby, who had just called Armando, “Papa.” Technically and biologically he was her father, but she didn’t know anything about him. Where had she gone wrong? Why was her daughter so trusting? She was completely in love with a man that she’d only met the day before, a man that neither she, nor her mother, knew. With that thought Savannah realized why it bothered her so much. She’d read stories and heard cases of children and sometimes even full grown adults who meet their biological parents or parent for the first time and because of the blood connection and some type of genetic wiring, they were able to love them almost instantaneously. No, this situation bothered Savannah because her daughter was so comfortable with a man that Savannah had experienced one of her most reckless, exhilarating, glorious experiences or mistakes on. Yes, Armando was her own glorious mistake, and while she didn’t regret or bemoan the birth of her daughter, seeing him and her together brought back that night with sudden clarity. She didn’t want to relive that moment again and as it was she already struggled with the memories whenever she looked at Vicky, now with Armando being back on the scene she knew that the memories of that night, those stolen moments, that mistake would be forever evident in her mind.
Armando could feel Savannah’s eyes on him and wondered what she was thinking about. He smiled down at his daughter, delightfully surprised that she readily accepted him as her “Papa.” He’d always known that he would one day have a wife and plenty of bambinos who would look like him and call him “Papa” but ever since he’d shared that one glorious night with Savannah, he’d been unable to get back into dating seriously in order to find a wife, to achieve that desired goal. It was hard to see himself married to any of the women that he’d briefly dated when it was Savannah’s face that continuously swam before his eyes. It was her smile that he saw on every woman’s face, her body that he touched, no matter who he was with and in those rare moments when he found himself able to actually make love to one of the countless women that he found himself dating, it was her voice that he heard moaning and her face that he recalled when he found himself experiencing an orgasm. Now, the object of his dreams and frustrations was back in his life, and this time with his daughter. His daughter! He glanced up at Savannah, he knew what his mother would tell him if she was still alive: “Armando, my son, in the old country if a man gave a woman his seed to have a child, he would turn around and marry her. Italians are respectable, responsible, and possessive. You marry this girl and you do it now.”
Shaking off his mother’s voice, Armando knew that even if he knew Savannah well enough to want to marry her, there was no way that she would agree to marry him. He watched as Vicky’s little hazel eyes began to close in slumber and sighed. He wanted his daughter in his life, all the time, and he knew that Savannah would not let her go. Maybe marriage was the only way. He knew that he’d have to think it over a little more before he made his decision, because once he decided to marry her, there would be no stopping him. He always got what he wanted.
Savannah’s eyes narrowed as she watched Armando’s face become a shuttered mask of implacability and his shoulders straighten in determination. He looked as if he were preparing to go into battle. Fascinated, she continued to watch him, his black hair gleaming as he gently rocked Vicky in his arms. The fact that he was so good with Vicky and she was so comfortable with him was not lost on the single mother. Too often she’d considered the possibility that her daughter would instantly bond with her father should they ever meet, but it seemed so unlikely that that would ever occur that Savannah never really thought about what it would mean for her daughter. She’d met enough Italian men and knew enough about their values and culture to know that they considered family to be the most important thing in their lives. She’d always admired and appreciated that, now that that particular value system was affecting her life, however, she found it exceedingly annoying. She knew that Armando would insist on seeing Vicky at least once a week or more, which meant that she’d have to get used to relinquishing her daughter to the man who still haunted her dreams. Now it was Savannah’s turn to sigh. This was going to be complicated.

Chapter One of My Book "Whole Pieces of a Broken Heart"

Chapter One
Six months earlier
Dr. Matthew Bailey smiled and waved good bye to Mrs. Escaban as she waddled out of the front door of his private obstetrics office. Chuckling softly to himself at the thought that he was the palest Dr. Huxtable in the world, Matthew turned to his last patient of the day and found himself staring….he also found himself not breathing and when he finally took in a breath, it sounded like a gasp. When she looked up at him, Matthew found that his entire body was enflamed with heat. Trying to shake off his weird reaction to the expectant mother, he pasted a smile on his face and tried to ignore his libido.
“Mrs. Riley?” he questioned as he stepped forward with his hand outstretched for a handshake.
“Ms Riley. But please call me Kyra, I mean you’re going to become very intimate with the most private part of me,” the beautiful mother-to-be stated.
Chuckling at her too true statement, Matthew briefly allowed his eyes to take inventory of the treasure in front of him. She was taller than most women, but shorter than his own six foot three stature. He’d put her around 5’8”. She had the most beautiful dark brown skin color, like milk chocolate, his favorite dessert. Her body was curved in all the right places, she wasn’t model thin, but she wasn’t too thick either, she was in a word…perfect, even with her stomach distended with pregnancy.
Seeing her head cocked to the side, with her shoulder length black and brown streaked hair falling over one shoulder, he realized that he was standing there holding her hand and gawking at her like a horny teenager. At least the teenager part is wrong, he admonished himself, as he coughed before showing her into his examining room. She didn’t waddle like the rest of his patients, but that could be because she wasn’t as far along as the rest of his patients. However, she was still very graceful to be pregnant, she walked gracefully even if she weren’t pregnant, she must be a dancer or took ballet at some point, Matt reasoned. Barely glancing at her chart as he asked her to have a seat in the chair in front of his desk, he replayed all that he knew of her case.
25 years old, 14 weeks pregnant, moved here from another base in Virginia with her husband who had that fatal accident a few months back, living in a suburban area right outside of Boston, here for her first sonogram, looking at her face as she looked over the paper he’d placed in front of her about her diet and admitted to himself, and stunningly gorgeous. When she looked up, he hastily looked down as if perusing her chart and ran his fingers through his thick black hair before looking back up at her, his erratic hormones finally under control.
“Well Ms Riley, are you ready to hear your baby’s heartbeat?” he questioned, his friendly doctor smile back on his face.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, and I thought I told you to call me Kyra?” she smiled.
“Okay, well Kyra, let’s go meet this little one.”
The two of them stood up from their seats and walked into the examining room. Matt helped Kyra up onto the examining table and placed the Fetal Doppler on her stomach to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Trying to focus on his job, Matt began to smile as he heard the baby’s heartbeat.
“Well Kyra, your baby is healthy…wait, I mean your babies are healthy,” he said.
“My what?” Kyra screeched.
Matt turned to Kyra. “Ms Riley, you’re having twins,” he stated a smile on his face.
Matt watched in amused silence as Kyra’s eyes closed in shock and then widened in awe. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was talking but no words were forthcoming. Finally her hand touched her baby bump and she swallowed hard.
“I’m having twins? That’s amazing! Not improbable, twins run in my family, on both sides, but I just never thought….I mean…I never figured….this is just incredible! I mean it’s a good thing right? I mean I can handle it financially. I mean, oh my gosh! That‘s why Maria said I was showing really early huh? This is so great!” Kyra stated in a stuttering manner.
Matt just continued smiling as Kyra slowly came to the realization that she was indeed having twins. Turning to him, she threw her arms around him and hugged him with all of her might.
“Oh thank you! Thank you Dr. Matt!!” she exclaimed.
Laughing outright, Matt went against his usual protocol and hugged her back. As the two hugged, the hug slowly changed from one of friendly excitement to something infinitely more intimate. Even though he knew that it was wrong, Matt could not make himself pull away from her. When the two of them finally did separate they were both very much aware of the other. Clearing his throat, Matt smiled nervously at Kyra and opened his mouth to say something about her diet and pregnancy and what to expect when she shocked him by speaking first.
“Well, I guess my libido isn’t dead huh? I haven’t been that attracted to someone for a long time,” she stated matter of factly, pulling her shirt down and cocking her head to the side in wondering amazement.
Matt spluttered in shock. He couldn’t believe that she’d said that! I mean, a person would have to be blind, deaf, dumb, and half-dead to not notice the sexual tension and attraction that was flowing between the two of them, but he’d never remark on it.
“Ms Riley-”he began.
“Kyra,” she corrected.
“Kyra,” he amended, “It is perfectly normal for a pregnant woman’s sexual urges to increase as the pregnancy advances, sometimes it disappears all together. Every woman is different.”
“Dr. Matt,” she chuckled as she started to slide off of the examining table, “I don’t care about other women that you’ve dealt with, I know me and I know my body. What I experienced wasn’t because of the pregnancy; it was because of me finding you extremely attractive.”
Matt could only stare as she stood before him, an angelic smile on her face, making her almost ethereally beautiful. His heart pounded in his chest as he considered that for just a moment she might actually kiss him. He thought about that as his eyes alighted on her full thick lips. He’d seen some big lips, but hers weren’t just big, they were shapely and…..juicy. He could imagine feasting on her lips all day long. As his eyes began to close he watched as her head lifted to receive his kiss. Hearing someone clear their throat had him jumping back quickly and trying desperately to hide his burning red face and calm his pounding heart as he went to respond to his assistant.
“Yes Mrs. Eslinger?” he asked.
“Mrs. Bailey is on the phone for you,” Mrs. Eslinger stated.
“Mrs. Bailey?” he heard Kyra whisper behind him, her words sounding hurt.
“My mother,” he stated to her before turning back to his assistant, “Can you tell her I’ll call her back.” Not daring to look into why he felt that he had to explain himself to his patient…..that he’d almost kissed.
“Yes doctor,” his assistant smiled, and he knew that she’d be grilling him about Miss Riley when the office closed.
“Well doctor, I better let you go,” Kyra said, and as he turned to her, he was shocked again as she kissed him lightly on his lips.
“See you next time doctor,” she smiled as she walked out the door.
Matthew stood in silent shock as she walked out his door before giving into the weakness that had settled into his limbs and collapsed into his chair. The woman was forward, brazen, blunt….in a word, amazing.
“You did what?” her best friend screeched on the phone.
Pulling the phone away from her ear at her best friend’s squeal, Kyra walked around her kitchen collecting all of the things that she needed for her special meal: apples, strawberries, oranges, grapes, chocolate syrup, bananas, pickles, kiwi and sliced turkey mixed together in a bowl. Hmmm, I’ll be glad when this pregnancy thing is over, these cravings are killing me, she thought to herself before turning off the light in her gourmet kitchen and walking on bare feet to her breakfast nook. Sitting down with her legs stretched out on the window seat where she sat, Kyra waited until her best friend Marie finished her Spanish ranting. Hearing her tirade draw to a close with “stupido,” Kyra swallowed the mouthful of her “special” salad and spoke.
“Mi amiga, I couldn’t help myself. He was muy caliente! I felt as if he were mi Corazon, mi amore. He was standing there, looking at me and all I could think about was kissing him to satisfy my curiosity. I think he may be the only man capable of giving me le petite morte,” smiling widely Kyra spoke in Spanish, Italian and French.
She and Maria were both multi-lingual and relished learning new languages just for the heck of it. Maria was born in Madrid, Spain and moved to the States when she was 10. She immediately met Kyra at school and having a heart of compassion and selflessness, the young girl took Maria under her wing and showed her the ropes of attending an American school. The two of them set about teaching the other different aspects of their own culture and their biological languages. Maria taught Kyra Spanish and Kyra taught Maria Italian which was what her father spoke. When they entered high school they both chose to learn French since they knew they would be cheating if they chose Spanish or Italian. After taking four years of the language, for their graduation presents they both asked their parents for a trip to Europe. They backpacked around France, England, and Spain. It was there that they both came to a realization of what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. Maria loved art, art history, and the culture of the arts and promptly took up Art History in college to become an Art Curator. Many people felt as if she was overlooking her own artistic beauty, at 6’1”, Maria stood out in a crowd, but it wasn’t only her height that got her noticed. With her tan skin, thin frame and beautiful Spanish features, Maria’s parents had pushed her to model. Maria hadn’t wanted to be known for her looks, however, and had gone on to become one of the most successful and well-known authorities on art and artists. She hadn’t regretted one minute of her decision since she made it. She and Kyra took every summer to go to some foreign country and learn some of the language and the culture; it was their own special tradition.
Kyra’s story was a little different. She was raised by her aunt and her grandmother from the time she was eight, since her parents were both killed in the line of duty while serving in the military. The government sent her two checks and she received two Purple Hearts to honor the passing of her parents. Her aunt and grandmother were wise, however and invested the money that Kyra was sent by the government. By the time that Kyra was in high school she had so much money she was known as the “rich girl.” Her aunt married Kyra’s Chemistry teacher when Kyra was a junior in high school and they, along with her grandmother, really hammered into her the importance of being independent. So when Kyra and Maria went off to Europe for the summer, Kyra had no problem navigating her way through the country. Very proud of her African-American & Italian heritage and her culture, Kyra’s family was very pleased when she told them that she was going to become a chef. So when Kyra and Maria returned to the states she set about to become the most sought after chef in the country. To the delight of her family and in the honor of her parents, she’d succeeded. Kyra’s mother was African-American, a dark skinned, sized 10 woman with an amazing singing voice that she’d passed onto her daughter. Kyra’s father was an Italian man, the typical Italian man, he was very smooth and cool and very into his family. Kyra was his pride and joy and he’d spoiled her rotten while he was still alive. He’d taught his daughter Italian and also how to cook. Kyra’s skin color was a beautiful dark brown milk chocolate color, her mother’s African-American pigmentation coming through more dominantly, although Kyra’s hair and cheekbones attested to her father’s Italian influence. The Gargulas had taught her daughter that color didn’t matter and that if she found true love she shouldn’t but a color requirement on it. Kyra had taken that piece of advice to heart.
The two women were inseparable and shared everything with each other. Kyra was there for Maria when Maria got married and then a year later when she had her first child, Kyra’s godson Ricky. Likewise Maria was there for Kyra when she’d married a drill sergeant in the Army, SFC Riley, and then when her husband died tragically when a new soldier, a very eager one, accidentally shot her husband when practicing cadences with his buddies during Basic Training. Maria held Kyra’s hand and stayed with her for two months as she’d grieved and then as she’d found out that her husband had left her a very special surprise….
Kyra turned with wide eyes to Maria. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. Maria’s eyes had widened also.
“What?” she’d croaked out. “I’m pregnant Mare,” Kyra repeated flopping onto the side of the bathtub.
“What? How?”
“The usual way, Mare,” Kyra chuckled, “Landon and I made love everyday, even the day he was killed.”
Maria turned from the sink where she’d been examining the tests and knelt before Kyra.
“You know it figures that Landon would find some kind of way to leave his mark behind,” Kyra laughed.
The two women had laughed and like that the cloud of grief that had been hanging over Kyra lifted. She still mourned her husband’s death but she knew that he’d want her to move on with her life and it seemed as if fate had chosen her OB to help her do just that.
“Cara mia, you can’t just go around kissing men though,” Maria said furiously.
“I don’t mi amiga, it was only this once. Mi dispiace,” she apologized.
“You have to stop switching languages in the middle of sentences chica,” Maria laughed.
The two women laughed heartily and spoke of pregnancy matters before moving on to their plans for that summer.
“Make sure you check with your doctor that it’s okay. I mean you’ll be six months when we go, but with it being twins... who knows if the rules are different,” Maria advised.
“I will. I have another appointment with him in a few weeks, I’ll ask him then…” Kyra stated. Then she teased, “Or I could just show up to his office and ask him.”
“Kyra!” Maria exclaimed.
“Okay, okay. I’ll wait,” Kyra acquiesced.
The two talked for thirty more minutes before Ricky cried for attention from his mother. They said goodbye with plans to talk the next day before they hung up. Kyra sighed as she absently rubbed her distended stomach. Standing up she walked back into her gourmet kitchen, which looked as if it had come directly from an Italian kitchen, with garlic hanging over the stove and sterling silver pots hanging above the island. The color scheme of the room boasted of an Italian upbringing, with the red cabinets, white countertops, and green appliances. Placing her now empty bowl into the almost full dishwasher, Kyra’s mind drifted to her husband. The choking tears that usually came with his memory didn’t come this time, she saw his smiling face and the conversation that they’d had one week prior to the accident.
Landon flopped onto his back after exploding his seed deep inside of his wife’s womb. Smiling as he heard her gasping for breath, he rolled over onto his side and pulled her to him.
“I want you to always be happy,” he’d begun.
Kyra had begun to giggle because she’d thought he meant sexually.
“Well honey if you keep doing the same moves that you did tonight, you might just get your wish,” she’d said as she ran her hand over his chiseled, hairless, olive colored skin. Landon was a full-blooded Greek man with black hair and blue eyes whose body looked as if he lived in the gym. The two had run into each other at the supermarket that was located just off base. They were instantly attracted to each other and shocking family and friends alike were married within six months of meeting each other when they eloped in Las Vegas. They’d gone back and had a wedding six months after that, in an effort to appease bruised feelings, but they always celebrated the first wedding as their anniversary date.
Landon laughed and tickled Kyra lightly, he stopped when he saw that she was losing her focus and starting to yawn.
“No, honey, I mean that I want you to always be happy in life. I mean sex is a part of it…with you it’s a BIG part of it,” he chuckled when she playfully smacked his shoulder, “but I mean, if anything should happen to me, if I should die or something, you have to promise me that you will do your best to be happy and as quickly as possible.”
Kyra had looked at him confused as to why he would be talking like that, but when he persisted she agreed and in an effort to drive the haunting look from his eyes, she’d made love to him, slowly and thoroughly. She’d forgotten about that conversation right after but soon after the funeral it had come back to her with sudden clarity and hadn’t stopped running through her mind.
Kyra closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. It was an old meditation trick that her mother had taught her in order to keep her emotions at bay. Whenever she thought about Landon she instantly thought about her horrific experience when she was four. She hated thinking about that, it always stirred up what she saw as being unnecessary emotions. Exhaling slowly and raising her arms slowly in the air, Kyra was shocked out of her meditative pose by the sound of her doorbell ringing. Who can that be? She wondered as she walked through the hallways of her home to the front door. Smoothing her hands over her ponytail, Kyra turned on the porch lights and looked through the peephole to see who her late night visitor was. She gasped as she saw that Dr. Matt was standing outside of the door holding what looked to be her attaché case. Smiling at his generosity, she opened the door and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Well…Dr. Matt, it’s so nice to see you again,” she smiled.
“Um, yes, it’s nice to see you again also,” Matt stuttered.
Aww, that’s so cute, he’s all nervous to talk to me. What can I do to ease his worry? Kyra asked herself before having a brilliant and hilarious idea.
“Would you like to come in Dr. Matt?” she questioned.
“Well…I don’t know…I mean, it’s late and-” Matt began.
“Don’t worry I won’t attack you and kiss you like I did earlier, I promise…not unless you ask me to,” she laughed.
Matt blinked before he realized that she was trying to put him at ease. Laughing good-naturedly at their earlier meeting, Matt nodded his head and followed her into the door. Walking behind her to the living room, Matt tried to pay more attention to her home décor than to her beautiful derriere swaying before him. She lived in a very nice home. It was a two story home, with each room having a different color and theme. The hallways were a golden color and were filled with figurines of Greek mythology and paintings of Greek gods and demi-gods. As they passed the dining room and the kitchen on the right, Matt quickly glanced in and saw that the dining room was very classically elegant with cabernet carpet and maroon paneled walls and a huge table that looked as if it could seat a third world country. The kitchen was fit for a gourmet chef and looked as if it came directly from an Italian restaurant. On his left they passed what looked to be the formal living room which was completely white. Raising his eyebrows, Matt promised himself to ask her about that room. The next room on his left seemed to be a ballet studio, with ballet bars, mirrors on both walls and a desk with a boom box sitting on top of it. Following her around a corner on the left, Matt stopped when he saw the informal living room. It was every man’s dream room. With a bar on the left, a refrigerator on the right, what looked to be dark green felt carpet with lines as if the carpet were a football field, Matt could see why footballs were kept in a case on the side beside the refrigerator. His eyes took in the pictures on the walls. They contained Kyra and another man at different sporting events. He stopped perusing the walls completely when his eyes came upon one picture, his breath catching in his lungs he walked closer to the picture.
Catching where he was headed Kyra tried not to laugh.
“Y-y-you met the Boston Red Sox?” he whispered in awe.
Kyra laughed as she took his hand and brought him over to the large photograph on the wall next to her 64 inch television screen. While the first picture showed her, David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, Pedro Martinez, and Johnny Damon this photograph showed her standing in the middle of the Boston Red Sox at two of the greatest times in their recent history, when they won the World Series in ‘04 and then again in ‘07. Matt turned to stare at her with a look of admiration in his eyes.
“How?” he questioned.
“My mother knew “Papi” from when he was a kid. His family kept in touch with me after my parents died. So when he started playing for Boston I got season passes. I’ve always been a huge BoRSo fan and Papi introduced me to Johnny, Manny, and Pedro,” Kyra stated rolling her r’s as she said Pedro.
“BoRSo?” Matt asked.
“It’s what Maria, my best friend, and I call the Boston Red Sox. Anyway, Papi introduced me to the fellas, I started cooking for them whenever they were in the same city as me, they came to my wedding,” Kyra stated and then pausing she whispered, “they even came to my husband’s funeral.” Then shaking herself out of her reverie she finished with a smile, “I make them promise to not discuss their teams or baseball when they’re all around me, to me they’ll always be BoRSo players. These pictures on these walls remind me of that.”
“I’ve never met a woman who liked sports, much less liked the Red Sox and knew the players. I mean, they’re my favorite team of all time. It’s one of the reasons I asked to be transferred out here, I’ve always loved Boston,” Matt turned to Kyra and got down on one knee while holding her hand, “Will you marry me?” he teased.
Kyra laughed heartily and asked if he wanted a drink to which he accepted, forgetting that he’d come over with the express purpose of delivering her attaché case and leaving, not wanting to be alone with her for fear of his hormones spinning out of control. Following Kyra through the house Matt was consistently amazed at how peaceful her home felt, and how much it felt lived in already. He tried not to smile like a big kid when Kyra poured him a beer in a Boston Red Sox cup, but failed miserably.
“Why do you have beer in your home? You’re pregnant,” he questioned after taking a few big gulps.
Kyra laughed again before answering and he felt his groin stirring to life at the sound. What was it about this woman? He asked himself before focusing back on her.
“I checked online Dr. Matt, they said I could have one beer if I’m craving it, and I’ve been craving beer since I’ve gotten pregnant. Plus, I have family and friends who come by a lot and they all like to drink, so I always make sure that I have some beer in the fridge for them,” she explained before pouring herself a glass of ginger ale.
“Nauseous?” he asked, making a mental note of the symptom.
“Just a little, it comes and it goes,” she replied before taking a sip.
“Well, that’s perfectly common,” he stated although his eyes were cautiously aware of everything.
“I know that, Dr. Matt, my best friend, Maria, explained just about everything when I found out I was pregnant.”
“Oh, really?” Matt asked amused. “So, you really don’t have a need for a doctor like me then huh?” He chuckled softly when Kyra looked as if she were contemplating the idea.
“You know something? You’re right! I don’t need a doctor…” smiling mischievously at him she teased, “but you’re just too cute to fire, so I guess I’ll let you stay on as my doctor.”
The two shared a laugh and then drank their beverages in a friendly silence. When his pager went off, Matt was surprised, for a second he’d almost forgotten where he was, who he was, and his relationship…his professional relationship with Kyra. Looking at the number he sighed, someone was going into labor which meant that he had to go.
“I’m sorry-“ he began.
“Don’t be,” Kyra interrupted, “you’re a doctor, you’re a ‘baby’ doctor, of course you’re going to get paged.” She stood up with him, taking his glass and placing it beside hers on the counter. She turned to walk him to the door and he tried his hardest not to stare at her posterior as she walked but found himself failing at that as well.
“Dr. Matt? Are you checking out my butt?” Kyra’s voice laughed at him from in front of him.
“I’m trying not to,” he answered truthfully and was rewarded with a healthy laugh from her.
“Don’t feel bad, she has a tendency to hypnotize men. That’s how I got my husband Landon,” she said.
The room suddenly got very quiet, this time not a pleasant quiet like from before, but a silence that was thick with emotion and pain.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Matt whispered when they got to the front door and she opened it. “I wish there was more comfort that I could give you, but I’m afraid that I can’t.”
Kyra placed her hand on his arm before she spoke, “It’s okay, your desire to comfort is more than enough. Thank you.”
He nodded his head and turned to walk back out of the door. Stopping suddenly, he turned back to her, “What’s up with the all white living room?” he questioned.
Kyra’s eyes blinked in confusion and then crinkled at the sides as if remembering a very pleasant scenario. “I’ll tell you all about it when you come over for dinner this weekend,” she hinted.
“You want me to come over for dinner this weekend?” Matt asked in confusion.
“Aw! Thanks for asking me Dr. Matt! I’d love for you to come over for dinner this weekend. Let’s make it Saturday at 7pm okay? Okay. G’night!” Kyra smiled before leaning up to kiss the very confused doctor on his lips and pushing him out the door. Closing the door on his still shocked face, Kyra started laughing when she heard his soft but still dazed reply.
“G’night.”

Growing Up

When I was younger everything got to me, the slightest provocation, the slightest insult, criticism, but for some reason my 26th birthday changed so much for me. I realized that I was worth so much more than I was expressing to others. I realized that others opinions of me was just that, an opinion and their opinion does not DEFINE me.

I was recently in a relationship, and this relationship was kind of the proverbial nail in the relationship coffin for me. I was EVERYTHING to this guy. I was his fount of knowlege and wisdom. I was his cheering section, his biggest fan. I was his cook, his maid. His dog walker. His housekeeper. His lover. His advisor. I met his family, I fell in love with his family and they in turn fell in love with me. I, who was hesitant about marriage already, found myself daydreaming about spending the rest of my life with this man. I lost myself in him. I lost my identity, my purpose. Oh, I still talked about it, but only to him, and he encouraged me in one breath but in the next breath kept me in my place as a woman who lived to serve him. He doled out his affections like Christmas presents and I found myself like a little puppy, so excited when that small treat came, a cuddle here, holding my hand in public here, a kiss there. Don't get me wrong the relationship wasn't all bad, but unlike what I fooled myself into believing, it wasn't all good either.

I think that's something that we all do. Not just women, but men also. We get in these relationships because we're either desperate for companionship or because of some illusion we have about the person we want to spend the rest of our life with. Then we start making concessions and excuses for their behavior, their lack of appreciation, their total disregard for us. We settle. We grow complacent. We wind up entangled, ensnared, trapped in a relationship that we probably shouldn't have been in in the first place. Everyone has their flaws, their quirks, habits and shortcomings and I don't deny that, but if you'd determined within yourself that you wouldn't spend the rest of your life with someone who was in favor of abortion and then you meet someone who favors it but you're at a season of your life when you or those around you feel as if you should have settled down, would you compromise?

I guess that's what this blog boils down to. What are you willing to compromise on? In my last relationship, I compromised on almost everything. Losing myself, my dignity, my identity because of the opinions and the expectations of others. I've gotten to the point now in my life where the opinions and expectations of others don't affect me like they used to. Whereas they used to provide 97% of the foundation for my life and actions they now provide 3%, the 97% comes from within. I found that inner strength, that inner wisdom. Oh, I still hear the snide comments, the remarks, the opinions and "well-meaning," "good-natured" advice from those who surround me telling me to do this or to not do that or that I should get over this or that I need to prepare myself to get married one day (*scoff*) but now I just smile, nod my head and continue on my way.

You see, I encourage myself now. I advise myself. I cook for myself. I make money for myself. For what I want to do. My personality is still there. I'm still just as giving, generous and selfless as I always was, but I'm no longer the pushover, the little girl desperately seeking approval, admiration, encouragement, love. I approve myself, I admire myself, I encourage myself and I love myself. I encourage you to encourage yourself everyday, to love yourself everyday. No one else's love, encouragement, approval, or admiration will fulfill you quite as much as your own does.

This was just something on my mind, so I thought I'd share. Oh by the way, since my relationship with my ex ended, I started writing my second book, I lost twenty pounds, I got in shape, I started eating better, got a great job, found myself, and remembered what makes me me. The ending of that relationship was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Remember that. Sometimes watching someone walk away from your life means welcoming someone or something new into your life.

Hello

So at the urging and insistence of family and friends, I have decided to create a blog. Something completely different than what I would normally do. I would usually take up a ton of space talking about world issues and controversies, and while I'll still give my "two cents" on those things, I'm also going to put up samples of my writing, videos of me acting or monologuing, pictures of my art...Pretty much just letting you guys get a chance to know who I am. The real me. I've been somewhat missing for a few years, lost in my attempts to become that perfect...something, for everyone. There's something so liberating when you finally decide to live for yourself.

So anyway, some quick background information on me...I am one of six children from my father, my mother's eldest of four. I am a former Army soldier, an aspiring actress, writer, singer and businesswoman. Yeah...I'm kind of a jack-of-all-trades. I love watching The History Channel, Comedy Central, HGTV, and Lifetime. I jokingly tell people that my heart is Italian, because of my love for the food, culture, history, and lifestyle of the people of Italy. I am eccentric when it comes to my television watching habits. My current favorite television show is "Criminal Minds." I have watched "A Different World," "Remember the Titans," "California Dreams," and "Legally Blonde" so much that I have every show/line memorized, much to my family and friends' dismay.

I'm a walking contradiction. I am a free-spirited woman who thrives on rules and regulations. I'm a spontaneous planner. One of the biggest contradictions is the fact that I don't want to get married, I've actually sworn off dating/relationships/marriage, BUT I want to have a wedding! (I know, how weird is that?) I love making people laugh, but I don't consider myself a comedian, I love to write and act and sing and while I want to make a living doing those things, they are all just a means to an end, my deepest desire is to save the world. I know, it's a tall order, but there are non-profit organizations, charities and group homes that I want to start and you have to have a couple million/billion dollars to truly make them effective, so what better way to fund them than by using my talent to do so?

My life is not easy, my thoughts are not your usual run-of-the mill thoughts, I think outside of the box, I'm blunt, I'm open, I share freely. I'm happily, contentedly, and devotedly single and there's only one man that can change that: Shemar Moore and seeing as how he doesn't know I exist, there's no danger of my status ever changing (and that's how I like it).

Anyway welcome to "Whisper of Longing", a glimpse into my world, my life, my talent, my hopes, my dream and our generation.