Adam here.

Britt consumed 10 or 11 Brittinis while doing a few radio shows last night, culminating in an hour and a half long conversation about man bashing over at Turnbaby’s. As a result, she was a bit too drunkified to post and asked me to step in.

Of course, it’s the very last minute, and I don’t have anything prepared for a guest post, so I thought I’d just do a quick quiz about Britt. The person who gets the most correct will win an awesome Miss Britt magnet!

Here goes:

1. Britt loves chocolate.
A. True
B. False
C. Only if it’s at my house.

2. Britt has known her husband since she was:
A. 13
B. 19
C. 16
D. 8

3. Which of the following is NOT one of the phrases that Britt says in real life?
A. Suck my dick
B. I will stab you
C. Woo hoo fuck yeah!
D. That’s what I doooo!

4. How does Britt feel about anal sex?
A. If done right, it’s awesome.
B. No pain is worth any amount of pleasure.
C. Only if she can reciprocate.
D. After 10 Brittinis, all holes are open for business.

5. Which of the following activities occurred over the last two years?
A. Britt moved to Florida
B. Britt worried about taking Emma to a speech therapist.
C. Britt and her mom had a falling out and then made up.
D. Britt almost became single.
E. All of the above.

6. Which of the following movies does Britt love?
A. Steel Magnolias
B. Armageddon
C. The Godfather
D. Both A and B
E. Both B and C
F. Both A and C

7. Finish the sentence: One night, Britt thought she lost a ____ in her _____.
A. mouse, pantry
B. check, purse
C. tooth, steak
D. tampon, vagina

8. A Brittini is made from the following ingredients:
A. Vodka and Crystal Light
B. Rum and Milk
C. Tequila and Crystal Light
D. Vodka and Pineapple-Orange Juice.

9. Britt works in what industry?
A. Nursing
B. Sales
C. Appliance Repair
D. Motivational Speaking

10. What did Britt want to do when she grew up?
A. Go into space
B. Practice civil rights law
C. Perform heart surgery
D. Race stock cars.

Thanks for playing! Britt will announce the answers and winners sometime this week.

I have to confess, my brain is mush. I have been fighting with Wordpress code all. damn. night and I still can’t figure out how to get a thumbnail in my sidebar that will automatically update and post to the most recent post on my photo blog.

ANYway, I tell you all that to tell you this… Thank God for Jester.
————————————————————-

My current supervisor and I have had several occasions where he feels like we are not “communicating” well.

It’s always when we have a face to face conversation and I finally understand why.

Here’s a typical conversation:

Boss: “How’s it going?”

Jester: “It’s going fine. I’m working on the design of this web application.”

Boss: “Great, let me take a look…”

He pulls a chair around to my side of the desk and moves in closer, taking the mouse from my hand to take control of my computer. He turns to look at me and when he speaks, there it is again… the bane of my existence. L’objet de mon hypnotiser. It pokes out at a slight angle, parting his barely visible lips that seek shelter in the wooly overgrown salt-and-peppered mustache and beard.

It’s a singularly grey tooth surrounded by several bright white neighbors.

Boss: “… is this?”

Jester: “Um. Oh. That’s the spot where I’m going to put the search form.”

I only know what he’s referring to because he’s once again peppering my computer monitor with greasy fingerprints. He makes a quick note on his ever-present notebook and continues narrating his perusal of the web site.

Boss: “So what I was thinking w..”

Oh man, there it is again. Poking its head out like a gopher in a field made of black grass. Did it just wiggle a bit? I could swear it waved at me. Maybe it was shaking from sobbing? Why so sad little guy? Do you feel inferior to your white neighbors? Why ARE your neighbors so white? Did you turn prematurely grey, or did they receive a bleach treatment that you were left out of? No wonder you’re so sad. You’re neglected and mistreated.

I’ll bet he drinks coffee all day long and never once brushes you or gives you a quick rinse with the good blue stuff. I’m guessing that because of the foul odor that now permeates my cubicle. Are you responsible for that smell, my little grey friend? Maybe that motion was you waving off the gas attack you are suffering. That could explain the smell. Little grey tooth farts.

Boss: “What do you think?”

Jester: “Err. I think I’ll need some time to figure out the best way to implement that.”

This is totally coming out of my ass. A drawing has made his way on to his notebook page in front of me that gives me a clue as to what he’s describing.

Boss: “How much time do you think?”

Jester: “Two weeks.”

Everything in a government web design job takes two weeks. You want me to change that font? Two weeks. You want to change the color on that background? Give me a couple of weeks.

Boss: “I guess that would be ok. While you’re working on that I need you t…”

Man, that was too easy. Two weeks? It will take me five seconds once he gets out of my way. I’d better make that change as soon as he goes, otherwise I’ll forget what it was.

Ugh, there’s the full smile again. Doesn’t he see you in there every morning, my little grey friend? I assume he looks in the mirror like a normal person. Well, maybe not. He does wear a jaunty beret over his ass-long ponytail every day. Perhaps he has a fear of mirrors and he doesn’t even know you’re in there, just waiting for a little attention. Maybe if you spoke up by reaching out and grabbing his lip when he’s talking… go on, you’re so close… just reach… right……. ugh, you missed again. You’re totally wasting every opportunity to let yourself be heard. Oh! I know… what if you developed a sudden sensitivity to cold drinks? Just a little twinge of pain would make him wake up and scrape the discolored crust from your skin? Is it a crust? What is that, anyway? Are you a victim of tetracycline? Surely not, or your neighbors would show signs of the poisoning… Are you wearing a silver filling on the back side that just shows through? What made you turn grey? Are you that much older than all your friends? Are they all your friends or do they shun you and not let you play their toothy games?

Boss: “Do you think you can do that?”

Jester: “Of course.”

Do what?

JEEZ, won’t he just shut up and take his mouthful of wonders back to his big Ph.D. adorned office? Or maybe a dentist appointment? He’s been here what… 30 years? He should be making at least 180k every year, and I know he gets the same benefits I do, which include full dental. Does he have some moral or religious aversion to doctors and dentists?

Boss: “By the way, I’ll need you to document this meeting and every change you make to the application.”

Jester: “Sure.”

I’ll get right on that. Oh wait, I gave my notice, so no I won’t.

I’ll miss my giant fingerprint-less computer monitor. I’ll miss the health benefits, but I think I’ll miss my little grey buddy most of all.

Remember when I had a houseful of tourists family and I asked a bunch of bloggers to send me guest posts to have stored up for an emergency?

Of course you do. I know. You keep careful track of everything that goes on at this blog.

ANYway, the guests are long gone, but I still have a small reserve of guests posts that I never had the opportunity to use (because I am the world’s greatest blog hostess). And now? I am suffering for my kindness. So, we’re going back to the vault.

Can you help the awesome hellhahanarf decide if she should help get her ex off?

I’ll let Becky explain….
————————————————

Hi, world wide internetz. You know me as hellohahanarf, the girl without a blog who loves to read and comment on others’ sites. The talented Miss Britt has graciously offered me the floor for a day, so please forgive my inexperience (in addition to any grammatical errors as they should be in no way be a negative reflection on my kind host). Good news is that I just got my own blog so next time she asks for the assist I might actually be accustomed to writing.

Ok, here I am, but what do I write about? Politics? (Nah, hate all the fuckers who lie to get into office.) My boobs? (Nope, too much to talk about and I only have one little post over here.) Education? (Since I don’t have kids I probably shouldn’t go there.) Global warming? (Since Mr. Gore invented the internet, I’ll save that for him to discuss with you.) So called reality television? (As much as I love plenty of it, I doubt you care about my TV habits.)

Wait…I have it. Something strange happened the other day and perhaps the residents of the Blogosphere can offer up some advice. Here goes…

A few years ago I dated a man, a very gorgeous man, who lived about a seven hour drive away from me. This beautiful man wouldn’t have known the truth if it bit him on the ass, but did I mention that he was attractive? And fun? Great fun! He had that bad boy quality that sometimes I crave. Anyhow, eventually it came out that every word that left his mouth was a lie. While he was telling the lies a small piece in the back of my mind knew he was full of shit, but at the time I chose to be happy that I was “on to him” and I somehow ignored the bullshit. When I caught him in a lie I felt a rush of superiority so I am not claiming to be without fault here, just telling you that I knew he was a liar and that I ignored if for the duration of our short relationship.

There were few things that he didn’t lie about. One of which was how much he loved being a father. The pride he exuded at being a good dad was evident from a mile away. Since I wasn’t about to marry him or have his babies, I tired quickly of him.

Fast forward a couple of years. His exgirlfriend of 9 years, the one he cheated on to be with me, is angry because he finally found happiness and married a young woman. (Insert small note here: After we had both dumped the guy she told me during one of our lengthy phone calls, and this is a direct quote, “he’ll never be happy without me. I’ll destroy him before I will let him be happy. Don’t ever think that I can’t.”) So a story about Liarboy and his pregnant young wife runs in the newspaper one day, the very next day AngryEx is at the police department filing charges that Liar molested her daughter when the girl was around 15 - 16. Daughter is now 21. Police report says that Liar would take daughter out of state when he had work out of state, says awful, terrible things that he would allegedly do to this teenage girl.

Now as much as I know that this guy would say anything to have his cake and eat it too, I don’t believe that makes him a child molester. And those sales calls that would take him away…the ones she says the teenager accompanied Liar on…were actually trips to see me. Trust me, he traveled alone to my bed. Again, I am not proud here, just throwing this all out there in order to get your opinion.

Now keep in mind that with my own two little ears I heard AngryEx tell me on one of our phone calls that she wouldn’t let him be happy without her.

So, why on earth wouldn’t these charges have been filed sooner? Why wait until (literally) the day after the paper does a story on his happiness with his new wife? Because he truly has a massive problem and does unspeakable things to children or because smearing his name with a child molestation accusation will “destroy” him?

I was molested as a teenager and wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I am a firm believer in punishing to the fullest extent of the law anyone who inappropriately touches minors. I would personally beat Liarboy to an unrecognizable pulp if I thought for a moment that he did any of the things AngryEx said he did.

Back to you and my reason for writing. If you were me, would you write an affidavit to submit to the courts saying the dates that Lairboy was with me? Would you be his alibi (only for the dates that I actually have memory of)? Or would you think that his proclaimed innocence is simply another lie? (Strange part is I didn’t get that “I know you are lying, but I will let you think I believe you” feeling while I was taking in this saga. I truly don’t think that his other personality faults equal a child molester. But I want your opinion.)

Go! And thanks in advance for your wisdom.

The Driver

(Click here to read Part 1 of the Driver)

(Click here to read Part 2 of the Driver)

(Click here to read Part 3 of the Driver)

“I’d need you to stop working as an escort,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something but she was overcome with laughter.

“What?”

“I misled you,” she said. Arching a shaped eyebrow, she continued, “My mother was an escort. She wanted sexual freedom. You know breaking out of the whole good Catholic girl thing. I’m a doctor. A urologist.”
Vince nodded.

“I’m a little surprised my father didn’t tell you.”

“You’re in the company of men because you’re a urologist?”

Her eyes danced with merriment. She moved her fingers in front of her body.

“I spend my days with men’s genitals in my hands.”

“And you’d make more money if you didn’t spend Saturdays with your father?”

“It’s a big call night,” she said. “You’d be surprised how many weekend warriors injure themselves on Saturdays. Would you start a relationship with me if I was an escort?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

He fell silent, his mood shifting with her question. He opened his mouth, then shook his head.

“Are you offended? Because you deserved that.”

“You’re right. I do. And the name?”

She laughed.

“Sorry Grandma, but Lily is a whorish name. I figured it fit what you thought of me.”

“So you’re still….”

“Emily Lamberton, MD. Nice to meet you.”

In an effort to seal her humiliation of him, she held her hand out for him to shake.

“I think of you as Emmy.”

Her hand recoiled as if she had touched fire. The sound of his voice saying that name sent waves of warmth and terror through her. When she looked up at him, he was watching the mountains. Feeling her eyes, he turned to look at her.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not. You planned this all along.”

“Six months watching the back of your head. Yes, I wanted to make certain you got just what you deserved.”

His head went up and down in a curt nod.

“What?”

“I remember going down,” Vince started. He let out a breath. “I remember going underwater, but that’s about it. I was mostly dead when they pulled me out. I don’t know why I survived. I just knew that I had to try to work things out with you. Escort? Doctor? Cannibal Chef? Lily? Emmy? Whatever. I had to try. I just wonder if there was ever a chance.”

Emmy squinted her eyes at him. She expected her plan to make her feel triumphant and superior. Hearing his simple and sincere words, she felt small and sad.

“I guess that sounds stupid.”

“What were your injuries?” she said.

She wanted to sound cynical and cold. When he flushed, she realized her words echoed with concern and caring. She cursed her lack of control.

“I don’t think anyone’s asked me that. Thanks.”

Standing he unbuttoned the top button of his pants then lifted his dress shirt.

“Oh my God,” she said. She didn’t bother to keep the horror from her voice.

“I was basically cut in two.” He pointed to the scars on his abdomen and back. “They fused my spine. That’s what gives me the most trouble now. I have a couple deep scars on my shoulder but basically I’m all right above and below the tear.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“Let me prove myself to you. Give me a chance to do what you asked.”

“You don’t even know me,” she said.

“I used to. I’d like to know you again,” he said.

Her silence ate at him. He watched fear, longing, and terrible hurt move across her face.

“Listen, I’ve pushed myself on you.” He tucked his shirt back into his pants. “If a relationship is impossible, I understand. I do. You need to make your own choice.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an ancient ring box. He slid the box across the table to her. She touched the box with her fingertips then looked up at him.

“Do you remember my Nana?” He smiled when she nodded. “She sent me her wedding ring just before she died. The note said: ‘There’s only one hand this ring belongs on.’ Like my heart, this ring is yours forever.”

Vince opened the sliding glass door. Forcing his legs to move, he walked across her apartment. Broken, he didn’t notice the concierge’s smug look when he staggered out of the elevator. As if by magic, he arrived at his car.

His mind screamed what his heart refused to believe.

He had lost her.

Loving her, and never knowing if it might work, was easier than knowing he had injured her beyond repair. He cursed himself for trying. Tapping the steering wheel, he wondered what to do now that his one reason for living was gone. He was almost to the highway when his cell phone rang.

“I am aware that today is your day off,” the butler said. “However, Madam Lamberton has requested your services. Will you make an exception?”

“Yes.”

“She will meet you outside her building in a half hour. Is your vehicle clean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Driving to her building, his mind screamed that she only wanted to play games with him. But his pounding heart whispered a different story. Seeing her waiting for him at the door, he jumped from the car to open the back door of his BMW sedan. She pushed the back door closed and opened the front passenger door.

“Where to?” Vince asked turning the car on.

“I’d like you to escort me shopping.”

“Cherry Creek?” he said.

“Yes. Is this your car?”

“Yes,” he said. “For the record, I have a real job. I work two twenty-four hour shifts. Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I drive for your father on my days off.”

“Great. You can afford to buy me a few pairs of shoes,” she said.

He laughed.

They fell into an easy rhythm. But she was always the easiest person in the world to be around. And Vince was a perfect gentleman. From shop to shop, he waited, ogled her choices, paid the bill and carried the packages. Like old friends, they chatted about nothing.

Emmy noticed other women making eyes at Vince. Wondering what he would do, she left him alone for a while. She watched him receive no less than four telephone numbers. After smiling, nodding, then making certain the women were gone, he tossed the numbers in the trash.

Leaning against the dressing room wall, she tried on the idea that he was sincere.

Nodding at herself in the mirror, she knew what she wanted.

They were about a block from her building when she said, “Ok.”

“Ok?” He asked pulling into the drive.

“You can prove yourself to me,” she said. “But the physical stuff? I was just….”

“When you’re ready.”

She nodded.

“Would you like help with your packages?” He asked.

She shook her head. Now that this wasn’t a game, she was terrified.

He carried the packages to the concierge then watched her hips sway to the elevator.

Their eyes caught for a brief moment before she stepped inside.

Listing her requirements in his head, he nodded.

He was not going to blow this chance.

Six weeks later

Lost in thought, Emmy turned into the park where Amelia’s team was playing soccer.

Emmy would see Vince tonight.

Twice a week, she waited outside her building. And twice a week, he swept her off her feet. Delectable dinners gave way to lingering trips to the art museum, quiet coffee shops or anywhere they could talk. One night, they rambled through Capital Hill Used Books. Emmy smiled. She hadn’t laughed as much in… well, twelve years.

At his suggestion, they picked topics for each date. His eyes never left her face when she explained medical school last Tuesday. She surprised herself by crying when he detailed the rigors of Navy S.E.A.L training. His lips brushed her tears away.

Tucked on his lap, with his arms around her, her life made perfect sense. They kissed, cuddled, laughed and cried. But her terror of being abandoned kept them from making love.

“When you’re ready.”

Emmy beamed. She was more than ready and still very frightened.

Checking her make-up in the rear view mirror, she nodded to herself. It was time for Amelia to meet her father. Carrying her lawn chair, she fell in step with another mother.

“Have you met the new coach?” The mother asked.

“No, I didn’t realize they had a new coach,” Emmy said.

“Amelia hasn’t said anything? My daughter won’t stop talking about him. He’s a great coach. Really good with the girls. And gorgeous,” the mother laughed. “Hell, I might divorce Jake just to take that man around the block.”

Emmy smiled. Her mind was too caught up in her own dilemma to worry about a new soccer coach. Setting her chair near the midline of the soccer field, she went to find her little girl. She found Amelia standing in a circle with her teammates. The team was focused on the coach, who was kneeling to talk to them.

Standing next to Amelia’s back, Emmy rehearsed what she would say. ‘Honey, when we’re done today I’d like you to meet someone’. No. I’ll tell her when I drop her off at Papa’s house. ‘You know that guy who drives for Grandpapa?’ No. ‘How would you feel about meeting your father?’ No.

“Ok Daddy,” Amelia said.

Emmy blinked.

What?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The final segment of the Driver will be available next Friday at Miss-Britt.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

claudia hall christian is a novelist living in Denver, Colorado. For more stories, visit: storiesbyclaudia.com or visit her weblog at: On a Limb with Claudia

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This work is licensed under a

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Quick reminder - there’s a chance to win $50 in yesterday’s post.

Moving on. (I told you it was quick.)

My schedule for today is as follows:

4:30 am - Wake up
6:00 am - drop off latest house guest at airport.
6:15 am - go to work
5:00 pm - leave work
5:45 pm - begin cleaning the ever loving shit out of my house.

Because tomorrow? The in-laws arrive.

And my house? Looks like a fucking rock band had a post-concert orgy in it.

And my mother-in-law? Makes Martha Stewart feel dirty.

Thank the Good Lord Above for Poppy.
———————————————————————————————

I’m honored that Britt asked me to guest post. Honestly, I think my better guest post is to come, and I won’t spoil the surprise on that, but I wanted to do two posts for Britt. I originally wanted to do a post about gardening but it was making me too sad to write it (for reasons I won’t bore you with) and when I mentioned the post to a certain someone who shall remain nameless he hinted that the post might be really boring. (Thanks, unknown person, for your support. ;) So, I’m returning to my original idea that I had since these things swirl around in my head anyway.

I hope you enjoy,
Poppy

—

5 things I want you to know about Britt, in case you didn’t already — a tribute post

1. She is loyal. Once upon a time very recently I did something stupid that very much hurt our mutual friend. Britt stuck up for him. Of course, by the time she stuck up for him I had apologized profusely and genuinely and groveled lots, but Britt said her peace on the matter and genuinely defended him. I have seen her defend him time and time again. Only in play does she ever show any type of disloyalty.

2. She takes fucking fantastic guacamole photos. Seriously, I really wanna fly down to Florida just to eat guacamole at her house because of all the photos she posts about it. Even the “bad” ones look good!

3. She has non-Stepford children. Britt made real kids, kids who act like real human beings, kids who don’t just go into the corner and play and are good for Mommy and Daddy. But they’re still really good kids even though they’re not robots. I admire her for that.

4. She takes leaps of faith. She moved from a place where her entire family and many of her friends lived, where she owned two homes, where she and her husband had jobs, where her kids went to school, to work for a blogger she met on the internet. That sounds crazy. Doesn’t it? But have you seen that cute house? And that cute car? And that cute office? And how happy she looks? Yah. And even if it didn’t work out at all, the fact that she did this in the first place is pretty fucking amazing. And, again, admirable.

5. She is sooooo soft. When I met Adam and Britt in person for the first time in October I hugged Adam first because he is who I was there to see. Britt stayed seated, but I wasn’t about to rudely ignore her just because she was the chaperone, so I leaned over and I gave her a Poppy hug. And, … oh. my. god. She is just the softest person on the entire planet. Really! And it’s not because she was wearing a shiny shirt. It’s because she’s soft inside. :)

And so concludes my 5 things I want you to know about Britt.

What do you want us to know about her?

The Driver

(Click here to read Part 1 of the Driver)

(Click here to read Part 2 of the Driver)

A yellow cab screeched around the corner and come to a halt in the parking lot. An ancient cab driver hopped out of the cab carrying a baseball bat.

“I’m all right, Sam. This man is nothing.”

Sam opened the passenger door to the cab. Lily stepped in.

In a moment, she was gone.

~~~~~~~~

Six hours later

When his shadow fell across the end of the pew, the child turned to look into his face. His heart stopped beating. Her eyes, so like his own, peered from her delicate and beautiful face. His heart jerked in his chest. My daughter.

“Is this seat taken?” Vince asked.

“Mom?” Amelia said to Lily.

“She likes to sit at the end,” Lily said.

“Great. I’ll sit next to her.”

Lily gave him a dark look, “You may sit over here.”

He tried to catch her attention but Lily’s eyes never left the empty pulpit. When their hips pressed together on the crowded pew, a pulse of her warmth reverberated through him. She shifted her hips away from him.

Feeling a slap at the back of his head, he turned to see his Army friend and her husband. She gave him an ‘it’s about time’ look. He wagged his eye brows then turned back to Lily. He was about to introduce them but Lily stared at the triptych.

“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath as the music started.

Lily ignored him.

Her father stood at the door when Vince returned last night. Lily called her father on the way home from City Park. Her father said that she was crying. He was furious at Vince for upsetting his daughter. Again. Unable to contain his own self rage, Vince vented at her father. After all, how could this billionaire allow his daughter to work as an escort?

They argued and accused each other. Finally, the old man poured them a drink. They drank and talked until nearly dawn. Vince dragged himself out of bed to sit next to her at mass.

The moment mass was over, Amelia ran to meet some children near the back. Vince leaned toward Lily but she bent away from him to pick up Amelia’s jacket and backpack. When Vince’s friend leaned over the pew to hug him, Lily walked into the aisle.

Her intentions were clear. Lily did not want to have anything to do with Vince.

“Go,” his Army friend said.

Scanning the crowd, Vince trotted down the aisle. She could not be far. He let out a breath when he saw her talking to a woman near the door. Moving through the crowd, he stopped just inches behind Lily.

“Oh,” the woman said. She curled her lip and looked Vince up and down. “Why don’t I call you this week?”

“Thanks Marilee,” Lily said.

Amelia ran to Lily for her jacket and backpack. Lily bent to kiss Amelia’s cheek then rubbed the lipstick off her pink cheek. Amelia hugged her mom, then ran after her best friend.

Trapped by Vince’s body, Lily whipped around to face him. But he didn’t move or notice her. He was staring at something. Following his line of sight, she bristled. His parents were making a beeline toward them. The look on his mother’s face could strip paint from metal.

“I….”

“My thoughts exactly,” Vince said under his breath.

With the slightest pressure on her elbow, he maneuvered through the crowd and away from his parents. Once on the sidewalk, he walked them toward his BMW sedan.

“I won’t be needing your services, today,” she said. “I prefer to walk.”

Vince smiled. At least she said something to him.

She gave him a scathing look then shook her elbow from his hand. With a flip of her hair, she set off on foot toward her home. He followed at her side.

“Please stop,” he said.

“No,” she said. “I’ve been hurt enough by you. I don’t really want my Sunday messed up by your bullshit.”

“I love you,” he said.

“So what?”

She walked off.

Jogging to catch up with her, he said, “Please. Ms. Lamberton. May I take you to lunch?”

She spun around to face him. She raised her hand and opened her mouth to say something. When she looked into his face, her shoulders sagged and her eyes filled with tears. Pinching the bridge of her nose with her hand, she pierced her lips then shook her head. She turned to walk again.

He caught her hand and turned her to him.

“What is it that you want?” She shook her hand from his grasp.

“I want a chance to start over.”

“Why? Why should I give you that chance?” She asked.

“Because you love me.”

“You imagine much,” she said.

Gripping her arms, he pulled her to him. Their faces were less than an inch apart.

“May I?” His lips brushed hers with the words.

She slapped his face.

Chuckling, he let her go.

“Against my better judgment, I gave you a chance last night,” she said. Her hand stabbed at the air. “’Your baby needs her Daddy.’ ‘It’s been twelve years.’ ‘What do you have to loose?’ Papa said. And what do I get?”

She jammed her index finger into his chest.

“You insult me. Twice.”

“I’m a complete jerk,” he said. “I don’t have any idea how to make up for all that I’ve done to you. I want a chance to try. That’s all. Just a chance to try to make it up to you.”

“My father told you to say that,” she said. “You’re a complete loser.”

“Your father told me I would never get a chance to hurt you again. And you’re right, I am a complete loser. I lost everything when I lost you.”

“Why would I want to waste my time with a complete loser?”

“Because you love me,” he said.

“Love?”

She made a derisive face. Turning, she stalked toward her home. He continued at her side. They walked in silence until they were standing outside her building.

“Are you working today?”

“I don’t work on Sundays. I need a day to catch up on my life. Amelia spends every other Sunday at her best friend’s house. Marilee and I trade off.”

“And today?”

“It looks like I’m stuck with you,” she said.

Clenching her teeth for a moment, she smiled a kind of grimace. Their eyes caught and she let out a breath.

“Let me take you to lunch.”

“It would be better for me to have something here,” she said. “Would you like to come up?”

“Yes,” he said working to keep the ‘yippee!’ from his voice. “I’d very much like to come up.”

“You’ll behave yourself?”

“Yes ma’am. Scouts honor.”

She opened the door. While the concierge’s eyes scanned Vince, he made pleasant conversation with Lily. When they stepped from the polished marble floors to a sparkling gold elevator, the concierge picked up a telephone.

Lily inserted a key into the elevator control panel, pressed a button and they zipped to the penthouse. He watched Lily’s reflection as she talked to herself. When the bell rang, she seemed to have come to some decision.

“The housekeeper is off on Sundays,” she said stepping off the elevator. “Want to see what she left us for lunch?”

He followed her into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet for a plate then bent into the refrigerator. His breath caught at the sight of her round hips and tight behind. Ripping his eyes away, he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets shifting the fabric way from him.

She retrieved a container labeled “Sunday lunch” from the refrigerator. Pulling the top off the container, she found a rosemary chicken and mixed green salad.

“What do you think?” She asked. “Should we just order a pizza?”

Not trusting words, he smiled.

She moved the chicken to the plate then opened a drawer for two forks. She gave him a chilled bottle of Pinot Gris.

He took the bottle. When he reached for a couple of hanging wine glasses, he glimpsed her face out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were trained on his bulging pants. Her signal ignited him in one stiff spasm.

When she realized he was looking at her, her face shifted to neutral. She walked out of the kitchen leaving him to shift his legs to make walking possible.

“Let’s eat out on the patio.”

She opened a sliding glass door to a sunny patio with a view of the snow capped Rocky Mountains. She set the lunch down on the patio table. He pulled out a chair for her and sat next to her. In an effort to slow his racing heart, he focused his full attention on filling the glasses.

“Do you mind sharing a plate or shall I get you your own?”

“I’m happy to share anything with you,” he said.

She gave him a genuine smile. Safe in her home, she was more relaxed and confident. She was much more intimidating, as well.

“Try this,” she said.

She offered him a fork full of chicken. He opened his mouth and she placed the chicken in his mouth. This simple gesture was so reminiscent of how they used to be. He smiled.

“Every single thing is perfect,” he said.

She flushed at the implication of his compliment.

“My father owns the building. Remember the beautiful building Mom and I lived in when I was growing up? When Amelia came along, my father insisted on taking care of his granddaughter. He pays for everything. You probably know this, but I’m his only child.”

“And your mother?”

“She lives in Florida,” she said. “You’ve driven her a number of times. She calls you ‘that boy’?”

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t recognize her.”

“She doesn’t like you much.”

“I don’t blame her.”

They ate in silence under the warm sun. Vince was at a loss for what to say or do. He was certain that if he moved too fast he would lose her. He was lucky to even be sitting here. He sighed.

How to begin again?

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“I know,” she said. She smiled and looked at him. Her pale blue eyes searched the contours of his face. “I’d like a lot more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Ok,” she said.

Squaring her shoulders, she answered his question as he challenged her to a duel.

“If you want a spot in my life, and my bed, you’ll need to get a real job. I’d like to get to know you again. No secrets. I’d like you to speak with your parents about me and Amelia, especially about Amelia. You need to be loyal to me, and only me. You must be faithful in every sense of the word. I’d like you to be a real father, not a playtime father or a weekend father, but a real father to Amelia.”

She stared at him in defiance then added in a quiet voice. “Maybe father another child.”

She clamped her lips closed as if she wished she hadn’t let that wish out.

“Anything else? Because I’d like all of that as well,” he said.

“Yes, I’m very sexual. You would have to be available to me if I want you. And, you’d have to be a much better lover than you were.”

He cleared his throat to keep from jumping her right there.

“I’d need you to stop working as an escort,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something but she was overcome with laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Driver is a serial fiction. The story will continue next Friday at Miss-Britt.com.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

claudia hall christian is a novelist living in Denver, Colorado. For more stories, visit: storiesbyclaudia.com or visit her weblog at: On a Limb with Claudia

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This work is licensed under a

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Do you remember when I said that all this company was going to be awesome? And that I could totally handle it? And that I would totally not lose my damned mine because I LOVE PEOPLE!!!???

Heh. That was three guests, 5 trips to the airport, 2 trips to the beach and 2 amusement parks ago.

And I’m only at the half way point.

My brother has come and gone. My dad and step mom left Wednesday. And our old nanny arrived on Tuesday.

I love them all. Love them. Am thrilled that they are visiting.

And also? Am so. fucking. tired. Oh my God do I need a night to go to bed early and get up late.

Thank God for good friends who can step in here.

(Please don’t unsubscribe. I know how it is when a blogger starts using guest post after guest post and you think to yourself “fuck this shit I’ll just go read THEIR blogs then.” But I’ll be back. I swear. Tomorrow even! Oh, wait. Saturday.)
——————————————————————————————————————

I am RW. I have been asked to stand in line with some notes at the ready for when the owner of this blog becomes so overwhelmed by her house guests that she can’t make it here and then I am to jump in at a moment’s notice and do a fill-in.

I was just going to pitch right in with one of my usual deals but then it dawned on me that there’s not a lot of you who know who the hell I am so - on the off chance I ever get re-invited to fill in again (which may depend on how this goes over - - ooooo this is just like an audition!) I figured I’d start off by stating some ways I am different than Miss Britt. Just so’s you don’t get us confused were I ever to have this awesome stage again. Then you’ll know me a lot better and come visit me one of these days. And I’d point you there but I forgot my url just now so let’s just go…

(ahem) 27.7 Ways In Which I Am Different Than Miss Britt

1. I am taller than Miss Britt.
2. I have a wart on a finger of my left hand that is older than Miss Britt.
3. I do not have a husband named Jared
3.1 The wart, however, is older than Jared
4. Though we are both in sales, Miss Britt would never sell my body.
5. I can see snow on the ground from here.
6. Miss Britt is a lot better looking than my wart.
7. I cannot vouch for Jared
7.1 Though he also is younger than my wart
8. I would count 6 and 7 as “Ways I Am Different” and Miss Britt would not
9. Miss Britt will open up her veins to her readers at the drop of a hat and the blood will flow and flow and flow until your morbid sense of voyeurism is appeased and, sated, you return to your own little mundane lives secure in the knowledge that you would never let on that life is that fucked up for you and you get to feel all superior and shit. I would never cut open my veins for my readers. Why waste perfectly good vodka?
10. I have a MINI and Miss Britt doesn’t. Ha.
11. I love my wart. Neither Miss Britt or Jared do.
12. Which is why it stays with me. Haha.
13. Miss Britt has somehow found a way to work with Avitable.
13.1 Who happens to be in love with my wart
14. Miss Britt will not even flinch when Avitable suggests making wart porn, while I would. Flinch.
15. How did this get to be about Avitable. Fuck him!
16. No matter what she does in Florida I will always be one hour earlier. Hahaha.
17. Miss Britt would count #15 as one of the ways we are different. I refuse absolutely.
17 Again. (Because I’m not counting #15!) My wart’s name is Jim.
18. We’re over here (we wave)
19. I cannot do leg kicks
19.1 I think Jim can, but I’m not really sure
20. I have never worn a pleated cheerleader’s skirt
20.1 But I have worn a pleated cheerleader
21. Jim is wearing a bowtie
22. I do not give names to things that are not alive.
23. What?
24. I may have run out of Things. Britt has not.
25. The only reason I am making this list is because I couldn’t find a little curly blonde wig to put on my sock puppet Benny the Bookworm for the video I had in mind. Unlike Miss Britt.
25.1 The one Jim had wasn’t big enough, and he’s not as funny as Benny
26. I sometimes sit here looking at the number “26″ and have no idea what to type
27. My granddaughter’s name is Emma. Britt’s isn’t.
27.1 I really had to stretch #27 because I had “27″ written in the title before I actually knew how many there’d be. 27 is a funny number.

(addendum: 27 is a funnier number than, say, 12. 12 is not funny. 27 is funny)

And that’s it. I hope I have introduced myself to you now so that you can pick me out of the crowd next time. I cannot help but view this as my big big chance to impress such a huge audience and maybe give my lackluster career a much needed boost in the yahoo. Wait. Wait. Is that the alarm clock? No. Thank you for your opportunity.

The Driver

(Click here to read Part 1 of the Driver)

“You need to remember Vincent Hutchins that I am not the one who left,” Lily said.

She flew from the car.

Jumping after her, he reached the front door of her building just as she pulled it open. He pushed the door closed then, using his weight, he held the door closed.

“Please. Don’t go,” he said.

Her pale blue eyes raked his face. Letting out a breath, she shut her eyes to him. When her eyes popped open, they were blazing with fury and pain.

“Whatever you think of me, I am not a whore,” she said. “I will not be treated as if I’m a common prostitute.”

He fell back as if he had been slapped. His movement freed the door and Lily pulled it open. Vince pushed the door closed.

Their eyes held.

“My daughter is waiting for me,” she said. “Please let go.”

“Your daughter?”

“She’s twelve now,” Lily said. “She’s asleep but she likes me to close her door when I get home.”

“You kept her?”

Read the rest of this page »

Shit. Shit! I spent the day at the beach with Creed and the kids and…. yawwwwn…. am tired. Shit. Can anyone help me out here?

Oh. Yes.
———————————————————————
So, Britt sent out an e-mail to all us Britt-junkies that said, “Yo! Bitches! I got some peeps invadin’ the crib! Git your acts together, write some damned guest-posts, or I’m comin’ over there and kicking some ass!”

OK. Fine. Maybe she didn’t put it like that. Maybe it was nicer and sweeter, and there was a promise of gratitude and love.

OK. Maybe not that last part. But I thought, “Dang! Guest-posting over at the Britt? I could so totally do that!”

And here I am. Coal Miner’s Granddaughter. *Looking around, craning my neck, checking out the digs. I like the new paint job and the pictures she’s hung up look nice. That new camera is really working out for her. Sweet!*

Some of you know me. Some of you don’t. For those who don’t, I’m just some random chick who started a blog about seven months ago, hoping for fame and fortune and instead ended up getting regular visits from Fab, a crazy ass-itch, and the FCC. Damn. It’s been rough. Oh, and? My corner of the blog-verse, depending on your color preference, is either a really cool or a really sickening, shade of purple. You should check it out. Especially if you hate purple.

But? I digress. A while back I took some stupid Internet quiz to see who my TV boyfriend would be. Turns out I should be dry-humping Jensen Ackles from Supernatural. Aw, yeah! So, I thought I would take the quiz for Britt and find out who her TV boyfriend would be. And after meeting Britt just once? And reading her blog for five months? Yeah, I know her best of all. So, here goes.

Question 1: What’s your idea of a romantic date?

Oh, she would totally answer “Dinner at a very expensive French restaurant.”

Question 2: What’s your personal fashion style?

“You love dressing up.” Definitely.

Question 3: What best describes your ideal man?

Oh, yeah! “Strong and silent.”

Question 4: How do you describe yourself?

Why, the “pampered princess,” of course!

Question 5: Which movie would you most like to watch?

I have no friggin’ idea. I’ll go with “Sleepless in Seattle.”

Question 6: It’s your birthday tomorrow. What is your boyfriend doing right now?

OK, there’s no “jacking off” selection. I’ll take “Baking a cake for you” for $200, Alex.

Question 7: How do you and your boy spend your weekends?

Are you kidding me? Boy? Oh, good, Lord. This one is tough. I’ll just close my eyes and pick… “Play laser tag and then host a LAN party.” *Snort!*

Question 8: What kinds of things do you like to write about on your blog?

Punching Avitable in the nuts, making Avitable’s life miserable, smacking Avi… wait. How about “You write about all your sexual exploits in lurid detail?” Works for me!

Question 9: What’s your favorite pastime?

“Shopping at the mall!” – I mean, duh, she’s a girl. Sheesh.

Question 10: You want to save the world. What is your boyfriend doing?

I would have to say that at that moment, Britt’s ideal TV boyfriend would be “right there, helping her save the world.”

Question 11: Jesus, when the hell is this thing going to end. 15?!? 15 damned questions? Is this the SAT? Gad. Screw it. I’ll quickly answer them with no commentary….

And here’s Britt’s ideal TV boyfriend…

You know how sometimes when a blogger has a birthday, all the other bloggers get together and do tributes and write accolades and blah blah blah bunch a wannabe saints blah blah?

Yeah, well, someone has a birthday today. But THIS isn’t his blog. This is MY blog. It’s supposed to be about ME.

So, in honor of his birthday, I thought I’d let him talk about me for a while….
——————————————————————————

Hi kids. Mr. Fabulous here. I am completely whacked out on Vicodin right now. God, I love Vicodin. Vicodin is always there for me. Vicodin, unlike Donna Pearson, The Harlem Globetrotters, or the Monroe Doctrine, has never let me down.

Oh, the guest post. Right.

This is for you, baby. Ignore the background singers. Stupid background singers.

Shopping Her Life Away

Well the big sale retail shopping on a major scale
Clearance up ahead check the rack looking for a deal
Gotta keep buying
Britt’s slapping patrons, giving them an elbow
Breathing heavy nipples at attention face all aglow
Gotta keep buying

Ooh Britt’s shopping her life away, buying stuff everyday, especially shoes
Ooh Britt’s shopping her life away, poor Jarrod’s in dismay

We love Britt. She’s a goddamn national treasure, that’s what she is.

Goodnight, everyone!

———————————-
Happy Birthday Fabulicious. If anyone deserves to live another year, well, it’s probably me. But I’m happy for you just the same!

Don’t you forget, I need your help with my baby brother!