Snippet Saturday

Hey everyone!

There’s no real point to this post except that I felt like posting up two excerpts–one for Nicole, one for Victoria. You can pretty well guess which is which.

            “Hey mami!” A deep voice called out.

            I half turned to look over my shoulder. Two dudes, maybe in their early twenties, hung out outside the bodega. One had a do-rag half covering his hair; both wore wife beaters and huge baggy pants that hung on for dear life. I turned back around. Were the cars done turning yet?
            “What, you don’t say hi?” The same voice called out. “You got a nice booty.”
            I rolled my eyes. I don’t turn around and smile and say hello to cat-callers. Who needs the aggravation and the lascivious attention? My cousin Diana used to say that a come back, something snappy, was necessary to sway the weirdos away. Noriko just gives them a frozen, nothing-there kind of stare that usually scares men off. But then, as she says, men don’t often call out at her on the street.
            Damn my Puerto Rican booty. It draws the wrong kind of attention.
            “This girl with the booty don’t wanna say hello,” the voice said.
            “Maybe she’s just a bitch,” another idiot answered. “Snooty white bitch.”
            “Hey, bitch, turn around!”
            Oh, yeah, ’cause that’s going to get you a “hello,” shithead. So tough and gansta…in the middle of Flushing. They wouldn’t last two seconds in the rougher parts of Brooklyn or the South Bronx.
            Another car sputtered in front of me. The light would change soon and I could be on my way home. The chorus of “bitch this” and “bitch that” continued, along with discussion of my booty and maybe my legs and breasts. Because, obviously, these dudes are more comfortable with fried chicken than a woman.
            Maybe if you pulled up your damn pants, you’d have a girlfriend. Oh, mmhmm, I’m a cold-hearted bitch. Damn right I am. I’m a city girl. We’re all cold-hearted bitches when we need to be.
            “Guys, cut it out,” another male voice, calmer, and without the hard emphasis of the New York accent, said. “She’s not interested.”
            That got my attention. I snuck a look over my shoulder. Behind me, to the right, stood a slight man—he looked about my height, somewhere in the five foot six to five foot nine range—with curly black hair. I didn’t know where the catcallers were in relation to him. But the guy was totally chill. Relaxed. Like it was normal to tell two random guys on the street to stop bothering a girl.
            As soon as the light changed, I took several long steps to the other side. I hurried down the next block, turned around the corner, and had the itchy feeling that someone was behind me.
            “I don’t want to freak you out,” that same calm voice said. “But I live on this block, so I’m behind you.” His voice, accent maybe, sounded Californian.
            Freddie. Now, Freddie wasn’t from California, but he was from suburban New York and spoke like he wasn’t from New York at all. No hard “r”s, no dropping of the ends of his words. But I didn’t get cat-called when I was with Freddie.
            My hands shook, whether from maintaining my nonchalance on the street corner or from thoughts of Freddie, I wasn’t sure.
Victoria stood, stretched her arms some, and found another flute of champagne. Taking the glass, she went to the wide terrace behind the petit ballroom.
            “Are you all right?”
            She took a long swallow of the champagne, the bubbles tickling on their way down. The finest of champagne, fromChampagne. She recognized the voice as Simon.
            He appeared in her line of vision. “The champagne is awful tasty.”
            She nodded.
            “How many glasses have you had?”
            She finished the flute, letting it dangle from a limp wrist. “Not many.”
            For his sister’s wedding, he was dressed in a gray morning suit. He wore his clothes well, but it was the small, almost-smile playing about his mouth and the flashing and hiding of his laugh lines that drew her attention, despite the haze of too much champagne and wine so early in the day.
            “Oh, not many? How many is not many, Miss Victoria?”
            She frowned. Had she given him leave to call her Miss Victoria? Americans. They were so terribly casual about such things.
            He was handsome. The morning suit showed off his slender, tall frame, a young, strong, male body. His shoulders were wide and broad and his legs were long and looked muscular. His hands. My God, they were big. One hand flexed, wrenching her attention back to his face.
            “Perhaps a nap is in order?” He said. “Shall I escort you upstairs?”
            She shook her head. “I’m not tired.”
            “No?” He stepped closer. “Forgive me, but I see circles under your eyes.” She didn’t respond. “You don’t seem very happy about your cousin’s marriage.”
            Ha. Had her unhappiness been showing? That wouldn’t do. “You wouldn’t understand, Mr. Houghton.” She strained a smile in his direction.
            His voice softened. “I wouldn’t?”
            “She’s your sister and my feelings on the matter are of no importance.”
            “Were you in love with him, then?”
            She drew in a sharp breath, which sounded like a gasp. Her reaction must have confirmed something in Mr. Houghton, for his forehead puckered as if in contemplation and the light in his eyes seemed to darken.
            “Perhaps I was,” she finally replied. “Or perhaps I wasn’t. But I pinned my hopes on it, you see, and expected it. And one shouldn’t expect anything.”
            “I am sorry, if it was true regard,” Simon said. He took one of her hands in his. “Life makes a mockery of our plans, does it not?”
            She nodded again. If she hadn’t had too much drink, she would never have confessed such things to Mr. Houghton. Who was he to her, but the brother of the interloper?

5 thoughts on “Snippet Saturday

  1. Haha, I love how he's telling her that he has to follow her down the street. He sounds nice. :)And I absolutely love drunk Victoria! And I like Simon already. He sounds fun. This makes me want to post something. It's been awhile.


  2. Oh definitely, post, post, Krystal!And thanks! Victoria is fun when she's drunk, I have to say. Much less angsty. And Simon is nice, too, although I'm not sure yet if Victoria will get over the feeling that he's only Ursula's brother. And Darius (that's the guy in the Nicole section) IS really nice.


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