An excerpt from Bad Doggy, which is written from the perspective of Sally Lane Brookman. When I got into work the next morning, I found two more messages from my mom. In the first one, she was whispering, and I could tell she was outside because I could hear the frogs ribbiting from her backyard. “Lane. I’m executing a recon mission. I can see Yolinda in her kitchen, and clear as a bell through my binoculars, I just read her lips. She said, ‘I took the hose and threw it in the dumpster.’ So I am moving onto the next phase, which is,” and my mom issued a harsh laugh, “Vengeance.” With a shiver, I sipped on my Venti Starbucks and groaned. Vodka plus vengeance never turned at well. As I opened the little brown bag that contained my blueberry scone, I tried not to think about yellow spray paint. “I did it, Lane.” My mom sounded downright ebullient. “Tossed an entire carton of eggs on her front porch. It was positively raining yolks! It was beautiful, darling, just beautiful. She’ll think twice next time she thinks about touching my hose nozzle. Please call me when you get into the office! I want to get your opinion on what sort of nozzle I should pick out next. I kinda liked your little thingie, the one with all the different settings.” The phone rang a half-hour later, just as I was starting to get into some hard-core document review. Without checking to see who it was, I grabbed the headset and announced, “Sally Lane Brookman speaking.” “Darling! You sound so grown-up.” Crap. It was my mom, and she probably hadn’t slept at all. She goes entire days without shuteye when she’s on her manic binges. And that plus vodka plus vengeance—well . . . “Mom, I’m working. You know. Clients. Business. Office hours,” my voice sounded dry and sharp, which was how it was intended. Give her an ounce of friendliness and I’d be on the phone for an hour. “You listen to my voice-mail, from last night?” “”Yep.” I glanced at the clock. It was 9:30 a.m., and I had another 12-hour day ahead of me. “Every last one of them.” “Uh oh. I have a little situation here.” “Oh? Really? You mean dad wanted scrambled eggs for breakfast and instead, you already cooked breakfast for your neighbors?” “Heh, heh,” she chuckled. "Clever girl. Then she cleared her throat. “Not, um. Exactly. I mean, I told Dad the eggs went bad.” “Spit it out, Mom.” “I found the hose nozzle behind the bush in my back yard.” She said it really fast, as if that would lessen the effect of her crime. To order a pre-release copy of I Run for $17, please visit indiegogo/projects/i-run-a-novel/x/3261119
Posted on: Tue, 25 Jun 2013 20:23:57 +0000
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