"A Sybillized Farm Wedding," Flower, Fall 2006
A piece I wrote for the quarterly magazine Flower about a local wedding.
Download 0609_farm-wedding
"Birmingham's Coolest Cocktails," Lipstick, June 2008
Another compilation piece involving local restaurants and chefs. Download Cool_cocktails
"Lauren," Lipstick, May 2008
A personal essay for the "body image" issue.
Download Lauren_may08
Chapter 7
“Drinks tonight?”
Ava looked up from her desk to seeLibby standing in the doorway of her office. “It’s ten a.m. and you’re alreadytalking about alcohol. Have you ever considered that you might have a problem.”Ava smiled.
“You need to get out.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Ava said.“I’m always so thankful when my married friends point out all of myshortcomings.”
“I’m buying.”
“Then I’ll be there,” Ava said.“We’ll leave from here?”
“Works for me.”
“Our usual spot?”
“But, of course,” Libby said. “Iwouldn’t want dear Francis the bartender to think we’d been swallowed by ablack hole. We haven’t hit him up for obnoxious amounts of extra olives inalmost two weeks.”
“Do I hear something about a girls’night?” Much like an early period or a tax audit, Harriet appeared unexpectedlybehind Libby in the hallway. It wasn’t until Ava saw that Harriet was wearingbright blue Capri pants, a bright blue turtleneck and a blue turban that sherealized it was only Wednesday. Wednesday was Harriet’s blue day.
“Just making time for a little girltalk, Harriet,” Libby said.
“That sure sounds like fun.”
“Would you like to join us?” Libbysaid. Ava would have pinched Libby if she weren’t so far away.
“Thanks for the invite, but Ican’t,” Harriet said. “I’ll be working late.”
“That’s really too bad,” Ava saidand Libby shot her a look that said she wasn’t doing the best job of keepingthe glee out of her voice.”
“Idon’t know where you girls find the time,” Harriet said, and she tsk-ed a bit. “Youmust not have enough on your plate, Ava. Why don’t you send me some ideas forthe holiday issue then?”
“No problem,” Ava said. “What wereyou thinking?”
“Oh, five pages or so should besufficient.”
“I’ll have it in your inbox by theend of the day.”
“Lovely,” Harriet said.“Single-spaced, please.” Then she turned and walked back down the hallway. Avabent over her desk and began banging her forehead against the keyboard over andover again.
“At least we’re having drinkslater?” Libby said.
“At least.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot at5:30.” Libby said, and she scooted the other way down the hall towards heroffice.
With a new assignment on her plate,Ava abandoned her pity party (and head banging) and decided to start thinkingof holiday story ideas: Makeup to Giveand Receive, Holiday Parties With a Purpose,Glossy Gastronomy …
At least there was the promise ofthat drink – or three – or five.
“You notice Harriet didn’t feel likeloading you down with work as a punishment for having a life,” Ava said. Sheand Libby were at their usual spot, Sparky’s. It was a terrible bar with aterrible name, but it was close enough to the office to provide easy accessafter work and the low-brow establishment also had the bonus of being a spotneither Harriet or any of their other co-workers would be willing to be caughtdead in. Plus, the liquor was cheap, there was an air hockey table if the womenneeded to blow off some steam and Francis the bartender waited on them hand andfoot. (It helped that Ava and Libby were the only women and the only patronsunder the age of 50 who ever visited Sparky’s.)
“She’s jealous of you. She couldcare less about me.”
“I’m sure,” Ava said.
“I’m a writer by trade. You’re oneby vocation,” Libby said. “Harriet is just like me. She can put words together,but she doesn’t move people. She’s just like me, but she’s always wanted to belike you.”
“So, in her admiration she decides to make memiserable,” Ava said. “Awesome.”
“And you make it look easy, and she hates you forit. So, she punishes you. Sorry O Gifted One, but you do have a sensibilitymost writers like me would kill for.”
“Talent or no, we’re still all working for the samemagazine.”
“Harriet and I work there because we have to. Youwork there because you’re scared.”
“Right,” Ava said.
“You’re scared to fail, and you know it,” Libbysaid. “As soon as you decide to believe in yourself, you’re out of there.”
“It’s funny you should bring that up,” Ava said.“I’ve wanted to tell you more about that meeting I took for you on Monday.”
“Is this where you kill me?”
“No, I actually learned a lot from your contact,”Ava said. “I think I might spend some more time with her.”
Libby almost spit out her drink. “You can jokearound all you want Ava Carson, but at least have the decency to wait untilI’ve swallowed. I refuse to waste perfectly good vodka because you’re pullingmy leg.”
“I mean it,” Ava said. “She had some reallyinteresting stuff to say. I may even want to write about it.”
“Really? What would you write?”
“Well, we started talking about the family courthere in town …” Ava was just about to share the finer points of what she’dlearned in the past few days when Libby’s eyes went wide and Ava could tell shewas no longer listening. She followed Libby’s gaze to the front door ofSparky’s and saw two young, attractive men in business suits enter the bar.“Shit,” she said, under her breath.
“Do you know them?” Libby asked.
“Not exactly,” Ava said.
“Well, I think you should then,” she said.“Good-looking men never walk into this bar. It’s a sign.”
“It’s a strange, random occurrence,” Ava said asshe turned her back to the door and put her head down.
“It’s a sign,” Libby said. “And the single cannotafford to ignore the signs.”
“Really, Libby,” Ava said, but Libby had alreadybegun waving frantically at the two young professionals. “What are you doing?”
“I’m married. I can make a complete fool of myself.Besides, complaining about your embarrassing friend is a great ice breaker.”
Ava saw the men approaching andslunk even lower in her seat.
“What brings you two to Sparky’s?”Libby said. “And, by the way, I’m Libby, and this is my incredibly talented andavailable friend Ava.”
“Hi,” Ava said.
Both men wore dark suits. Theshorter one was blond with brown eyes,and the other was a brunette with incredibly piercing blue eyes.
“I’m Mark,” the blond said. “And wecame to Sparky’s because we never thought we’d be discovered here.”
“What a coincidence,” Libby said.“We like this little bar for the very same reason. Do you work around here?”
“Not really,” Mark said. “Butfinding an old school air hockey machine isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
“I had no idea,” Libby said. “Andwho’s your friend?”
“I’m sorry,” the brunette said toAva. “But do we know each other?’
“I don’t think so,” Ava said,avoiding eye contact – which was pretty damn hard with the baby blues on thatone.
“Do you read Gloss magazine?” Libbysaid.
“Sometimes,” the brunette said.
“Ava here is the features editor,and I’m the beauty editor. Maybe you’ve seen our photos in the magazine.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” thebrunette said, and he continued to study Ava’s face.
“Are you an animal lover? Ava’salways volunteering at some sort of Humane Society event or other.”
“I do like animals, but that’s notit either.”
“Where’d you go to school?” Libbysaid.
“Geez, Libby,” Ava said. “Give it arest already.”
“That’s it,” the brunette said, “NowI know how I know you – you’re the one who called me a jackass in open court.”
Libby turned to Ava, mouth openwide. Mark wore a similar facial expression.
“Guilty as charged,” Ava said.
“You called him a jackass?” Libbysaid. “In court?”
“It’s a long story,” Ava said. “And,in fairness, you know it is one of my favorite words.”
“I’m Eric, the jackass, by the way,”he said, extending his hand to Libby.
“Nice to meet you,” Libby said.
Eric turned and extended his hand toAva. “Eric – in case you’d like to know how my friends usually refer to me.”
“We like jackass, too,” Mark said.
“Ava. Ava who can’t keep her mouthshut.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ava,” Ericsaid.
“Is it too late for an apology?” Avasaid.
“It’s never too late for an apology,but I might mull it over a bit before accepting.”
“Fair enough.” Ava couldn't help but think that this was just her luck. Not only did the stranger she insulted show up at her favorite bar -- making it forever again uninhabitable -- but he also had to be attractive, wedding ring-less and accompanied by an equally attractive friend.
Mark and Libby seemed to think thisexchange was just a hysterical and delightful way to begin a conversation, butAva couldn’t get over her humiliation. And from the very little that Eric addedto the group conversation, Ava was pretty sure that Eric didn’t think theincident from the day before was quite so funny either. Libby and Markcontinued to talk about the upcoming college football season, city councilelections and the latest in reality TV, but Ava found the first possible excuseto leave when she finished her drink.
“Why such an early night?” Francissaid as she paid her tab.
“I just think it’s time to go beforeI do or say something I’ll regret,” Ava said. She left off the “else.”
“Have a good night, sweetheart,”Francis said.
“You too.”
Ava felt Eric’s eyes boring a holeinto the back of her head all the way out the door.
Chapter 6
“I miss my babies so much.” A woman with croppedbrown hair was speaking from the head of long linoleum table. She wore a purpleblouse and small, gold hoop earrings. As she continued speaking, tears sprangto her eyes. ‘I don’t even know how this happened. I’ve never done a thingwrong, but there has to be someone in the room when I spend time with my ownchildren.”
“I haven’t seen my kids sinceSeptember,” a woman across the table with shoulder-length blonde hair said. “Myex keeps cancelling my visits, and no one does a damn thing about it.”
Ava sat on the opposite end of thetable from the brunette. Mexico Lindo 2 looked like any other Mexicanrestaurant you’d find in a strip mall. The décor was very red and green andhorse-y (as in carved horses and painted horses covered every spare inch ofwall space). While it wasn’t the best food Ava had ever had, she could see whythis particular group liked the restaurant. Anonymity was a given. No oneseemed to take any note of who came and went or what business was beingconducted at the dining tables.
“I know you’re all frustrated,”Rachel said. “There are plenty of reasons to be sad and angry about what’shappened, but if we want to do something about it, we’ve got to stay focused.How have you all helped your cases this week?”
Ava wanted to take notes, butthought that might make her less approachable to the women of Divorce Busters,so she had decided just to listen this first time around. She had been anxiousall day waiting for this meeting and this opportunity to pursue a real story,but now that she was here, Ava felt both a little sad and a little let down.These women were in real pain, and she felt for them. At the same time, a tableof women at a Mexican Restaurant hardly seemed like the group to bring downcorrupt judicial officials.
“I’m looking into getting a newattorney,” a curvy brunette said. “Mine still hasn’t filed the appeal Irequested nearly six months ago.”
“And how are you looking for a newlawyer?” Rachel asked.
“Well, I started by scratching offthe names of any lawyer this group has.”
The whole table laughed. “What’smost important right now is to stay the course,” Rachel said. “We are fightingan uphill battle, and this won’t be easy, but I do believe that together, andwith dedication, we’ll be able to prove that the family court system is notdoing right by women.”
The woman with cropped brown hairspoke again. “But how?” she said. “We’ve been meeting at this crappy restaurantfor months, and it seems like all I’ve accomplished is finding a place to cryevery week and risking my job by making so many personal photocopies of mycourt documents. If paper and frustration were commodities, I’d have enoughmoney to buy my kids back.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’ve triedto expand our resources,” Rachel said. “I’d like to introduce you all to AvaCarson. She’s a reporter.”
Ava had been buried in herhalf-eaten burrito and had a mouth full of tortilla and cheese when all eyes atthe table turned to her. She had not expected to be introduced to the group,and she certainly hadn’t expected to be introduced to the group as a reporter.
“I don’t want to get you ladies tooexcited, and I’ve told Ava that we’re not ready to go public yet, but I’m justso happy to have a reporter on our team,” Rachel said. “With her sources andresources, I’m sure we’ll get somewhere. We will be heard!”
The women at the table clapped.
“I can’t believe we have an actualreporter on our side,” the curvy brunette said.
“What paper are you with?” theblonde asked.
“I’m actually with Gloss magazine,”Ava said as she struggled to swallow the last of the bite still in her mouth.“And I’m more of an editor than a reporter.”
“What other big stories have youworked on? Would I know your work?” Geena said.
“Actually ….” Ava started hersentence, but was pretty sure that credits like 10 Ways to Lure Your Loverand How to Get Red Wine Out of MostAnything wouldn’t do much for her cause.
“Now, Ladies,” Rachel said, “There’sno need to overwhelm Ava right now. I’m sure she wants to get her bearings.Observe first, right Ava?”
Ava nodded. It sounded like a goodexcuse to her.
“When she’s ready, I’m sure she’llwant to interview all of you and see your documentation, but let’s let her moveat her pace. All reporters have their own method, I’m sure.
Untilwe know how she wants to proceed, let’s go back to talking about yourindividual cases and progress until we have to get out of here.”
Ava sat in stunned silence for thenext half hour listening as the women at the table shared more details abouttheir skewed custody arrangements, ex-husband troubles and seemingly unjustjudge’s orders. Were these women telling the truth? What was the other side ofthe story? And, perhaps most importantly, what did this group expect from hernow that Rachel had outed her as an interested and respected “reporter” of allthings?
When the group broke up for theevening, Ava pulled Rachel aside. “I thought you said we were going to keep myinvolvement in all this quiet?”
“I know that’s what I said,” Rachelsaid. “But these women needed hope. And I’m so happy to have you here. Do youhave any idea how many journalists have turned me down when I’ve tried to getthem to take interest in this story?”
What a great sign, Ava thought. Shewished she’d known this last part before. “But, I don’t even know if I’m goingto write a story about this, and if I do, I certainly don’t know what the storywill be yet.”
“Allright, allright, I get it,”Rachel said, winking at Ava, “you’re just here to hang out for now. There mightnot be a story.”
“Exactly,” Ava said. “I’m not makinga commitment to you or this story just yet.”
“Of course, of course,” Rachel said.“No promises.” She smiled. “I can’t help the fact that I just have a feelingthis is all going to work out.”
“You can have all the feelings youwant,” Ava said, “but you just said it – no promises.”
“See you next week then?”
“See you next week then,” Ava saidand headed towards the door. Realizing she’d left her cardigan on the back ofher chair from dinner, she turned around to go back to the table. As shestooped to reclaim her sweater, Ava left a hand brush against her shoulder. Shelooked up to see the blonde woman from Divorce Busters at her side.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the blondesaid.
“Thank you for saying that,” Avasaid, “but I was just telling Rachel that I’m not comfortable making anypromises about the resources or attention I can offer right now.”
The blonde nodded. “I’ve been soalone since they took my kids, any news is good news right now. And it looks tome like you have an honest, kind face.” Before Ava could say another word, theblonde was out the door.
At home later that night, Ava pulledout her laptop to jot down a few details on the meeting at Mexico Lindo 2. Shealso made a note to ask Rachel about the married and maiden names of the womenpresent that night. She might as well start looking into more of the details onthese cases.
Ava was also pretty sure that “real”journalists were supposed to leave their emotions at the door when looking intostories, but Ava couldn’t help but think about the blonde who had found her atthe close of the meeting and the pain in her eyes.
Whether the allegations of DivorceBusters were founded or not, people were being hurt, and if she could doanything about that pain, hell, it’d be more than she’d accomplished in twoyears at Gloss.
Chapter 5
Afteran extra long lunch and lots of retail therapy – retail therapy that stilldidn’t manage to erase the embarrassment of cursing out loud in a court of lawand being chastised by an actual judge -- Ava returned to the office around4:00 that afternoon.
With Libby at the dentist andHarriet still tending to her spiritual duties, the building was nearlydeserted. Ava kicked off her shoes underthe desk and sighed with relief that at least she had an hour to herself beforethe meeting with Harriet that would cap off an already fabulous day.
“Knock, knock.”
Ava looked up. “Hi, Bill.”
“How’s your day going?”
“Swimmingly.”
“I hear you,” Bill said. “We avoidedyet another network crash today.”
“Oh, no,” Ava said. “Did somethinghappen to my computer while I was gone? Do you think I lost any work?”
“Ava, Ava, Ava,” Bill chuckled. “Myjob is a lot like national security. If you knew how close we came to a networkcrash every single day, you’d stop storing any information on the computer. Yourmachine is just fine.”
“Thanks, Bill.” A comparison tonational security? Ava didn’t have a response for that one.
“Yep, every day is a battle againstthe viruses and spyware.” Bill looked the part of an IT geek in every way,shape and form. He wore pleated khakis and one of three short-sleeved, striped,button-down shirts every single day. He also wore glasses and was so stickthin, Ava was pretty sure she had at least 10 pounds on him.
“I’m glad it’s your job and notmine. If I was in charge of tech in this office, we’d all be out of thepublishing business within days.”
“And the user errors … Don’t evenget me started on the user errors.”
Bill was lingering. Ava didn’t likelingering. “
“Ted in accounting loves to playaround with the program settings …”
“Bill, I hate to interrupt, but Ihave a big meeting coming up soon.”
“Of course, of course,” Bill said.“I didn’t mean to bend your ear. I’ve been a little shaken up all day. My excalled. She says she needs some space again.”
Ava pushed her computer keyboard tothe side. Even though this was the same spiel she’d heard over and over againfor nearly a year, and she found Bill to be mostly annoying, she still didn’thave the heart to throw him out of her office. If nothing else, at least this shouldstave off her boredom until Harriet got back.
“She wasn’t saying she needed spacewhen I slept over on Saturday.”
Dear Lord, this was not going to bean easy conversation. Then again, Ava knew all too well that the road to hellwas paved with good intentions.
After 45 minutes of coddling andcomforting, during which Ava yet again learned way too much about the personallife of her co-worker, Bill finally stood to leave.
“You’re a good listener, Ava.”
“Any time.”
“I don’t know why some man hasn’tsnatched you up yet.”
“That makes two of us,” Ava said.
Bill walked out of the door to Ava’soffice, but then turned around.
“Bill, I really do have to get somework done this afternoon.”
“No, all this talk about Alyssa mademe forget the real reason I came in her in the first place. They brought mesome of your mail, and I thought you might want it back.”
“Thanks, Bill.”
“No problem.”
Ava began to sift through the pileof papers. There were a few submissions from freelance writers, notices about conferencesin the area. But, it was the society page of a local magazine that reallycaught her eye. There was a very familiar face in a group of photos from someribbon-cutting or other, even if she had only seen that face just a few hoursbefore.
Mr.Stuart Newson, CEO of Dexco Industries, steps out on the town with a businessassociate.
It was always nice to have a name togo with a face. And Ava also thought that the stunning brunette standing nextto Mr. Newson didn’t look like any of the business associates she’d want hernot-yet-ex-husband to have.
Knowing she had about 30 minutes to spare beforefighting traffic, Ava turned to her computer and searched for the DexcoIndustries company home page.
“Dexco Industries specializes inurban renewal and development. We strive to uplift and maintain standards forthe community befitting progressive, modern neighborhoods. Where others seefailure, we see opportunity.”
Ava was pretty sure that all of theDexco jargon meant Mr. Newson snapped up low-income housing or foreclosures andturned everything he saw into condos. Whatever the specifics of his industry,it seemed to be working for him. The Dexco site was credited to the top graphicdesign firm in town, and Ava recognized at least three condo developments Dexcohad built she knew were well out of her price range (or that of anyone earninga salary less than the high six figures). Moving away from the main page, Avaclicked on About Us.
“Stuart Newson, M.B.A. WhartonUniversity, founded Dexco in 1994after a successful 10-year career in commercial real estate … Dexco was afamily-run company for the first 15 years of its existence … In 2009, Mr.Newson decided to take Dexco public and Eleanor Franklin, M.B.A. ColumbiaUniversity, joined thecompany as CFO …”
A quick glance at the latest companyportrait allowed Ava to confirm that Eleanor Franklin was indeed the attractivebrunette socializing and working with Ryan Newson’s husband. Ava also couldn’thelp but wonder about the switch from a “family-run company” to a publicentity. She had a sneaking suspicion Ryan did a lot of uncredited work gettingDexco off the ground, and somehow managed to lose her marriage and much of hercareer to her husband’s ambitions.
Ava would have loved to spend moretime on the Internet, but a quick glance at the clock told her there wassomewhere else she needed to be.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Ava walked intoher office, sat down behind the desk, opened a Diet Coke and pulled up here-mail inbox.
Just a friendly reminder about Boss’Day. – Harriet
Lose belly fat fast!!! –skinnyminny465768
Ava, my group gave me the OK. See youat Mexico Lindo 2 tomorrow night. – Rachel
Ava leaned back in her chair. Couldthis really go somewhere? Would she actually be able to tell a real story?
“Oh, Ava!”
Ava looked around her small officeand realized, for the umpteenth time, that she still didn’t have a properescape route. There were so many reasons to have an office with a window thathad nothing to do with status or daylight.
“Oh, Ava, there you are,” Harrietsaid. “I’ve been looking for you.” Harriet was dressed in a black pant suit.There was no silk scarf today, but there was a beret. When Harriet cocked herhead after addressing Ava, the beret looked like it could slide off at anymoment.
“Well, you found me,” Ava said. “Inmy office.”
“Now you’re in your office,” Harrietsaid. “I don’t think you were here 10 minutes ago.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t find a thing towear this morning,” Ava said, attempting to excuse her seven minutes oftardiness.
Harriet looked Ava up and down fromthe waist up as Ava stayed seated behind her desk. “I can see how that would bea problem for you,” she said. “But it’s been a long morning without my numbertwo you know.”
She probably forgot where the powerbutton was to her computer again, Ava thought. “I can’t apologize enough,” Avasaid. “What did you need?”
“I wanted to move our meeting up.The temple called and there’s no one to manage the office during today’s yogaretreat.” Harriet was an occasional Buddhist. “I’ve got to get out there, butsince you weren’t around, I’ll guess we’ll have to move our meeting back. Howdoes 5:30 work for you?”
“Nothing like an end of the work daymeeting,” Ava said. “I’ll see you then.”
“Wonderful, I figured you didn’thave plans.”
Ava forced a smile.
“And plan on staying a little late,I’ve had some thoughts on cleaning solutions since we spoke last.’
The forced smile became a grimace.
“Toodles!”
Without the go-ahead for any of herupcoming projects or stories and no idea what Harriet’s new ideas were, Avasoon realized her day would be emptier than most. She picked up the phone.
“This is Libby.”
“The cat’s away. How about aridiculously long lunch followed by makeovers at the MAC counter?”
“No can do,” Libby said. “Sorry tolet you down kiddo, but I’ll be spending my lunch break and most of theafternoon in Dr. Dickson’s chair getting a new crown.”
“No fair,” Ava said.
“That’s me being selfish again. Iplanned my day around novacaine and drilling just to frustrate you.”
“There’ll be gas involved. Don’t actlike it’s all pain and suffering.”
“Fair enough.”
“OK, I’ll go back to being borednow.”
“Sorry, Ava.”
“I’ll make do.” She put down thephone and went back to her computer screen. Nine hours left until the meetingwith Harriet, and Ava had no solitaire, no Libby and no Facebook access.
Then she re-read the e-mail fromRachel. If these women really were losing their kids because of corruption inthe judicial system, they deserved someone to tell their story. And theydeserved someone to tell their story well. Ava was about as far removed fromher days at journalism school as she thought she could be, but she still knewshe owed this lead far more than a Google search. There had to be another wayto find out more about Jack Shaw.
The city courthouse was only a fewblocks away. Ava grabbed her purse and locked her computer screen. It was timefor a field trip.
The courthouse was an attractiveenough building. The façade was crafted of limestone that could use a goodpressure wash, but the six-story structure seemed formidable. Once Ava wasinside, surrounded by marble and the echo of footsteps down the long tiledhallways, she felt like someone was watching her and that every move was beingscrutinized. This was not a building she’d ever try to escape.
Ava was also intimidated by themetal detectors. While she knew that she had every right to be in this publicbuilding, she still expected someone to pull her out of line: “You’re the womanwho wants to write bad, bad things about us,” she imagined the guard screaming.“Straight to lock-up!”
Instead, Ava passed through thescreening without even making eye contact with anyone and went on her way. Shestudied the directory and she learned that family court was on the 4thfloor. She boarded the elevator.
Stepping out on the fourth floor,Ava felt another wave of intimidation. What was she doing here after all? Shewasn’t a real reporter. She didn’t cover beats. And she was no good withconfrontation or tough questions. She couldn’t even ask her ex-boyfriends wherethey saw the relationship going.
Ava could pretend all she wantedthat it was just circumstance that had landed her at Gloss magazine, but it wasa case of fear, too. She went to the water fountain hoping that something coolto drink would calm her nerves and give her time to think.
“You know what he’s up to, don’tyou?” Ava heard a woman behind her raising his voice. “Can’t you see what he’sdoing? He’ll say whatever it takes to hurt me.”
“Ryan, you have to calm down.” Itwas a man’s voice this time. “If you lose your temper, you’re not going to helpyourself or your kids. Let’s step back for a second.”
Ava kept her head down but turned itslightly to get a better look at the two people in conversation. Both werestanding just a few feet away by the window.
“You heard what they said in there.”The woman was practically screaming now. Even with her face twisted in anger,she was very pretty. Her blonde hair was cut in a bob, her skin seemedflawless, and her tailored suit couldn’t have been anything over a size four.
“It’s a custody trial, Ryan,” theman said. “I tried to warn you that a lot of nasty things were going to besaid. But, we haven’t called a single witness yet. You have to trust my trialstrategy.” The man, who Ava took to be an attorney, was quite nice looking aswell. At just over six feet tall, he had a rounder face, broad shoulders anddark brown hair. Both wore the dark suits one expected to find inside acourthouse – or at a funeral.
“This is about your kids, Ryan,” theman went on. “Take a couple of deep breaths, and we’ll get back in there. Thereare only two minutes left to this recess, and Judge Shaw watches the clock likea hawk.”
“OK, Eric. I’m paying you the bigbucks for a reason, I guess.”
“Or, the not so big bucks, as thecase may be.” The woman finally cracked a smile.
Ava couldn’t believe her luck. ThankGod for her anxiety attack – it had landed her in just the right spot forobserving Jack Shaw. When she stood up completely, Ava saw a slightly oldergentleman standing down the hall. He was graying and tall, but would still beable to turn plenty of heads. Next to him, was a label-clad blonde woman –Gucci bag, Chanel suit, Christian laboutin heels. Ava recognized the clothesfrom a fashion story she’d researched in the fall. At least a half dozen men insuits and well-dressed women stood nearby. She guessed that the soon to beex-husband of agitated Ryan was somewhere in the crowd. Unlike Ryan and herattorney, the group down the hall smiled often and even let out the occasionalgiggle.
“Court will resume.” A bailiff hadentered the hall, and the first two people Ava had eavesdropped on walked intothe courtroom. Ava waited until the husband’s entourage made it down the hall,and then did her best to appear as if she was with the gaggle of friends and relatives.Sure, there was a clear difference in dress and socio-economic level, but maybeshe could pass for their charity case of the week. She wandered in just behindthe last label-clad woman and took a seat in the last row on the plaintiff’sside.
“All rise. Court is now in session.”
An attractive man in his mid-fortiesentered the room. “Judge Jack Shaw presiding.” Even 20 years after his collegehey day, Ava could see why her sister had has such a crush on Mr. Shaw. He was blond, blue-eyed and had the lean lookof your typical Golden Boy. Ava flashed on Robert Redford’s character in The Way We Were almost immediately.
“Now, where were we?” the judgesaid.
“Your honor, for the sake of myclient’s time and that of the court, I see no reason to go on with theseproceedings,” the husband’s attorney said. “My client is an excellent parent,and the defendant, well, isn’t.”
“Objection,” the wife’s attorneyrose. “I hardly think it’s fair to assume anyone is an unfit parent at thispoint in the hearing.”
“I think it’s unfair to allow thesepoor children to spend one more minute wondering if they’ll have to live with …with that.” The attorney pointed towards the mother.
“So, it’s better to send them homewith a drunk?”
“Now, now Mr. Stevens, you are anofficer of this court, and I expect you to behave as such,” Judge Shaw said.
“Yes, your honor,” the defendant’s attorneysaid. “It’s just so hard to sit here and listen to the plaintiff’s nearcanonization of this man.”
“Your honor,” the plaintiff’s attorneysaid.
“I just can’t help but think that Mr.Newson didn’t attract all of those girlfriends by being a great father who washome every night with the kids.”
“Objection!”
“We could always ask the doc whoprescribes all of his painkillers what he thinks.”
Judge Shaw raised his gavel.
“What a prick.”
A hush fell over the court, and alleyes turned to the back of the room.
“Is there something you’d like toadd, young lady?”
Ava turned around as well.
“Young lady?” Judge Shaw stareddirectly at Ava.
“Was that out loud?” Ava tried tosmile.
“It was indeed,” he said. “Would youcare to say something? I’m more than happy to give you the floor.”
“I’m fine,” Ava said. “Really.”
“Are you an attorney, Miss?”
“No, sir.”
“So, your business here would be?”
“Observation.”
“I see,” the judge said. “Well, thenif you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could observe without commentary.’
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’d also like to get back topresiding over my court now, if that’s OK with you, of course.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, everyone, it looks like wecan get back to the actual business at hand now. Maybe we could all focus onthe law and the welfare of a family, here?”
Everyone in the courtroom nodded.
Ava gathered her things and moved asinconspicuously as possible towards the door. So much for her stealthy fieldwork. Just before Ava slunk out of the room, she turned around and saw thatEric Stevens was staring at her.
She guessed that calling someone aprick wasn’t exactly the best way to make friends. Oh well, at least there wasone more piece of advice for her next relationship column.
Chapter 3
Back at the office, Ava decided to turn to hermost-trusted research tool, the ace in the hole for any investigativejournalist: Google.com.
Asshe typed jack shaw’s name into the search field, she sipped her third DietCoke of the day and kicked her shoes off under her desk.
“JackShaw – technology specialist.”
“JackShaw – Sculptor.”
“JackShaw Ministries International.”
Avarealized that she should have known better than to type such a common name intothe world’s largest search engine. She tried again with “judge jack shaw,”“jack shaw family court” and “jack shaw springfield.”Finally, some results came through that seemed like they might be on the righttrack.
“JudgeJack Shaw takes home state bar award ...”
“JackShaw endorses Myers for Governor ...”
“Formercollege tennis star finds success on another court ...”
NowAva knew why the name had sounded familiar when Rachel mentioned it overcoffee. Jack Shaw wasn’t just a judge, he’s been a great tennis player. Ava hadheard about him from her older sisters who were at the state university aroundthe same time. Lily, her oldest sister, referred to him as “dashing” and evennursed a crush for some of her sophomore year. If Ava remembered correctly,Jack Shaw even played on the pro circuit for awhile, maybe even made it to theopening rounds of the U.S. Open.
“FamilyCourt Judge Jack Shaw knows that love can mean nothing ...”
Avagroaned over the umpteenth cheesy tennis metaphor. These were the kinds ofheadlines she herself would have written and then hung her head in shame.
Fromwhat she gathered, this Jack Shaw was the same local hero and golden boy she’dremembered. Scholar Athlete at State. A couple of respectable, but not stellaryears trying to play pro. Law review. Family practice. Married to a formerhomecoming queen. Appointed to a judge’s seat three years prior. The perfectsqueaky clean, everybody-loves-him politician type.
“Areyou going to kill me now or save the fate for later so you can torture me somemore?”
Avalooked up to see Libby standing in the door.
“Killyou?”
“Formaking you have coffee and listen to story ideas from some whacko?”
“Itwasn’t that bad.”
“Notthat bad?” Libby said. “Have you traded rage for making me feel guilty?”
“No,really,” Ava said. “It wasn’t that bad. I actually kind of enjoyed it.”
“You?”Libby said. “You enjoyed talking to a stranger? About the magazine?’
“Yes,I did,” Ava said. “She had some interesting things to say.”
“Hmph.Well, I guess I don’t owe you that bottle of wine after all.”
“Iwouldn’t go that far,” Ava said. “Any chance I can redeem that IOU tonight?”
“Nocan do.” Ava heard a lower pitched voice coming from the hall. “My wife is minetonight. You’ll have to pick another time for complaining about me and solvingthe world’s problems.’
“HiJake,” Ava said. “I didn’t know you were back there.”
“Idecided to surprise Libby with dinner and a movie tonight,” Jake said. “Ithought she might enjoy a little pampering.” Ava never thought musician-loving,late-night-partying Libby would ever fall for a balding accountant with twochildren from a previous marriage, but Jake and Libby had seemed to be thepicture of happiness throughout their two-year union.
“Aren’tyou a little early for that?” Ava said. “Most people wait until the end of thework day for surprises. You two going to play hookey?”
“Hardly,it’s 5:30 Ava,” Libby said. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“Ididn’t realize,” she said. Ava looked at the clock on her computer’s monitor.She couldn’t believe she’d spent the past four hours looking up info on JackShaw.
“I’dask you to join us Ava,” Jake said. “But I have devious intentions for our dateonce the movie is done.”
“Sayno more,” Ava said. “You two love birds ought to get out of here. I’d hate tohave to hear any more graphic details.”
“I’llget you that bottle of wine,” Libby said. “I promise. Maybe Wednesday?”
“MaybeWednesday,” Ava said. “Now go have fun.”
Libbywinked at Ava as Jake put his arm on the small of her back and guided her awayfrom Ava’s office.
“Yeah,”Jake called. “Maybe Wednesday.”
Turningback to her screen, Ava book marked a few key pages that she wanted to re-visitin the morning. Then she checked her bank balance to make sure there was enoughcash for a quick run to the Publix on the way home. Milothe wonder dog needed more dog chow, and his owner could use some red wine evenif there was no one to share it with.
Lastbut not least, Ava sent Harriet an e-mail to remind her of a Friday meeting. Avacouldn’t care less about the meeting, but she wanted Harriet to have an e-mailfrom her with a time stamp so close to 6:00 p.m. Harriet thought of that asdedication.
Thenshe shut down the computer and headed home.
“Hi Honey, I’m home.” Avapushed the door shut behind her, dropped her purse and grocery bags on theentry table and bent down for all of the kisses Milohad to give.
“HelloMister Milo. Did you miss Mommy?” Milo, theultimate mutt, sat happily at Ava’s feet and wagged his tail. “Mommy broughtyou something special from the grocery store.” Ava picked her grocery bags backup and proceeded down the hallway of her apartment to the kitchen in the back.
Avauncorked a bottle of cabernet, popped a Lean Cuisine in the microwave and put anew rawhide bone in front of Milo, after making him sit for it.
“That’smy boy,” she said, rubbing the top of Milo’shead before her ran off to the living room, new bone in tow.
“You’reall the man I need Milo Carson,” Ava said, in her usual custom of talking outloud to the dog. “Libby may have a husband, but I doubt he’s nearly as obedientas you.”
Avaput the rest of her groceries away – cheese cubes, pretzels, Snackwell’scookies and a 12-pack of Diet Coke – and grabbed her microwaved lasagna andglass of wine to join Milo on the couch.
Afteran hour or so of VH1 programming, Ava grabbed her laptop. She couldn’t imaginethat the Internet only had good things to say about Jack Shaw. The Internetdidn’t only have good things to say about anyone.
For 19 search pages, she read about Judge Shaw’sathletic past, his numerous honors and generous charity affiliations. “Thegolden boy shines again, Milo,” Ava said justbefore she took another sip of her wine.
It wasn’t until the 20thGoogle search page that Ava stumbled upon a story sharing any differentinformation about Judge Shaw. The article itself was no more than a fewsentences, and it was buried in a slew of Metro briefs from two years ago.
Due to a family illness,Judge Jack Shaw of the 3rd district family court plans to take a sixweek leave of absence from his seat. A replacement to handle his caseload inthe mean time will be named within the week, court officials say.
Ava thought about what kind offamily illness would cause a man to take time away from a time-consuming andhigh profile career. Cancer? Was he sick? His wife?
Ava kept reading and discovered thatthe paper’s online format allowed for comments on most all of the stories, nomatter how mundane. And, there it was. The fourth comment on the story, aftertwo spam messages and a seemingly unrelated plug for one of the state’s collegefootball teams, was about Judge Jack Shaw.
DMP2642 wrote: I hope JackShaw’s vacation is permanent. That man needs to be removed from the bench. Inever see my children. They’re always with their father. I worry that he hitsthem -- like he used to hit me.
“Aha,” Ava said out loud to no onebut Milo the Wonder Dog again. Maybe there wassomething to this story after all. As Ava read DMP2642’s last comments, shealready knew that following this lead was about more than her off-coursecareer.
No one will listen to me. Ineed help – for me and my children. Can’t anyone out there do something?
Chapter 2
“A grande non-fat latteplease,” Ava said. She scanned the tables at Starbucks while she waited on herorder. A guy with wire-rimmed glasses on his laptop in the corner. Twothirty-somethings in tennis skirts poring over a photo album by the window. Emokids with purple hair in the back. So far, no one on in the coffee shop evenremotely fit the bill of the contact Libby had described.
“So what am I looking forwhen I meet this coffee date of yours?”
“I’ve never met her, but she’ll probably be a soccer mom, butnot a soccer mom, if you know what I mean,” Libby had said. “Think corporatesuit meets minivan. At least, that’s the impression I got from her e-mails.
One she got her coffee, Ava took a seat by the sugar stationand pulled a notebook from her purse. With one eye on the door, she scanned herto-do list to pass the time.
1. Research for Harriet: “Could separate bedroomsbe the key to putting passion back in your marriage?”
2. Dog food.
3. Purpose.
One and two were easy. Three was going to pose a problem.Especially for the features editor of Gloss magazine. Ava never couldseem to find much purpose in writing about throw pillows or the perfect holidaycocktail.
“Libby?”
The spell of Ava’s ennui was broken, and she looked up to seean attractive woman in her early 40s. Slim, with shoulder-length brown hair anddark eyes, the woman before her looked both professional and stylish in a blackpantsuit with a chunky green necklace and teardrop earrings.
“Libby Weathers?”
“I’m Ava, Libby’s colleague.”
“You seemed like you were a reporter, but I wasn’t sure whoto look for.”
“Libby wanted to be here, but something came up,” Ava said.She never thought of herself as looking like a reporter. Actually, she didn’teven think of herself as a reporter. Lifestyles journalism seemed to put herfar, far away from the Pulitzer she’d once dreamed of in college. “I’ll do mybest to fill Libby’s shoes. If that’s OK with you, of course.”
“I think that should be just fine. I’m Rachel. RachelMerriweather.”
“It’s very nice to meet you Rachel. I’m Ava Carson.”
“And what do you do with the magazine, Ava?” Rachel said.
“I’m the features editor.”
“Features? Very nice.”
“It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”
“Still. For a magazine, and at your age.”
At 29, Ava was somewhat young for her position, but in truth,she just looked far younger than her age. With a round face and a dispositiontowards ponytails and lip gloss rather than coifed locks and eye liner, mostpeople guessed her to be no more than a few years out of college.
“I’m grateful to be where I am,” Ava said, cutting her eyesto avoid eye contact. “Would you like to sit down and we’ll talk about yoursituation?”
“That sounds lovely,” Rachel said.
“Libby didn’t give me too many details about this meeting.”
“I wanted to talk about story ideas,” Rachel said. “I justdiscovered your magazine, and I have so many great ideas for articles.”
“Wonderful,” Ava said. No wonder Libby had shirked thismeeting off onto her. She was going to owe Ava far more than a bottle of wine.There was little Ava disliked more than listening to other people’s storyideas. She thought of it as the poor man’s version of being in the moviebusiness. Everyone had the next big idea to share.
“Safe food. That’s a good one. People want to know how not toget salmonella.” – her pharmacist.
“What your dreams mean. I had this one about my third gracescience teacher the other night ...” – a terrible first date.
“What about a story on online dating for the overly picky?” –her mother.
“Divorce,” Rachel said. Then she paused and Ava wasn’t surewhether or not she expected shock and awe from her or just needed a breath.
“What about divorce?” Ava said.
“Oh, anything and everything.”
Ava sighed. The odds that this woman really had an angle fora story on divorce that no other woman’s magazine had covered? Slim to none.
“I thought it might make for a good series.”
“Uh-huh.”
“There could be profiles of divorced women. What happened tothem. What their ex-husbands did. How they’re doing now.”
“I see.”
“There could even be more practical stories – how to file fordivorce, what assets you’re entitled to, who the good lawyers are.”
“Yep,” Ava said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you tellingme what you do. Why are you son interested in this topic?”
“Well, I’m a divorced woman myself,” Rachel said.
Surprise, surprise, Ava thought.
“I also council a lot of divorced women through mynon-profit. I help women get back on their feet after divorce – findapartments, get property back in their names.”
“A non-profit?”
“We’re called Divorce Busters.”
“And the money?”
“Well, I do most of the funding myself. I’ve fared well in mydivorces, but I thought that some greater exposure for the organization mightmean I could expand, take on some more clients, get outside funding.”
“I see. And that’s wherethe magazine stories come in, right?”
“Exactly.”
Something else that Ava had learned during her time inmagazines was that most people didn’t know the difference between “stories” and“free advertising.”
“You would not believe some of the stuff going on in thecourt system around here. There are so many women in this town fighting toothand nail just to see their own kids.”
Probably the ones too busy dallying with the pool boy andtaking too many prescriptions, Ava imagined. “I guess there are just as manyunfit mothers here as there are elsewhere.”
“Oh, it’s not unfit mothers,” Rachel said.
“What do you mean?”
“Men are getting more and more power in the courts.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? We can’t ask for equal rights and thenbe upset when we see the downside of our own equality.”
“It’s not a balanced power.”
“I don’t think I see your point.”
“Some of the divorced women I counsel haven’t done a thingwrong. They’ve stayed home for years. They make lunches, drive carpool andteach Sunday school. But for some reason, none of it matters when they getbefore the judge.”
“There must be something else going on. Secret affairs?Addiction?”
“Nope, none of that,” Rachel said. “One woman I met lost herkids because she was told it would be too traumatic to break the strong bondthe kids had built with dad during baseball season.”
“How can that be?”
“That’s the same question I’ve been asking for the last sixmonths.”
Ava flipped to a new page in her notebook and beganscribbling down notes: lost custody, local courts, not unfit. “What else do youknow?” she said.
“I’ve seen at least three or four mothers who lost primarycustody of their children to their exes – men with full-time careers, some whoeven had affairs. The first woman I met without her kids, I was suspicious. Ifigured there was something she wasn’t telling me,” Rachel said. “But, by thetime I met the fourth woman, I was more trusting.”
“Is there anything these women share? The same attorney?Something from the past?”
“I’m glad you asked that,” Rachel said. “They’ve all had toappear before Judge Jack Shaw.”
Ava stopped writing. “Are you saying what I think you’resaying?”
“I’m saying that I believe there is corruption in the familycourt system. I haven’t figured out the specifics, but I know something isn’tright.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Off the record?”
“Off the record.”
“Every other week, these women and I get together. They bringtheir court documents. We’re trying to establish a paper trail. When we haveproof that something is wrong, I want to go public.”
“Media public?”
“Media public,” Rachel said, her voice lowered. “But we’renot there yet, and I don’t want to risk giving anyone time to destroy evidenceor cover their tracks.”
Ava’s head was spinning. This could be an actual story. Astory that would affect people’s lives, that would get people thinking,something that might matter. But what were the odds that an actual news-worthystory would just drop into her lap at a Starbucks on a Monday afternoon? Andwhy was this woman so willing to spill her guts? She should be giving a realreporter these kinds of details
“I’d love to meet these women, if you don’t mind,” Ava said.“I wouldn’t print anything before you said it was OK.”
“If I can trust you,” Rachel said, “I think that might be agood idea. Let me talk to my partners in crime and see how they feel about it.If they give the go ahead, clear your calendar for this Wednesday at 6:30. I’lltell you the location once I know it’s all kosher.”
“That sounds great to me,” Ava said. Then she glanced at herwatch and realized that an hour had passed since she left the office. Harrietdidn’t like Ava to have too many lengthy excursions during the day, even if theintent was business. “I have to rush back to the office -- my editor will havemy head if I don’t scoot on back.”
“Of course, of course,” Rachel said. “I can’t believe youcould take time out of your busy schedule on such short notice. Thank you somuch.”
Ava smiled. She wished she was as busy as everyone alwaysassumed she was. “It’s been lovely to meet you.”
“And you as well.”
“Here’s my card. I’d really like to keep having this conversationwith you. I hope we can help each other out.”
“Me too,” Rachel said. She tucked Ava’s card in her purse.“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit the restroom before I leave. I’ll bein touch.”
Rachel walked to the back of the coffee shop while Ava headedfor the door. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but Ava’s hopes hadoften been her Achilles Heel. Maybe that Pulitzer wasn’t such a pipe dreamafter all.
Chapter 1
“Outof my way jackass,” Ava called as she honked and passed a silver Audi. Shesailed through the intersection just as the light turned red.
“Your rudegesture doesn’t scare me either.” Ava said. She could see the Audi’s iratedriver flipping her off in her rear view mirror. “Learn to drive and we’lltalk,” she screamed. Then she took a quick look at her passenger side window tomake sure that it wasn’t cracked open.
Five minuteslater, Ava pulled into the parking lot outside of her office building. 8:58a.m. If she sprinted up the stairs, she should have time to grab a cold DietCoke before joining the rest of the staff in the conference room for Monday’splanning meeting.
If she didn’trush up the stairs, she’d have to skip the Diet Coke or endure Harriet’sinterrogation as a punishment for tardiness. Harriet was a big fan ofpunctuality, and since Harriet lacked both an understanding of appropriate eyecontact and a sense of humor, these grillings were the bane of Ava’s existence.
“How would youromance a new lover, Ava?”
“What do youthink women most want to know about the cervix?”
“Is douchingreally a generational issue?”
As the featureseditor for the regional women’s magazine, Gloss, Ava’s working liferevolved around women’s issues. Only, when she’d taken the job, she hoped formore women’s political causes, business advice and health concerns. What she’dgotten was terrible puns on that time of the month, too many headlinescontaining the word “diva” and many, many manuscripts on potty training.
And Harriet.
“Nice of you tojoin us, Ava,” Harriet said. She stood at the helm of the large conferencetable, a cup of herbal tea in hand. “Rolling out of bed at the last minuteagain?” Now Ava was stuck with Harriet’s attention and without a Diet Coke.
“Sorry,” Avasaid, “traffic was a nightmare.”
“Well, as thelast arrival, why don’t you jump start the meeting. Let’s have an Ava-ledaffirmation everyone.” Harriet kept her bleached hair in a bob that went justbelow her chin. Her skin was ivory and she often wore tapered pants, flats anda knit turtleneck with a silk scarf draped over one shoulder for some color.
As Ava reachedout to grab the hands of the co-workers to her right and left, she spottedLibby rolling her eyes across the room and stifled a laugh. “I want this weekto be a positive one,” Ava said as she began the patented Harriet-enforcedaffirmations. “I strive to be the best features editor I can be. I will help mybrothers and sisters as we work and live together.” Then she squeezed the handof Steve on her right, signaling that it was his turn to add some work orpersonal goal to the group discussion.
Ava couldn’tremember if Harriet had picked up this predisposition towards affirmations andanything that sounded like a Successory during her time at the ashram in Indiaor on one of her “spiritual retreats” somewhere in Californiawine country. Regardless, she wasn’t a fan.
Once everyone inthe room had contributed to the circle of trust, Harriet resumed the meeting.
“Wonderful,” shesaid. “Now what do we all think about the placenta this morning?”
An hour later,the meeting was over, and Ava tried her hardest to be the first one out of theconference room, as per usual.
“Oh, Ava,”Harriet said, calling her back into the room. “Since you were so relaxed aboutyour arrival time this morning, I assume you’re not very stressed about thathousekeeping story you’ve been working on.”
“No, no, notstressed at all,” Ava said. “It’s coming right along.”
“Wonderful. I’dlike to see it in my inbox within the hour.”
“Of course,Harriet.”
Ava picked up herstep and dashed down the hall to her office. The more time she spent in thehallway, the more time she had for Harriet to ask questions or for Bill the ITguy to corner her and ask for advice on his on and off girlfriend of eightyears.
“You know,Bill” she’d told him once. “Just because I write about dating doesn’t mean Iknow how to do it.”
“But she keepstelling me she loves me, but isn’t in love with me,” he’d drone on. “Do youthink she’s only in it for the sex?”
“Again, Bill, inmy case, those who can’t do, write.”
Once she was tuckedbehind her desk, Ava switched on her monitor and stared at the half-finishedstory she’d been working on for a week.
SpringCleaning for the Sassy
Ava groaned ather own creation. She also died a little on the inside knowing how much Harrietwould love this title.
It's the time of year to throw open the windows and sweep beneath the rugs.Gloss brings you seven ways to instantly feel like you've conquered the messand dirt in your home.
1. Holiday Hangover
Holidaystress is tough, and we all have our excuses for not getting all of our choresdone. However, if it's time for spring cleaning and you have the remainingvestige of any holiday other than Easter in your home, it's time for it to go.There should be no jack-o-lanterns, pilgrims, Christmas trees, Valentine'shearts or St. Patty's clovers evident in your home once it's April.
2. Paper Pandemonium
From junk mail to the reminders you write yourself about picking up the drycleaning or buying more milk, your house is probably a refuge for lost papersand publications. As you're spring cleaning, it's time to toss the oldmagazines, newspapers, catalogs, circulars and assorted scraps that amass onthe counters and tabletops of your home. We promise you won't miss yourNovember copies of "People" magazine come July.
3. Pantry Peace
Surely you're all too familiar with the adage that if you haven't worn anarticle of clothing in a year, then it's time to toss it. The same is true ofyour pantry. Old foodstuffs are only taking up valuable space in yourcupboards. Combine dry pastas and rice if you have too many half-empty boxesand bags, and feel free to toss food gifts you know you'll never consume. Ifyou didn't like fruit cake this past Christmas, you're probably never going toenjoy it.
4. A Rank Refrigerator
It's always a good idea to periodically check the fridge for old take-out orspoiled milk, but when you're spring cleaning, take special time to cleanunderneath and behind your refrigerator. Cleaning the coils behind yourrefrigerator actually saves energy and shaves dollars off your monthlyutilities. And those of us who tend to snack standing up might see how crumbsand other bits of food could find themselves underneath the fridge, growing androtting one day at a time …
It wasn’t thatAva couldn’t finish the story. It’s just that she didn’t really want to. Everysince she’d written “Cat Scratch Fever: Furry felines sure to bring fun to yourlife,” her will to live had been dwindling by the day. But the awkward eyecontact and after-work meeting that would come along with not meeting a Harrietdeadline were hardly worth this kind of pain.
She began totype:
5. Range Residue
Ah, the rule of journalism noone taught her in school: when all else fails, turn to alliteration.
Have you ever started cooking dinner only to realize that some of the odorscoming from your kitchen have nothing to do with what's on the evening's menu?Just as food can find its way underneath the fridge and cabinets, crumbs falldown into your burners as well. (Not to mention the sauce spills that happenthere.) Cleaning your oven and your range is an absolute necessity for a cleanand pleasant-smelling kitchen.
“I only wish youhad just rolled out of bed right before the meeting. Maybe that would havemeant someone was sharing yours.”
Ava looked up tosee Libby leaning against the doorjamb. “Other than Milothe wonder dog, no, there has been no one in my bed,” Ava said.
“A girl candream, can’t she?” Libby moved inside Ava’s office and shut the door.“Sometimes I think you don’t date just so you won’t have to hear Harriet askabout ‘your lover.’”
“Ha ha,” Avasaid, tossing a balled up sticky note in Libby’s direction. “I thought bestfriends were supposed to be supportive, not snarky.”
“Please,” Libbysaid, “like you could handle having a best friend who wasn’t at least half ascynical as you.” With her red hair and hazel eyes, Libby was a truly beautifulgirl. Today, she’d worn a green dress with patterned hose and heels. Ava was inher standard twin set and slacks. Whether they were in the office or at happyhour, Ava often thought of Libby as the Ginger to her Mary Anne. Only, in theirworld, the Professor always wanted Libby, too.
“True enough.”
“Hard at work orhardly working?” Libby said.
“The usual,” Avasaid. “Hardly working.”
“Hold on just asec.” Ava went back to typing.
6. Window Wipe-Downs
Let all the light of spring in by giving your windows the royal treatment.Clean them on the inside and the outside. Wipe down the sills. Get between theglass and the screen to clear out the cobwebs. Do it for summer's mosquitoesand houseflies – they want a clean place to die.
A moment later,she erased the last sentence. Harriet rarely appreciated the macabre.
“Still lettingyour existential crisis interfere with your ability to serve the women of Glossmagazine?” Libby said.
“Just a little,”Ava said. “Trust me, I wish I could be happy only writing about this stuff.Life would be a lot simpler.”
“One thing lifeisn’t is simple,” Libby said. “Plus, you’d find a way to make anythingcomplicated and meaningful and tortured. It’s just in your nature.”
“That’s whatmakes me a good writer,” Ava said.
“Yeah, yeah, Iknow that your deep thinking makes your writing better. I just don’t think ithelps you keep a boyfriend.”
“The rightboyfriend will like me for exactly who I am.”
“Yes,” Libbysaid, “but when who you are keeps you home on the weekends reading andresearching literary journals, it’s going to be really hard to meet thatperfect boyfriend. Unless he’s a delivery guy for Amazon.com and literallyknocks on your door, I don’t know how he’s going to find you.”
“Enough already,”Ava said. “Did you come in here only to harass me about my love life?”
“That and Iwanted to say how meaningful your Monday morning affirmation was to me.”
Ava glared.
“But seriously,I’ve got a favor to ask. There’s some woman who I made a coffee date with,something about divorced women, potential stories, blah, blah. Anyway, I said Icould meet her at lunch today, but this list of summer camp tips isn’t going towrite itself.
“Why me? Youknow I don’t like people.”
“Yeah, I know. Nopeople, no small talk, no Republicans ... But, if I know you, you’ll finishyour story for this week and the next by noon. I think you can tear yourselfaway from celebrity gossip and dreaming of better jobs for an hour or so. Someof us have to work for our ideas. For some of us, this is a struggle.”
Ava looked at hernearly complete housekeeping story and knew that “Color Your Mood: An in-depthlook at your wardrobe and how it affects your happiness and success” wouldn’ttake more than a couple of hours.
“Please.”
“Oh, Libby.”
“Pretty please.”
“Fine,” Ava said.“Send me the details, and I’ll take care of the meet and greet.”
“You’re thebest.”
“Yeah, yeah. Youowe me.”
“Agreed. Our nextbottle of wine is on me.”
Libby opened thedoor and left Ava’s office. “I don’t want you to have time to change yourmind,” she called from the hallway. “Thanks again.”
Ava went back toher computer screen.
7. Product Pile-up
Unfortunately, all of the elements and tools meant to keep our houses clean canactually cause too much clutter and mess themselves. Pare down to one mop andone broom. Get rid of cleaning supplies that only have a few drops left in thebottle and combine same cleaners if you have multiples. Also, unless you havean army of help, there's no need for bags and bags of rags when a few heartycloths will do.
Her 600 wordsfinished for the week, Ava looked over the story one last time, attached it inan e-mail to Harriet and hit send.
Bellying up to the Bar
I didn't bring my lunch today, and I didn't feel like going out atnoon, so this left my mid-day meal to the whims and fancies of ourbuilding's cafeteria. Now, please bear in mind that there's nothingwrong with our building's cafeteria, it's just that no matter what's onthe menu for the day or how many heart-friendly meals they offer, Iwalk through the door, smell what's on the grill and feel powerless toorder anything other than a cheeseburger and fries. (Considering howmuch time I've spent staring at Carroll Krieff as I do my MalibuPilates workout, I'm very much trying to kick thisimpulse-cheeseburger-buying habit. I've also been avoiding checking themail so I won't be tempted to go for my 4:00 peanut M&M's either.My life is hard.)
After checking around and seeing the aforementioned cheeseburgers,some roasted meat saturated in good-smelling juices and cheesypotatoes, I felt that my safest bet in light of my new goals was thesalad bar.
Now, you see, I'm not good with salad bars. And it's not about theprevalence of leafy, raw, green things that are actually healthy. Thething is, I have a problem with buffets.
The moment there's a large array of food with no establishedregulations on quantity of combination, I lose all sense of reality,portion size and taste. I am the proverbial kid in the candy store.Suddenly, I want anything and everything, and I completely disregardcommon sense, my own health and well-being and what I've learned inyears of dining experience.
Example: There was a very popular lunch buffet in the basement of myoffice building in D.C. I only went there once because when I did, Icame back with a to-go box full of baked ziti, egg rolls, hash browncasserole and roast beef with horseradish sauce. Sure, all of thesethings are wonderful. But, they're also all wonderful on their ownand as the centerpiece of a meal (except for the egg rolls, but go withme in that Chinese and Italian cuisines are not to be enjoyed at thesame sitting). These items are not meant to be consumed at once. Trustme. My taste buds revolted. My stomach revolted. And I'm pretty sure Ididn't do my arteries any favors either. Plus, I spent $9.00 becauseyou paid by the ounce. Nine dollars at a lunch buffet?!?! Oh, theshame.
I also cannot order anything that comes with the salad bar atJason's Deli. It's like being outside of my body and watching someother poor, misguided soul eat her weight in mini-muffins and softserve ice cream long before her sandwich ever hits the table.
Even today, at our cafeteria's salad bar, I had to fight hard tokeep myself from loading cherry tomatoes, red onion, broccoli,mushrooms, carrots, cheese, hard-boiled egg, chicken, craisins,croutons, goldfish, bacon bits, sunflower seeds, radishes and a littlecornbread (from the soup selections) onto my soon-to-be-drenched-in-three-kinds-of-vinaigrette salad. Because it's there, Ithink I have to have it, and therein lies the problem.
Whether it was the added decorum that comes with being in my place of business or the lingering effects of other incidents,I'm proud to say that I restrained myself at the salad bar today. And,in my world, any day I show the slightest restraint is a good day.
Unfortunate Questions
Around this time of the month, Tina, Nadria and I usually spend mostof our days out and about. We're often on the hunt for products tofeature in the magazine, story ideas, etc. This can be really fun — weget to get out of the office, we talk to new people, we hear whatpeople think about the magazine — but on some days this is not so fun.Yesterday was one of those not so fun days.
Tina and I were strolling through Mountain Brook Village. We wereminding our own business. A strange man walked past me. He stopped. Hegave me the once over. (Up until this point, he is mildly annoying, butI do not yet want to punch him in the face.) Then he says, "You have tostop and take notice of a beautiful woman, even when she's pregnant."
The problem here? I'm not pregnant.
In short, I was pretty much devastated. Tina tried to help me out."Laurel, he had like one eye. He was practically blind." I feel that ifhe had one eye, I should have seemed smaller since he was seeing lessof me. "Maybe it's because you have big boobs. He thinks you'relactating or something." Not cutting it either. Boobs and the stomachare two very different terrains.
The bottom line is this: If someone asks if you are pregnant when you are not in fact pregnant, there is no way to mitigate the situation.Softening the blow or explaining away the insult are not viableoptions. I don't care if it's a blind, deaf person with no hands (sohe/she can't feel for a stomach) who claims that unicorns are runningrampant through town doing the asking. Hell, the character from Johnny Got His Guncould use his one remaining chest hair to ask if I was pregnant when Iwasn't pregnant in Morse code, and I'd still be bothered by it.
At times like these, I'm reminded of some very good advice from afriend in Huntsville. She says that there's never a need to ask aboutrelationships or pregnancies. She argues that if these things are goingwell, the person is going to tell you about it. It's much easier to bepatient and wait for the, "Steven and I are doing really well — we justbought a house," than to ask about a significant other (especially ofsomeone you don't see that often) and sit through the painful, "we'reactually not together anymore, he's in love with his secretary" part ofthe conversation.
Personally, I don't want anyone to ask about my stomach unless Igrab them by the arm to tell them that I'm going into labor. But,trying to use that I'm-not-the-center-of-the-world mentality I've beenworking on lately (with limited success, I'm still bothered that TomKatstole the thunder from my 27th birthday by getting married on November18), I realize that this incident, while upsetting, is not the worstthing that could have happened to me. There are plenty of people reallysuffering in the Midwest right now (as well as all over the world). Andthe rational part of me knows that I don't actually look pregnant. (I'dlike to be in the "so what if I did, I love my body anyway" place, butI'm not there yet.)
And, in true "every cloud has a silver lining" fashion, at leastthis incident is some good motivation to use that rather expensive Malibu Pilates chair I just bought.
Lost Overload
I have watched 23 episodes of Lost in the last 72 hours. (Don't judge me too harshly -- most of that was Memorial Day.) I'm a little behind -- it's season three. But, I have to watch it all sometime, and I want to know as much as I can before tonight's two hour season finale. Yes, I should probably watch in order, but I can't stand knowing Lost is on and not watching it.
I love Lost. Obviously, you're thinking, but like most true fans of the show, I really, really love Lost. I think television was invented so that one day something as amazing as Lost could be shown to the world. A few weeks ago, I asked my cousin if he was in to the show.
"Nah," he said, "I missed the first season and I can't imagine that I'm missing all that much by not watching."
"But, you are," I said. "You are missing out."
"OK," he said, smirking as if I was joking as per usual.
"No, really," I said. "There is something missing in your life that you don't even know is missing until you see Lost. You have no idea what television can be without it!"
Then he got scared and suggested we drink more change the subject.
Although, as much as I love Lost, and as excited as I am about the season finale, I do not recommend watching this many episodes in a row. When I e-mailed a friend about my viewing habits, he e-mailed back, "I am not sure that is healthy. You may need to take a break. Has your reality been compromised?"
It's a frighteningly intuitive question: has your reality been compromised? When I spent the weekend watching season one of House, I expected people around me to collapse at any moment from bizarre illnesses. With Quantum Leap, I looked at my friends and family members a bit more closely. (Could they be time travelers in disguise?) Arrested Development led to an even more pronounced inner monologue.
As for Lost, well, other than having spent most of my day wondering how Jack and Kate are doing and looking at maps of the Pacific Ocean, nothing has been that different ...
On the other hand, it might be time to take that break ...
Reading Out Loud
I suppose I'm on a kick this month, but I'm going to another reading by an author I greatly admire this evening, and I couldn't be more excited. (I'm trying to plan for potential small talk in advance on this one. I really don't want to tell Ann Hood that I'm socially awkward or have her think that I'm mute.)
For those of you who haven't read Ann Hood, I highly recommend picking up one of her books. My personal favorites are her essays, which I will warn you in advance are both beautiful and tragic. Comfort is her newest book, and it is nonfiction.
Many of Ms. Hood's essays are on the subject of grieving her daughter, who passed away at the age of five. In her grief, Hood began knitting as a form of distraction and comfort. The Knitting Circle is a fictionalized account of a woman learning to knit while she grieves.
I discovered Ann Hood during a period of grief when I really was worried that I would not be able to write again. Finding Ann Hood's essay "Love Me Do" in The Honeymoon's Over: True Stories of Love, Marriage and Divorce was a gift to me, and it brought me what I needed most at that time -- someone who had the words that I didn't, and hope that if she could write something so lovely and touching after the pain she had endured, maybe, just maybe, I could write again, too.
The Other Laurel Mills
Every so often, I google myself. (Yes, that means exactly what it sounds like -- I type my own name into Google's search engine to see what pops up.) What can I say? I find myself fascinating. Also, to discuss amongst yourselves: To what degree is an Internet presence today's gauge of how much one matters/how successful one is?
Those of you with dignity and whatnot can pretend that you never engage in such time-wasting, self-indulgent shenanigans, but I still won't believe you. I think, apart from noticing the occasional celebrity or world news event, most of us find ourselves to be our own favorite subject. This explains the number of mirrors in most homes, the joys of scrap booking and the prevalence of ancestry as a hobby. (Feel free to discuss this last concept amongst yourselves as well.)
Unfortunately for my often-flailing self-esteem, it takes many pages of "laurel mills" Google search results to find the Laurel Mills penning this blog post. There is a town in Virginia called Laurel Mills (a place I think I should be official queen of, but that's another story for another day) mills in Laurel, Mississippi and Laurel, Maryland as well as, perhaps worst of all, another, far more successful and acclaimed writer by the name of Laurel Mills.
Sigh.
But, it's not the other writer Laurel MIlls' bigger talent that concerns me the most about this. (I'm always willing to be mistaken for someone more successful and more talented.) It's that the other Laurel Mills is known primarily for lesbian fiction. The tags "lesbian interest" and "lesbian writing" are most commonly associated with her search results. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, not that there's anything wrong with that, but as a single gal with mostly married friends, I need all the help I can get. And, on the off, off chance that a single, straight man picks up a copy of a magazine called Lipstick and decided to google me, I'd really rather him know that I'm straight, too.
You can find out about the other Laurel Mills (pictured), lauded poet and author of Undercurrents, here.
Hero Worship, Part II
Well, I made it to Atlanta yesterday. I arrived a few hours before the book signing and talk and even managed to navigate my way from highway to bookstore, bookstore to friend's house, friend's house to restaurant and restaurant to theater without incident. (I contend that a u-turn or two does not qualify as an "incident." I did not hit any pedestrians or get a parking ticket and those are big wins in my book when visiting another city.)
Augusten Burroughs' talk was great. He was hysterical and thoughtful (as I knew he would be), and the Q&A session after his reading was more lively and involved than any I have seen in quite awhile.
But, of course, of all events associated with the evening, I was most excited about the book signing after the reading. The last time I was at an Augusten Burroughs signing, Mr. Burroughs was talking a flight out of town that evening, so only signatures were allowed, pictures had to be brief and you were asked to move quickly so that everyone could get through the line before he had to leave.
Imagine my joy this time around when none of those restrictions were in place. You could request for your name to be included in the signed inscription, there was someone to help take photos and, best of all, there was someone on hand to introduce you to Mr. Burroughs by name.
That's right: Augusten Burroughs said, "Hi, Laurel, thanks so much for coming tonight."
Yes, Augusten Burroughs used my name. My actual name -- not Laurel or Laurie or L'Oreal. And there was eye contact!
Of course, that's also when I, being the huge dork that I am, was struck mute and had nothing to say. (Anytime I have nothing to say, it usually comes as a big shock to my friends and family, but it does happen from time to time.) I'd spent nearly 20 minutes in line trying to think of witty and/or complimentary phrases, but when it came down to it, I had nothing. (Would it be funny enough? What if I came off sounding bitchy rather than snarky? Do I even know how to correctly pronounce most of the words in the English language?)
So, this is how the rest of our conversation went:
Laurel: "No, thank you."
Augusten Burrouhgs: "I really appreciate you're coming out to the event."
Laurel: "Thank you."
AB: "And thanks so much for picking up my work."
Laurel: "No, thank you."
AB: "Thanks again."
I stopped myself from uttering "I'm socially awkward" just after that last thank you, but you can see that there would be no way of knowing I have a vocabulary of more than three words based on our exchange. What I take from it all is this: I'm no closer to my dream of crab-picking and show tunes on the coast, but at least Augusten and I are on a first name bases now ... How's that for seeing the glass as half full?
In my excitement, I also forgot a real camera and had to use my camera phone at the event. I'm trying to pretend like that was not at all embarrassing either.
Hero Worship
It's no secret that I am obsessed with celebrity gossip. I follow the minute-by-minute moves of Jessica Simpson, Angelina Jolie and Lauren Conrad like far more successful people track the stock market. But, in addition to my love of all things US Weekly, I'm also entranced by whole other worlds of celebrity that most people don't give a darn about.
When I lived in D.C., I had "celebrity sightings" galore. "Was that Wolf Blitzer?" "Janet Reno!" "Madeline Albright answers the door for the pizza guy herself?!?!"
After all of these brushes with fame, I'll tell you one thing for certain -- people don't care. Unless you see the president, it's useless. Most of the population tunes out when you talk about spotting Tucker Carlson new the Daily Grill. (Although, I can't really blame anyone for that last one, I kind of tuned out even though I was the one talking.)
And, if you thought it couldn't get worse than political celebrity, in the past few years, it has. I'm now into literary celebrity.
I would love to meet Isabel Allende, and I worry I would be struck dumb if I ever found myself in the same room as Alice Sebold. Those most people haven't heard of and others would never recognize (they never look like the photos on their book jackets in my experience), I would throw myself at while droning on and on about their awesomeness.
Prime example of this: On Sunday, I am driving to Atlanta to hear Augusten Burroughs, of Running With Scissors and Dry fame, speak, and I can't wait. I am mildly distraught because there was a mix-up at the bookstore and I won't be able to read his newest, A Wolf at the Table, before the talk, but I'm trying to persevere.
(In my fantasies, Augusten has no idea what great friends we would be until I impress him with my incredibly witty and insightful comments about his work. Then we'll start spending weekends together on Cape Cod were we cook crab, sing show tunes and laugh uproariously at our comments on an America's Next Top Model marathon. Obviously, not being able to read his latest book before we meet puts me at a great disadvantage in achieving this goal.)
I suppose the lessons here are twofold:
A. I am a bit of a freak, and
B. Beware celebrity gossip. It's a gateway gossip, and if you're not careful, you'll end up hooked on the harder, more obscure stuff -- like where Dave Eggers likes to shop and whether he, too, is "just like us."
Cash Flow
I'm supposed to be working right now. Supposed to. For the most part, I'm pretty diligent about my job. Like all of us, if I don't do what I need to do, there are repercussions. While I'm not responsible for saving people's lives in the operating room or sealing all of the valves on the space shuttle, if I don't do my job, there will be lots of glaring, empty white pages for our readers come next month.
That's not something I want to happen. (And, if it did ever happen, I'm pretty sure that would be the last issue of Lipstick I had anything to do with.)
But lately, all I can think about is my tax rebate check. I filed my taxes on time, I have direct deposit and the last two digits of my social security number are in the 01-05 range. (I would have put the actual number, but I fear that my identity-theft-fearing family would never let me hear the end of that one, and that's just not a conversation that I want to have today. "Yes, I did see that Dateline report ... No, I don't think my financial future is something to take lightly ...") According to many google search results trustworthy sources, all this means that I should have my rebate by this Friday, May 2nd.
It's almost as if I'm powerless to stop myself from visiting Regions' online banking every 15 minutes.
Of course, my rebate is already spent. (Thanks to rising gas prices and a poorly-installed furnace, this winter was an expensive one for me.) But that hasn't stopped me from being nearly giddy over my expected pay out.
OK, it's time to get back to the Regions site now.
Chick Flicks
Based on a friend's recommendation, I decided to rent Waitress this weekend. For those of you who haven't seen it, Waitress is Adrienne Shelly's last film. (She was murdered in her New York apartment shortly after finishing the movie.) Waitress revolves around a pregnant, pie-making waitress (Keri Russell) trapped in a bad marriage. When she meets the new doctor in town (played by Nathan Fillion, my new future husband), things start to look up. I'll try not to give too much away, but if you're especially concerned about spoilers, I might not read any further.
For some strange reason that probably involves me not paying attention or some level of denial, I thought that Waitress was a happy movie. I might even have considered it a romantic comedy. Now, it is a lovely movie with wonderful performances, but I would not describe it as "happy."
At the movie's conclusion, I cried -- or sobbed, depending on your perspective -- and continued to cry for about 20 minutes after the credits finished rolling. sure this wasn't quite as bad as The Way we Were incident of 2001 (in which my former boss asked me two days later if I was going to be OK) or The Ring debacle of 2002 (in which I didn't sleep for four days out of sheer terror), but it wasn't good.
Am I a little too sensitive when it comes to movies? Obviously. But when they get to me, they get to me. And Waitress certainly touched a nerve.
In the last six months, I have helped launch a magazine, negotiated a car purchase, bought a house and learned to replace screening. Of course, I've had help from those around me and some good advice, but I've done a lot of it on my own. I don't worry about being independent, and I have faith in my ability to take care of myself. What I need faith in right now is romantic relationships. I'd like to know that true partnerships exist and that it is possible to be happy with oneself and with someone else.
And again, I'm trying not to give too much away, but let's just say that the movie didn't help me with that.