An Excerpt Snippet Two

Snippet two...

The view on the ground was somewhat less illustrious than from the penthouse. Rain had set in overnight and the streets of the city were gritty. Or maybe that was me. I felt as if I had been hit by a truck.

I raised my hand for a cab. Even after years of brutal taxi cab rejection, I still expect one to stop immediately. Twenty minutes later I was starting to consider throwing myself in front of one of the bastards, when miraculously one stopped. A fresh looking woman emerged and looked down at me disdainfully. I threw my disheveled ass into the back seat after giving her my best "Yeah? What, bitch!?" looks.  Didn't everyone wake up in a strange apartment with no memory and a hangover to end all this morning?  I blurted out my address to the cabbie and leaned back against the worn seat. "Wait...what is the address here?" I asked. He looked at me with an amused expression. He was giving me judgement...really? "Just tell me the address." Shaking his head he said "509 Park Avenue. Don't you live here?" He smirked. Shamed by a NYC cabbie. "Just drive." I said sharply.

We arrived at my "less than Park Avenue" address, I tumbled out and practically crawled up the steps to the building then up the two flights to my tiny apartment.  I dragged myself to my bed and collapsed.

I dreamt of beige furniture and passion.

I awoke an hour later to the buzzing of my cell phone.  23 missed calls.  15 from my editor.  I listened to voicemail, made coffee and turned on the shower.  As the steam filled the bathroom I called him back and listened to his tirade with the phone held 5 inches away from my ear.  "I know Tom, I will be in your office in a half hour.  Deadline will be met as usual. Yes I'm alive."  It was almost as if he cared. The next five calls were from the girls frantic about where I went after the bar. Well, that makes six of us. What the hell was I going to tell them?

The other three calls were from an unrecognized number.  No voicemail.  All received this morning.

I shrugged and got into the hot shower.  As I soaped my body to rid my skin of the NYC grime I attempted to piece together last night.  Interview with a local politico, drinks with some colleagues, dinner and clubbing with the girls.  It was after the club that was a complete blackout.  Not good.  OK, what was the last thing I remember?  Suddenly I remembered dancing with a man.  Tall, dark and handsome.  Dark hair with gray temples.  Physique of a marathon runner, grace on the dance floor. His hands on my hips drawing me close as the music pulsated around us. Lips I wanted to devour.  Then black.  Nothing until the sunrise nearly blinded me this morning in the Park Avenue penthouse.

I stood in the shower frozen.  Shit....what did I do?  The fact that it was a complete blank after that point shared the shit out of me.  I doubt I could pick his face out in a line up.  But his body....his hands on me...my imagination was going haywire.

The buzzing of my phone brought me back to the present.  When I picked it up it was the mystery caller.  Here we go.  "Hello?"

To be continued....

An Excerpt Snippet One

I am working on a piece of fiction, which is based upon a true story.  My true story. It promises to be raw and honest.  Names changed to protect the innocent and all that jazz.  It is a story from my heart that I feel I must write.  I plan to share little snippets as time goes by.....I hope you enjoy...Michelle

An Excerpt, Snippet One

It's the same dream.  I'm wearing a long, floating, white sundress.  My long hair is being whirled about by the wind as I run down the beach terrified.  My bare feet sting as sharp shells dig into my flesh. I turn to look back at my pursuer who is getting closer. Oh my God he's going to catch me!  I can hear his breathing. His effortless gait and his footfalls are rhythmic.  This is easy for him I think miserably.  He's playing with me.  God.  My breath is ragged but I run on.  Not knowing how I am going to outrun him, my fierce determination to survive pushes me forward.  I turn again to look back and stumble over a large piece of driftwood and fall hard onto the sand.......

I wake up.

The pain exploded in my head and a wave of nausea washed over me.  I keep my eyes closed.  The room was too bright to open them and I knew my head would hurt even more.  Groaning I roll on my tummy and press my face into the pillow willing the pain to go away.  I knew it wouldn't.  I need coffee.

I stretch onto my back and slowly peel my eyes open.  Where the hell am I?  The room was completely unfamiliar as was the man sleeping next to me.  Holy shit.  I sit up, my head throbbing, and slowly climb out of the bed.  My clothes are strewn on the floor leading to the door, but my shoes and purse are nowhere to be seen.  Shit.  I pick up my panties, my black silk dress, my red scarf and slowly open the heavy door.  The apartment was enormous, the floor a dark hardwood, the furniture white and beige.  Nice digs, I think.  Who the hell is this guy?  How the hell did I get here?  I stumble down a long hallway. My plan was to find a bathroom as far away from the bedroom as possible. I did not want to wake him up.

I enter a large open great room, with floor to ceiling windows revealing the New York City skyscrapers towering over the other side of Central Park.  Ah, of course this place is Central Park West, I mutter.  I find the powder room located off the gleaming granite, stainless steel kitchen and close the door.

Greeting me in the mirror was a wild looking girl, her long blond hair resembling cornstalks after a tornado.  Fabulous.  I get dressed, splash cold water on my face cleaning off the remaining make up from the night before.  I wipe my face onto an unbelievably soft, beige towel that probably cost more than my next paycheck from the newspaper would cover.  I laugh as my father's words rang in my head "you're too pretty for all that make up".  Right, Dad.  I try to smooth my hair somewhat, so as to not scare the doorman when I do the walk of shame through the lobby and out the front door.  God my head hurt.

I exited the bathroom, tiptoeing back into the great room, on the hunt for my things.  Not necessarily in that order.  I did not have the luxury of taking time to enjoy the surroundings, or for my journalistic nature to kick in to get to the bottom on who this guy was.  It didn't matter, I just had to get out of there.  I find my things on the beige sofa, grab them and head for the door.  My Christian Louboutin pumps were lying askew next to the door.  I had gotten them for a steal at a sample sale, yet they had cost me my previous paycheck. Worth every penny.  As I turn the door knob I distantly hear the sound of another door opening.  The bedroom.  He was awake!  I hurriedly step through the door, crossing the small hallway to the elevator.  I had been in the penthouse.

Another wave of nausea hits me, my hangover settling in for the long haul.  It was going to be a long day.