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What’s in the works for Susan Baker? Women’s mainstream fiction. Working Title: Ledbetter Street
Here’s a sample:
Chapter 1
“Marion Suzette--”
Sitting at the reunion registration table outside the Galvez Hotel ballroom, Marion had been counting the number of no-shows when Bryan Mosley’s unmistakable deep voice called her name. Thirty five years had passed since she’d seen him, but Marion would never forget how hearing her name on his lips made her feel all those years ago. At this age, though, her breath didn’t catch in her chest nor did butterflies flap in her stomach. At fifty-three, she’d aged out of the adolescent thrill thing. Still, something did stir way down deep inside.
Bryan’s voice sounded neither older nor huskier than the last time she’d heard it high school graduation night. In fact, the pitch sounded strikingly similar to their son’s, though their son’s voice mostly came out in a monotone.
A thinner face. Yellow hair gone white, though still thick and as curly as their son’s, and Bryan’s azure eyes behind circular wire-rimmed glasses were also the same, sans spectacles. Here he was, the man who had fathered a son he had never known. He wore a pressed sport shirt and Bermuda shorts on his lean, tanned body. When their eyes met, he peered at her as though he’d seen an apparition.
“Reid,” Marion said. “My married name is Reid.” She wanted to flee though at the same time would kill to be able to run into his arms. God, she felt like the heroine in a three-dollar romance novel, if you could get them for three-dollars anymore. And the real question, had he brought Shelia?
“Marion Suzette, you look lovely, the same as the last time I saw you.”
Marion’s face flushed even though she knew Bryan had always been good with bullshit. Heat extended to the tips of her ears. She’d like to blame it on a hot flash, but knew it was the situation, the flattery. She weighed a good fifteen pounds more than in high school. Her thinner black hair had gray intermixed, her face had fallen, crow’s feet accented her eyes, but Bryan couldn’t have given her a sweeter compliment. Lovely. How kind of him.
“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself. One?” Sheila wasn’t with him.
“One what?” He smiled down at her, as he often had at the beach when they’d surfed together and backstage when Thespians had produced a play. But it was all so long ago—thirty-five, thirty-six years ago, their sophomore and junior years. By the time they were seniors, life had taken an abrupt turn and Shelia had become the recipient of those smiling eyes, that toothy grin. The ballroom door behind Marion opened and the refrain from Hey Jude wafted out along with the scent of fried shrimp and the sound of loud voices.
“One late registration?” She returned his smile. “You have to pay the full fee, no early discount. Seventy-five for one if you’re doing the whole weekend.” She waited for his response, happy to gaze upon his face, amazed at how much their son looked like him. Practically a spitting image, except for the hair. Not that she had known Bryan at thirty-five, but only seventeen years separated father and son, not so much. “No photo name badge either. Sorry. You had to early register so we could make it.” Her babble didn’t cover her nervousness. The back of her neck tingled and grew moist; her feet throbbed with heat, her sandals feeling like tight gloves. Her sundress grew as damp as it would have been had she stood outside on the seawall in the humid Galveston air. Aged out of all that nonsense? Not hardly.
“Will you take a check?” Bryan fished in his back pocket for a wallet.
“Sure.” She made out the receipt, remembering the last time she had seen him. He had sauntered across the stage, taken his high school diploma, and flipped the tassel as he ambled down the stairs. When graduation ended, he’d hugged another woman, Shelia. The two of them might have attended senior night prom, but Marion had gone home alone. Marion fumbled with the receipt book now, trying to tear off his copy, eyes blurred in memory. When she looked up, Bryan watched the door marked “Ladies” across the hall to his left.
“Two, I think.”
She followed his gaze, disappointed. When Sheila came out, Marion busied herself with writing a second receipt and then their names on the late registration list. She hoped neither of them would be able to read her feelings in her eyes.
“Am I getting yours?” Bryan asked Sheila.
“I’ll pay you back later,” she said. “Hey, Marion Suzette. You look great. How are you?” Sheila held out her hand. A cloud of flowery scent wafted from her to Marion.
“Marion.” She shook Shelia’s tiny, damp hand. “Just Marion these days.” It took only a few moments for Marion to evaluate the woman Bryan had abandoned her for all those years ago. Sheila looked like she could don her old cheerleader’s outfit and blend right in with girls a third their age. Her red hair still fell in a shoulder length pageboy. Her face didn’t sag around the chin like Marion’s. Sheila didn’t wear glasses, had no mustache or wrinkles on her upper lip, and showed little sign that she even approached the age of fifty. Sickened didn’t begin to describe how Marion felt at seeing Shelia Mosley, nee Bradley. Shelia could have had some work done, but Marion chastised herself for the meanness of that thought.
Bryan handed the check to Marion, his hand brushing hers. The check bore only his name and an island address. When had he moved home?
“You can go on in.” She handed back the two receipts. “Wine, beer, and soft drinks are free. So is the seafood buffet.” She tried to sound cheerful.“Cash bar for mixed drinks. Have fun.” She feigned her best smile.
After they’d walked away, Marion noting that Shelia looked as good from the back as she did from the front, and the door closed behind them cutting off another Beatles’ song in mid melody, Marion let herself wallow in disappointment. So many people their age had divorced. She had divorced. Why couldn’t it have happened to Bryan and Sheila?
She sipped a glass of Chardonnay that had gone warm, a sour taste coating her tongue. Nine o’clock. How long did the committee expect her to keep registration open? She wanted to go home. People would be able to register again on Saturday morning for the rest of the events. She wanted to skedaddle home with her tail between her legs. It had been a mistake to let her best friend, Eva, pressure her into volunteering to work the reunion in the first place, but she’d known Bryan and Shelia lived in Tennessee and were unlikely to show up.
Marion stood, stretched, and crossed the hall to the ladies room, the bank envelope with cash and checks safely tucked into her purse. Shelia’s sweet flowery scent assaulted her as she pushed open the door. Harsh white light illuminated the wall of mirrors and Marion’s reflection.
Bryan and Shelia might still be together, but just the same, she was glad she’d gotten her nails done and her hair colored and cut. The v-neck of her sundress became her as did the fuchsia and green print. She felt better about herself even though she would never hold a candle to Sheila who had always been smaller and fairer to Marion’s being plumper and darker.
The reunion had been fun until Bryan and Shelia arrived. She might be stuck at the registration table tonight, but tomorrow she’d be free to have a good time. Marion found that she liked seeing her old classmates even if she and they had nothing of substance to say to one another. She had never really felt that she fit in anywhere, especially after she had returned from her grandmother’s at the end of the summer before their senior year,after she had secretly given birth to a baby boy. Still, a couple of the women she had gone all the way from elementary through high school with had asked her to sit with them at the brunch on Saturday. She looked forward to sharing memories from their childhoods. It would take her mind off Bryan, if only for a few moments, and only when he didn’t appear in her line of vision.
When Marion emerged from the ladies room, Bryan stood at the registration table, a clear plastic glass of white wine in each hand. Marion could swear his face lit up like a lighthouse beacon when he spotted her. What was he doing there? What could he possibly want when Shelia was just a few steps away inside the ballroom? She smiled through clenched teeth as she crossed the marble gulf dividing them, her spike-heeled sandals sounding like toy pistol caps firing, rap, rap, rap.
Bryan held one glass toward her. “Buy you a drink, Mrs. Reid?”
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