Joy left home at 18 with a boy her minister father didn’t approve of. Joy and Mike marry in Vegas and arrive in LA. Shortly thereafter Joy discovers she’s pregnant and before she gives birth Mike is killed in a motorcycle accident. Broke, pregnant and widowed, Joy calls home. Her father, Art, says, “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.” He hangs up on her.
Seriously? Pizza and beer? Forget his feet. There was a lot to work with here. “Thomas L. Purdue. You’re about to make me swoon.” She picked up the beer and drank. Then took another bite of pizza, closed her eyes and savored.
Look, I fed you. I didn’t call the cops on you. And there’s a good chance that will come back to bite me on the ass. I presume you were wearing shoes when you arrived. So get them. Put them on and skedaddle.” He waved in the direction of the door.
Hallie crossed her arms. “No.”
He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, his eyes boring into her. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been living under my bed. For two days.”
She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Well, I wasn’t under the bed the whole time. Only when you were here.”
I hardly ever get mail from readers, but this came through via my web site and put a smile on my face. It’s an entertaining piece to say the least, and I smiled broadly after I first read it. The reader had a number of issues with my story execution, …