The Damsel in This Dress by Marianne Stillings Read Free Book Online Page A

at the podium, Bordon cleared his throat. “I should tell you all that we have quite a celebrity in our midst.” He raised a hand and indicated Mr. Dreamboat. “Would you mind standing, Soldier?”
    Soldier rose from his chair and nodded to the curious crowd.
    “Let me introduce J. Soldier McKennitt, Seattle detective and author of the Crimes of the Northwest series of books.”
    Oohs and ahhs and light applause surrounded them, while Betsy could only sit there awaiting her doom. Just as she opened her eyes, Soldier grabbed her elbow and jerked her to her feet. A sea of faces turned toward her, all smiling, all curious.
    Soldier put his arm around her waist and tugged her close, as though they had a relationship, as though they liked each other, as though they were lovers.
    “Thanks, Chester. Allow me to introduce another celebrity, Ms. Elizabeth Tremaine, editor of the Port Henry Ledger , and renowned literary . . . crit-ick.”
    If the audience hadn’t heard the sarcasm in his voice, they were all deaf, but they smiled weakly and nodded, clueless as to who she was. Thank God for that, was all she could think.
    As they took their seats, Bordon held her and Soldier’s epistle from hell in front of him. “I’d like to read this to you now. With two such exemplary members of the writing community participating in this exercise, you should get an idea of how one person can influence another and how that influence can elevate a story and send it off into unanticipated reaches, possibly making it better, fresher.”
    Betsy pinched her eyes closed. Better. Fresher. Saints preserve us.
     
    Bordon cleared his throat and began to read.
     
“Amanda Jones hated flying, which was why she’d decided to take the train home to her high school reunion instead of booking a flight. Amanda relaxed into her seat and turned her attention to the landscape speeding by outside her window. At least this gave her some time alone to think about André and their future together.”
    Bordon smiled at Betsy. “Was that your paragraph, Ms. Tremaine?” he asked.
    She nodded mutely.
     
    “Good start. And now for Detective McKennitt’s responding paragraph.” He returned his attention to the paper.
     
“André was a jerk. With a rap sheet a mile long, he was a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Maybe that’s what attracted her to him, for in spite of the fact that he was trash, rubbish, junk, dross, baloney, and claptrap, she wanted him. Couldn’t get enough of him. The man was sex on a stick.”
    Bordon paused a moment and adjusted his glasses. “My,” he said, his voice too loud and too cheery. “This is unexpected.”
    Betsy sank lower into her chair.
     
“But sex wasn’t enough for Amanda. She was a very nice woman who always treated people with fairness and respect. After all, just because a man was tall, athletic, and sexy, didn’t mean anything if he was a talentless hack devoid of all taste or literary acumen.
“Suddenly, a stranger approached her. He was huge, empyrean even, and mean-looking, and it was obvious, even to a virginal dimwit like Amanda, that he was engorged with desire. His lustful gaze took in her bounteous breasts and he licked his lips in eager anticipation. The seat next to hers was empty and he was eyeing it, and her, like he was a starving man about to sit down to a hearty meal.
“Before he could make a move, however, Amanda smiled sweetly and said, ‘Sorry, this seat’s taken.’ He nodded politely and moved on down the aisle and out the door into the next car, never to return.
“Just then, the door at the other end of the car slammed open. ‘André!’ Amanda squealed. ‘How did you . . . when did you . . . ’ Her limited vocabulary spent on those few words, Amanda simply shut up and let André approach. He grabbed her and pulled her to him. His mouth came down on hers and she gasped, thrilled by his touch. ‘You’re mine!’ he growled. ‘Don’t ever try to leave me again!’
“Amanda