This is the first two pages of a novel I am writing. I have nick named it Silver Lit, it's women's fiction.
BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
‘Wow, that was some story,’ thought Joan as she placed the paperback onto the coffee
table. The novel, Chick Lit, was not really intended for her age group, mid sixties, but she’d thoroughly enjoyed it, ‘and why not? The elderly were just teenagers in old skin.’
Joan sat back on the shiny, leather sofa and sipped her coffee. Sparked off by the contents of the book, she reflected on the fifty years she deemed wasted on two dead leg husbands.
‘Jese, that’s half a century!’
The first, fat, flawed and futile, the second and current one, well, yes, the second and current one........’
She drew heavily on the cigarette and made her mind up there and then that she was going to get a life, not just any old life, a young life, a sort of Chick Lit life, a life she’d missed out on all those years ago. ‘Three kids before ones twenty first birthday had been far from a good starting point.’
This had been Joan’s experience, her young fun-life cut short with nappies, bottles, prams and a man-child for a so called husband. An even worse mother-in-law, the type you wish dead on the first meeting. ‘The type you could gladly drop into an acid bath so all trace had gone, well except for dentures.’
She glanced at the calendar and pondered on a date from when her new life would begin.
‘But where to begin? Botox, Crystal-blast, face-lift? I need something. It’s ok thinking chick but when your skin thinks hen…. there’s more lines on it than a Rhode Island road map.’
Dvorak’s Humoresque belted out from the phone and penetrated Joan’s thoughts. ‘Help the aged,’ she answered. ‘Jules! I was going to ring you but I thought you’d still be zedding it. How’d it go?’
‘You’re not going to like this Joan. Are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Go on, what happened?’
‘She’s blonde, tubby and wait for it, about twenty five years old.’
Joan was silent for a moment. ‘Get her address?’
‘Yeah, nice district. Look I’ll come across and we can chat at length. Ok?’
Joan replaced the receiver and went to the drinks cabinet. ‘At least she’s fat.’ She mused.
Selecting the most expensive red, she uncorked it and poured a large, no, a very large glass. Her friend liked red too, as she always said, ‘at our age it’s good for the old arteries.’
Jules arrived in her brand new Smart car; it had made a good disguise the previous evening for tracking Peter, Joan’s husband. She had suspected some time ago that he was playing around although, really couldn’t imagine who would desire a clapped out eighty two year old. He’d recently invested in some new Y-fronts too. ‘Who the hell wears Y-fronts!’ but more to the point, ‘what sort of bitch shags a man who wears Y-fronts.’
The second bottle of red was having a pleasant couldn’t-care-less attitude on Joan’s grey matter. She giggled along with Jules imagining Pete getting his leg over.
Last edited by juggles
on Fri Apr 11, 2008 10:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.