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Good morning, Congquerors! If you have read my novel, it's time to write your one-paragraph review and get in the drawing to win the $50. grand prize. Then send your blurb to writelink3@yahoo.com to be posted on Amazon.com. If you read my novel before it was published, please write your review and send to: writelink3@yahoo.com IF you have not read, please purchase your book and read. The contest is over on August 31, 2006. EXCERPT FOR YOU: THE MAYOR’S WIFE WORE SAPPHIRES BY Martha Tucker After Nightfall “I won’t let him get away with it,” the host said. His guest, with hair as slick and black as a crow’s feathers, sat quietly in the shadows. The host didn’t look up, but smashed the day’s newspaper in his fleshy hands, then tossed it on the mahogany desk before him. A small Asian woman stood behind him, massaging his broad caramel colored shoulders. The ball of her hands kneaded a spot near his spine, and he groaned, his eyes drifting to the luxury yachts docked in the marina, the fiery night skies stretched endlessly across the sky, just outside the glass door. His guest leaned out of the shadows and picked up the newspaper. He stared at the headline: Compton Chronicle—SEPTEMBER 1, 1981—COUNCIL MEETING UPSET RUMORED. “What will you do?” the guest asked. The host looked up at his guest, his slow moving eyes, almost blacker than his hair, seemed to hold many secrets. He flicked his hand and the masseuse left the room. He sat up straight and grabbed a white terry robe from the plush mauve chair behind him, pulled it on, and paused a moment, listening for the door to close. The sloshing and squeaking of the yachts in the dark marina waters below filled the silence between them. When he heard the door close behind the masseuse, he was sure they were completely alone. With the slightest West Indian accent, the host spoke, “You see, we must be so careful on this one. All of America, Black and White, is looking for the next Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, John Kennedy. Someone who can inspire a nation.” He took a Flora Fina cigar from the desk, bit the tip off and spat it out. “Most poor slobs realize they’ll never be a hero, but they sure as hell want one to save them.” He clamped his teeth onto the unlit cigar. “They say, a truly great leader comes around every twenty years. In the forties, you had Roosevelt. In the sixties, you had King. In the eighties, it will be me,” he chuckled with the cigar still clamped between his teeth. “I’ll give Black people something they lost long ago—respect. I’m not talking church talk, Black pride, and all that. I’m talking money and power. Owning buildings. CEO’s of Fortune Five Hundreds. Rich Black folks on every block in every city in America,” he snorted, ”hell, they may even teach a class about me at Harvard one day!” When the host looked up, he was disappointed by his guest’s empty stare. “All I’m saying is, we must be careful. I have an important future to protect.” The guest nodded vaguely, but the host was never deterred those who were blinded to his vision. Every day of his life, he swore he would secure himself a name in Black history. Even if it killed him. It was a desire boiling deep inside him—to carry on the progress made by great men and women with their names etched in time, forever. Men and women who only God could have given the qualities of original thought and the courage to carry them out. He prided himself on having all of the qualities necessary for greatness. His guest answered in a heavy accent—perhaps Spanish. “The only problem with men like Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and Jesse Jackson is—they never put money in poor peoples’ pockets, but our plan—” “Compton people need more than a few dimes! That’s been the pattern too long. We have to assure their well-deserved respect!” the host cut him off. “There will be no respect if LA County takes the city… and that’s the rumor.” The guest added. “Damn the rumor! It’ll never happen!” “If the mayor holds up the hundred-fifty million on Tuesday, it could.” The host straightened the crumpled newspaper and stared—COUNCIL MEETING UPSET RUMORED—an automatic shiver came over him. Public attention at such a crucial time. Studying his words carefully, the host stated matter-of-factly, “The mayor would never stop Compton.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a black velvet jewelry box. When he opened it, spikes of glitter shot across the dimness of darkly furnished study. Platinum Necklace adorned with twenty perfectly cut sapphires, each sapphire encrusted in pave diamonds. A large sea-blue teardrop hung from its center with enough beauty to enhance a queen’s bosom. “Exquisite,” his guest said. “Yes, it is,” the host said, staring. “I’m sure your wife is going to be changed by that one.” The host snapped the box shut, slid it into the drawer, and locked it with a small gold key. He quickly moved to the glass door and opened it, and felt the marina’s summer moisture on his face. He lit the cigar, something he never did, then blew smoke rings into the darkness, looking straight ahead at the night. He turned to his guest, “No, the mayor would never hurt Compton.” “What about the mayor’s wife?” The two men exchanged a look. http://archives.zinester.com/19298/104894.htmlhttp://archives.zinester.com/19298email@domain.comSubscriberhttp://www.zinester.com/cgi/unsub.cgi?19298&0& |
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