Author Provocateur

Hump Day Haiku: "Beach Umbrella"

We won't get too wet.

We'll walk with an umbrella.

Or  I'll carry you.

-- Josie

To celebrate the launch of 
The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide, 
I'm giving away a $100 gift card to the bookstore of your choice!

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TGIF Excerpt: Scotty is dying. Time for Martin to cross the bridge into the 21st Century.

My husband, Martin, isn't one of those men who must have the latest/greatest in technology. Nor must he demonstrate his manliness with boy toys that are always the biggest, and therefore presumed the best (phallically speaking).

Which brings me to the death of Scotty--an appropriate topic, now that the latest Star Trek Movie ("Into Darkness") is in movie theaters.

No, I don't mean Scotty, the good ship Enterprise's engineer (thank goodness, because I really really love love love Simon Pegg in the role). 

I mean Martin's cell phone, a relic he calls "Scotty," as a quaint reference to the phasers carried by the Star Trek crew. You see, his phone is that tiny.

And it ispossibly as old as the original TV show itself.

Okay, certainly it's not THAT old. Besides, back then there were no cell phones, not to mention the first ones were attached to suitcases, so that would defeat his purpose of carrying the tiniest phone he could find.

In fact, his current cell is so tiny that texting on it (yes, at least it allows him to text, but only predictively) is a tribulation, despite his opposable-thumb dexterity. (He's right up there with the apes and chimps, so my mother was wrong about him.)

And the darn thing certainly ain't "smart." He can't get The Internets, and the pictures it takes look like they were pulled out of an elephant's ass.

Bottom line: Scotty is dying.

It's showing its wonkiness by asking to "Please Insert Sim Card" when it already has one. Or sometimes the screen goes white (yes, at least, originally it was in color). Other times, the message shows appears upside down.

"Honey, Scotty is dying," I tell him in a soothing tone.

"But I hate the new phones! They're too big," he whines "Much too bulky for a man to carry in his pocket."

"Too bad," I respond. "It's dying. That's okay. It lived long and prospered. But if you're waiting for another cell the size of a Star Trek phaser gun, youve got another thing coming. If you need something to carry it in, I'll lend you one of my purses."

Needless to say, this is not the answer he's looking for. 

If he could, he'd wait it out, until cells got small again. Until then, he's still got to reach out and touch someone with something that receives messages that aren't smoke signals, so down to the Verizon store we go.

Speaking of dying, I've got a great excerpt for you today. It comes from Book 2 of The Housewife Assassin series, Guide to Gracious Killing. In it, my heroine, Donna Stone, is charged with protecting  the Russian president from assassins while he's the guest of an American billionaire. Of course, both an assassin and the billionaire make their appearance at exactly the wrong time: while Donna is trying to take a shower.

Awkward.

  Enjoy it. And if you do, feel free to buy it. 

In fact, if you haven't yet read Book 1, The Housewife Assassin's Handbook you can get it free right now, either by itself, or along with Book 2, in The Housewife Assassin's Killer 2-Book Set.

 

EXCERPT

I’ve just clicked on the dryer again, when there’s another knock on the door. I crack it open to find a maid standing there, with an armful of towels. “Shall I take them into the bathroom, Madame?” Her accent is slightly British, which is par for the course around here.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll take them.”

She smiles and hands them to me.

That’s when I see it—a small tattoo of a wolf on her left arm.

Her eyes follow mine. She senses I know who she is.

Her arm comes up toward my face. I block it with my forearm, then kick her in the gut. She falls back, slamming into the dresser. This stuns her, but just for a second. She reaches behind her and yanks the dryer from the electrical socket. In no time at all, she’s got the cord wrapped around both her wrists and arms.

“You won’t stop me from killing him.” Her vow is soft, but deadly. “With what he’s done to others like me? That pig does not deserve to live!”

“Trust me I get it. But it’s not happening here, or now.”

We both know I can’t talk her out of her mission anymore than she can talk me out of mine: to save Asimov’s sorry ass.

We circle each other warily, assessing each other’s weaknesses: She’s got more bulk than me, but she’s also slower. I’m taller, too. Best yet, I’m now up against the dresser. Obviously, she considers this a weakness because she charges me.

Even with the cord wrapped around my neck, all it takes is one squirt of my spray cologne in her eyes to blind her.

She stumbles into the bathroom, dragging me with her into the shower, where she turns on the water, full force. She’s hoping to wash the sting out of her eyes.

What she doesn’t count on is my ability to kick her into the shower.

She bangs her head against the marble wall. Before she comes to her senses, I untangle myself from the cord, plug the dryer into an electrical socket, and throw it into the tub.

Wolverine’s death mask stare and the smell of her frying skin sends me gagging from the room followed by a shower of sparks as the electrical system shorts out.

I shut the bathroom door, then lay down on the bed to catch my breath.

This time when there’s a tap on the door, I throw it open, to let Jack in.

But no. It’s Jonah Breck.

I pull my robe tightly around me. “My husband is out right now.”

He smirks. “I know, dear. That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry, we’ve got all the time in the world. He’s with the Japanese defense minister, who is somewhat long-winded.” From behind him, he pulls a bottle of Tattinger’s and two champagne glasses. “I presume you’re finding your accommodations to your liking.”

“In all honesty, there’s a short in the bathroom’s electrical system—”

Before I can say another word, he has backed me onto the bed. When my robe falls open, he whips the sash out from around me. Before I know it, he’s flipped me onto my stomach.

“I could use that drink right now,” I gasp, as he binds my wrists with the sash.

“We’ll celebrate afterward.” I hear him fumbling with his zipper. “You will, anyway. Trust me, I’ll have you begging for more.”

Promises, promises.

I struggle and try to sweet talk him some sense into him, but no use. He’s got me pinned. I’ve just about given up any hope of the Calvary coming when there is a sharp knock on the door.

“Mrs. Stone?” Both Breck and I recognize Edwina’s voice. “Mrs. Stone, your daughter requests you come immediately.”

“Answer her.” Breck’s hot breath sears my ear.

I shout, “I’ll—I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll have to escort you. The girls are eating in the south wing media room tonight, and with security as tight as it is… Well, you can just imagine.”

Breck mutters a curse as he rolls off me. Even as he unties me with one hand, the other gently follows the curve of my ass—

When he smacks it hard, I swallow the urge to cry out.

“A love tap. There’s more where that came from. You’ll love the tour of my dungeon.”

He’s got a dungeon? His corporate bio doesn’t mention a sadistic streak, but yeah, okay, makes sense. 

I leap up and grab my dress, which is hanging over the chair.

Breck smiles as I struggle into it. “Allow me to zip you up.”

I suppress a shudder at the thought of his hands anywhere on me. Instead, I nod.

He presses the zipper into my skin as he inches it up, ever so slowly. When he’s done, I feel his lips grazing my neck. They linger there as he breathes in the scent of my skin, sweat, and disgust.

How I long to smash that champagne bottle over my host’s head, but seriously, what kind of guest would that make me?

And besides, I can’t deal with the disposal of two dead bodies tonight.

Before I leave, I flip off Elvis Costello.

I can just imagine Ryan and Arnie’s shock and awe at seeing Breck slithering out of the room.

I don’t even want to think about Jack’s reaction.

Let alone what he’ll say about the fried maid in the shower. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.

c) 2012 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books (info@signaleditorial.com).

 

The Housewife Assassin's 
Guide to Gracious Killing 
(Book 2) Only $3.99! 

Signal Press / In bookstores now!

   

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Thursday Couple's Kiss: "Catch and Release"

If she had been expecting his kiss, it would have landed on her lips, as opposed to her eye. 

Or maybe not.

If she'd been expecting it, she might have pushed him away.

Or run in the opposite direction.

Or come up with a million excuses as to why she ducked and dodged him.

"I haven't brushed my teeth," she might have said. Or, "Stop! Someone might be watching!" Or "Not now... not here... not me."

But he took away her option to say no.

Instead, he gave her the option to fall in love.

Then he let her go.

He learned this while fishing. "Catch and release," it's called.

But women aren't fish. They love the chase. They imagine the possibilities. 

They anticipate his next kiss.

-- Josie

Free!

The Housewife Assassin's Handbook!

FREE! 

  FREE! 

   99 cents!

FREE! Apple iTunes Bookstore

Read an excerpt...

 

- EVERY DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE WANTS AN ALIAS: Donna Stone has one...and it happens to be government-sanctioned.
- BUT DONNA EARNED IT THE HARD WAY: Her husband was killed the day she delivered their third child.
- TO AVENGE HER HUSBAND'S MURDER: Donna leads a secret life: as an assassin.
- BUT ESPIONAGE MAKES FOR STRANGE BEDFELLOWS: And brings new meaning to that old adage, "Honey, I'm home..."

Hump Day Haiku: "Underwater"

 

"It won't last," they said.

"We'll prove them wrong," he promised.

Hold your breath. Dive in.

--Josie

 

 

Free right now!
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

FREE!  

FREE!  

 99 cents! 

FREE! Apple iTunes Bookstore

Read an excerpt...

- EVERY DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE WANTS AN ALIAS: Donna Stone has one...and it happens to be government-sanctioned.

- BUT DONNA EARNED IT THE HARD WAY: Her husband was killed the day she delivered their third child.

- TO AVENGE HER HUSBAND'S MURDER: Donna leads a secret life: as an assassin.

- BUT ESPIONAGE MAKES FOR STRANGE BEDFELLOWS: And brings new meaning to that old adage, "Honey, I'm home..."

TGIF Excerpt: The Housewife Assassin's Handbook: "Her Kitten Heel on His Throat"

I've been told that the verbal sparring between Donna Stone, the heroine in The Housewife Assassin's Handbook, and Jack Craig, the hero of the series, is hot enough to steam an ice cube. 

Works for me.

For my TGIF except, I've chosen their first meet-up, which has Jack on his back with Donna's heel at his throat.

But not for long.

Enjoy! And if you do so, download from Amazon, Kobo, or Apple, where it's free. It's 99 cents  in BN.com. I've put links below the exerpt.

Josie

EXCERPT

“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.” When, finally, he can speak, his words come out in a husky mutter.

I’m guessing that’s because I’ve got my kitten heel on his jugular.

He’s lucky I’m not wearing my six-inch fuck-me stilettos.

“You think so? You should ask around about that…Oh, sorry, you can’t—because anyone who’s seen me really angry has never lived to tell about it.”

Despite my chokehold, he’s able to mumble out, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Oh yeah? Tell, me, do you love it when I do this?” I press his arm to the breaking point. “And how about this?” I lean down on my heel again, but just enough.

I’m enjoying the sound of him rasping for air when, from the other side of the door, I hear Mary ask, “Mom, is everything okay in there?”

That breaks my concentration, enough for him to grab my ankle. Next thing I know it’s me who’s facedown, on the bed. I can feel his knee in the center of my back. The pressure he’s putting on me is excruciating, but I’m not going to let him know that.

“If you don’t answer her, she’ll walk in here and find us… like this.” This is murmured more as a promise than a threat. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the thought that he thinks he’s scaring me, or the realization that the warmth of his breath on my cheek is turning me on.

Either way, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

I resist the urge to spit in his face. Instead I collect myself, and then in my best sing-song mommy voice, I answer, “Yes, honey, everything is fine! We’re just moving a few boxes in the closet. Why don’t you go downstairs and check on the chicken? If it’s browned, lower the oven to 275. Oh! And do me a favor, and mash the potatoes.”

“Um… Okay. Just call down if you need anything.” She sounds uncertain, but a moment later I hear all three of my children clomping down the stairs.

He’s listening closely, too. I inch my one free hand up slowly. I’m hoping to punch him in the groin—

As if reading my mind, he grabs my arm and curls it behind my back. “Gee, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t take you for the kind who liked the rough stuff, but whatever turns you on.”

To keep from groaning in pain, I let loose with a litany of words that, had I’d heard them coming from my own kids’ mouths, would have me reaching for a bar of soap.

“You’ve got quite a little potty mouth, now don’t you?” To drive his point home, he gives me a smack on the ass. “You know, I can play like this all night, but the boss man may not be too pleased that we’re keeping him waiting.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hiss at him. “Just who are you, anyway?”

I guess he realizes that this really isn’t my idea of a meet-and-greet because suddenly he eases his knee off my back. “You mean you really don’t know? And all this time I thought this was just your way of welcoming me to the family. I hadn’t had you pegged for the type who gets into rough foreplay—”

“Foreplay?” I’m so riled that I sit straight up. So, he wants it rough? Wait until I pull out the Taser I’ve stashed under the mattress…

Then it hits me: “Wait, start over. What do you mean, ‘welcoming you to the family?’ Just who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Jack Craig—”

The name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it…?

Now I remember! What is it that they call him on the spook loops? Oh, yeah: Wild Card Jack. The agent known to shirk protocol whenever it suits him; to bend the rules according to his whims. He’s not above going rogue when the impulse hits—

Especially if there’s a woman around to impress.

“—but you can call me ‘Carl darling.’ That’s as my new alias.”

I can’t believe my ears. “The mission calls for you to pretend to be my husband? No! No way in Hell—”

“Look lady, don’t shoot the messenger. It was Ryan’s idea. I told him it was crazy, too.” He shrugs. “No one in their right mind would believe I’d be attracted to someone like you—”

“Oh yeah?...What’s wrong with me anyway?”

“Well to be honest, you’re not exactly my type.”

I’m trying hard not to snicker. “Considering what I’ve heard about your ‘type,’ I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your reputation precedes you, too—or haven’t you noticed that Wikipedia uses your photo beside the definition of ‘man-ho.’”

“You see? This is exactly what I told Ryan. You’re one of those women who have no self-control. You’ll just fly off the handle, mission be damned. Being saddled with you would just tie me down.”

“You’ve got some nerve, saying that to me!” I reach for the phone. “I’m calling Ryan right now.”

“Fine by me. If we’re going to take down the Quorum, I’ll need a swallow who doesn’t carry around her emotional baggage like a third boob—”

“Third boob? Why you…. Wait! The Quorum? What’s that got to do with you?”

A brow raises just as the smirk hits his lips. “What, you haven’t had time to read the directive? I saw you at the drop. I know the cut-out in the ice cream truck handed you the order—”

“You were there, watching us in the park?”

“Sure. Hey, I’m no fool. I didn’t want to walk in here and get blown away for breaking and entering.”

I can’t help but shrug proudly.

But then he ruins it by adding “Besides, it’s ice cream. From the looks of things”—he scrutinizes my backside critically—“I’m guessing you’re not opposed to a sugar fix every now and then. I would have guessed you’d have torn into it before you even got into that mommy mobile they’ve saddled you with.”

“How dare you!”

“Just teasing. Look, it’s not as if you’re a total heifer but a little toning up wouldn’t hurt. Might get rid of those love handles.” He has the audacity to put his hands on my hips.

When I try to slap them away, he smiles, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he nudges me closer, as if we’re playing some sort of game, until I’m right up against his rock hard abdomen—

And it’s not the only thing that’s hard—

“You know what they say: sex is the best exercise,” he coaxes seductively. “Since we’ve got to play house anyway, might as well enjoy the fringe benefits, right? Hey, I won’t even mind if you close your eyes and call me Carl—”

My punch to his jaw has him reeling backward, into the wall. “Dream on, you son of a bitch. Just to let you know: you’re not half the man Carl was.”

He grimaces as he rubs his jaw. “Just trying to do my conjugal duty.”

“Get dressed. And make it snappy. I want to get this meeting with Ryan over pronto. I’ve got to be home before eight, to put Trisha to bed.”

“Speaking of beds, do you like the right side, or the left? For that matter, are you a top or a bottom? Not that I’m partial, either way—”

To shut him up, I toss his clothes at him.

As he grabs for them, his towel drops to the floor and I’m given a full-on view as to what all the spook loop fuss is about—

Wow.

Okay, I’m wrong. He’s got at least one thing in common with Carl.

To hide my shock and awe, I turn and walk out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

Even from the bottom of the stairway I can hear him laughing.

 ***

I tell Mary that we’ll be back in time for dinner, but just in case our “run to the store” takes longer than expected, she is to put Trisha to bed no later than eight, and for Jeff and her to go down no later than ten.

She gives Jack a shy peck on the cheek. On the other hand, Trisha throws herself into Jack’s arms, body, and soul. It only takes a second for his initial look of shock to melt into gentle appreciation. Jeff’s wary handshake is taken just as seriously.

I wonder if this cover is going to be harder for him than he initially imagined.

Already my heart is breaking. Shame on Ryan for putting my family’s emotional wellbeing at risk! He better have a hell of a good reason for doing this to us.

Jack and I take separate cars. He refuses to be seen in my “mommy mobile.” That’s fine with me. The way he peels out in his Lamborghini Aventador roadster, I’ve no doubt he’s just an accident waiting to happen.

Three heads that turn as he races down Main Street are those belonging to Penelope, Tiffy, and Hayley. They’re sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of our local Starbucks, dishing some neighbor’s dirt, I suppose. As Jack idles at the corner, Penelope licks her Collagened lips and lifts her sunglasses in order to get a better view of him.

This is not lost on Jack. Through his side-view mirror, I can see him honoring her with a wink and that lazy smile of his.

It’s all I can do not to ram him from behind.

Instead I lay on the horn.

As he screeches out of the grand gates fronting Hilldale, I wave at them sweetly. The way they show their obvious disappointment is to ignore me.

I wonder how they’d treat me if they thought Jack was my husband. They’d be jealous, for sure. But I know better than to presume it would earn me their friendships, let alone their respect.

Not that it matters. As soon as I lay down the law to Ryan, Jack Craig will just be a fond fantasy for Hilldale’s mères terrible.

An even bigger problem is explaining to my children that he’s not who they think—and hope—he is:

Their father.

Copyright © 2011 by Josie Brown. Published in May 2011 by Signal Press. All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Author.

-------------------------------------------------

Murder. Suspense. Sex. And some handy household tips.

 
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook
(Book 1) Signal Press 

Buy it from FREE

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ho they think—and hope—he is:

Their father.

 

Hump Day Haiku: "Verbal Smackdown"

 

His words hit, like stones.

I pummel him with my tears.

 Yes, it's true. Love hurts

-- Josie

 

 

To celebrate the launch of 
The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide, 
I'm giving away a $100 gift card to the bookstore of your choice!

Click here for details...

 

 

 

Excerpt from Book 3 of the HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN Series: First Kiss

As we head into summer, I'm both surprised and proud of the fact that the third book in the Housewife Assassin series, Killer Christmas Tips, is still selling strong.

Despite the title, this book less to do with the season it was set in, and more to do with the fact that readers who love the series don't want to miss any of the consecutive plot points that deal with the series' overriding story arc: 

- Will Acme operatives, Donna Stone and Jack Craig, finally take down the world's best financed international terrorist group known as the Quorum? 

- Will Donna ever be able to love and trust again, despite the betrayal she felt over Carl's lies and deception?

- And will she and Jadk  find the missing intel on its agents and assets before the Quorum gets it?

As these two scenes in particular demonstrate, setting Book 3 during the holiday season allowed me to test Donna's faith: in herself, in her core values, and in her fellow beings.

Enjoy,

-- Josie

EXCERPT

“So, how old were you when you had your first kiss?”

Jack’s question almost has me swerving off the road.

The decision to take his car was probably a smart one because we may need a quick getaway, and my mommy-mobile doesn’t have the same zero-to-sixty pick-up as Jack’s Lamborghini. The decision for me to drive also makes sense, since he may have to be running like hell carrying a shoulder-launched missile, and won’t have time to fumble for his keys.

His decision to play Twenty-one Questions may be one he regrets, should we crash.

To ensure we don’t, I hold tight to the steering wheel and keep my eyes straight ahead. Not because he’s shocked me, but because I’d hate for him to see that my face has turned candy apple red.

“Let’s just say I was old enough.”

“Come on, answer the question honestly.”

“Will you do the same?”

“Absolutely. Cross my heart.”

I sigh. “Okay. I was fifteen. And yes, the boy broke my heart.”

He laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was worried you hadn’t been kissed until college.”

“You take too much stock in what Aunt Phyllis says. She’s under the impression I was as pure as driven snow until Carl and I… well, until I was married.”

“So Carl wasn’t your first either?” He’s trying so hard to act nonchalant.

“To be perfectly honest, not only wasn’t he my first, he wasn’t my even ‘best’.”

Jack’s sly smile presumes soooo much. But in a flash, his smile is gone.

“At this juncture in our relationship, I think I need to tell you… Oh never mind.”

I guess this is where I hear some soul-searching blather about Valentina. I brace myself for the worst. “Don’t be such a tease. Just come out and say it.”

“I don’t know if you want to hear this.”

“Well, guess what? You won’t know if you don’t tell me, so spit it out.”

“I love you.”

I take a deep breath. “Ditto.”

He laughs. “Well, that’s romantic.”

“Let’s save the romance until after we save the world, shall we?”

“I’m glad one of us has our priorities in order.” He stares out the window. It’s already dark, so there is not much to look at. “Then I guess this is also a bad time to ask you to marry me.”

I screech off onto the shoulder of the road, and turn off the engine. As much as I like having a thousand horsepower engine at my fingertips, I’d be disappointed if a knee-jerk reaction came between me and my happily ever after.

“You now have my complete attention,” I murmur sweetly.

“I’m asking if you’ll marry me.” He picks up my hand. When his fingers wrap around mine, I wonder why I’d ever let go.

Then the answer hits me—to get to our final destination in one piece.

“Why now, Jack? And why here?”

“Why not?” He turns to face me, but his features are hidden in shadows, only revealing themselves in the fleeting headlights of passing cars. “There will always be some crisis to overcome. Some more… bullshit, somewhere in the world.”

Some bad guys to kill. Some long-buried secret to rear its ugly head.

Some deserting spouse to confront.

Which reminds me, “We’re both still married.”

He shrugs. “So let’s go to Vegas and set things straight.”

He makes me laugh. “I like the Bellagio.” I look down into my lap. “I guess you’re over Valentina in a big way.”

He doesn’t nod. He just looks straight ahead.

His silence speaks volumes.

If only he’d lied and said, “Yes, of course I am! What do you take me for, a fool?”

But no, I’m the fool. For presuming he’s over her, just because she’s over him.

“When she saw me, she told me Carl wasn’t in love with her. That he was still in love with me.” I can’t help myself. I have to say it to him, to see if it makes a difference to him.

His mouth tightens. “Do you believe her?”

“What, about Carl? Ha! You said it best. The only one Carl truly loves is himself, and the power he’s able to grab from who knows where.”

“Then, why won’t he leave you alone?”

“Because he can’t have me. Because I love you instead.”

There. I’ve said it.

I restart the engine and it roars back to life. “We’ve got a date with a stolen missile. Let’s do this,” I say as Jack’s Lamborghini leaps back onto the road.

We drive the remaining few miles in silence.

Is enough for him to truly love me back? Or now, having been told Valentina never really had Carl’s affections, will he try to win her back?

I know I’ll have to wait for his answer—

“We’re here,” he murmurs.

So we are, I think coming out of my fog.

Saved by the bomb.

I pull into the far side of the parking lot, out of view from the reception area, where the security guard is parked in front of an old big screen TV that must have been confiscated from an abandoned storage unit.

“Break a leg,” I say as he climbs out of the car.

He shuts the car door before he hears me whisper, “And yes, I’ll marry you.”

Maybe it’s for the best. Let’s face it. My answer doesn’t count if he’s already changed his mind.

 ****

In life, just about everything is timing.

If I hadn’t been at a certain shooting range on a certain Spring break during college, I would have never met Carl.

If I hadn’t been in the bedroom to answer his cell while he was in the shower one day, I would not have set into motion the chain of events that would have made him realize he needed to disappear from the life we’d created together.

If Acme hadn’t been looking for a few honeypots right about the time they yanked Carl’s pension from me, I would’ve taken a job as an assistant at a bank, or made time to be a class mom, instead of collecting a rogue’s gallery of scalps on my belt.

And if Jack hadn’t brought Carl home with him after one mission went awry, Valentina would never have fallen in love with Carl, and left Jack for him.

None of this I regret. Because if none of it had happened, I would have never have met Jack.

What I do regret, however, as Safe & Sound’s Storage Unit Number 121 blows off the back wing of the building, is that Jack never heard me say “Yes” when he asked me to marry him.

I run past the security guard, who stumbles out of the building in a total state of shock and denial. Deadly blasts are way above his pay scale of fourteen dollars an hour.

“Where is the man who just went in there?” I shout at him “Did he make it out?”

He shakes his head and cups his ear, to indicate he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.

I pull him far away from the debris field, which is scattered far and wide. Coats and dresses and pants float through the air like cloth clouds, while bed frames pinwheel through the parking lot. Family photos float down from the night sky in a storm of confetti.

People hold onto too much crap.

If something is important in your life, you’ll make room for it.

I hear ambulances in the distance, heading this way. I don’t have much time if I’m going to find Jack. What if he’s injured and can’t get out by himself?

I run into the building and down the main hall, but I can’t see which way to turn because the smoke pouring out is too thick, and worse, smells like melted plastic. I can’t breathe. My lungs are on fire.

I’m crazy to think Jack has survived the explosion.

As I pass out, the only thing I can think of is how I wish I’d been with Jack at the very end.

(c) 2012 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books (info@signaleditorial.com).

 

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Mad Housewife Monday: Kelly Reemtsen's Flower Power

One of my all-time favorite artists is Kelly Reemtsen. She so aptly captures the desperation of the ladies who lunch -- especially when they get a bee under their bonnet about something.

Take this painting, called "Flower Power."  The way this wifey in the retro shift holds her hedge clippers implies self-emmolation. And yet, her cocked knee implies a dark streak for dangerous flirtation. Perhaps she's saying, "Approach at your own risk."

Truly a thorny situation.

Ms. Reemtsen's paintings can be found in the Skidmore ContemporaryArt (Los Angeles) and the David Klein Gallery (Birmingham, MI). If you're close by, they are worth the visit.

-- Josie

 

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TGIF Excerpt: The Housewife Assassin's Handbook: Granny Panties, or Ass Floss?

Here's my Friday treat for you: a fun excerpt from The Housewife Assassin's Handbook. Donna is still annoyed with having been paired with Jack on this latest mission. It doesn't help that he has an opinion on her sex appeal.   

Chapter 7
Be the Life of the Party

Socializing is a big part of a housewife’s life. Lots of friends mean lots of invitations! To keep abreast of all the activity, be sure to post a calendar prominently—perhaps on the refrigerator. That way, your hubby has no excuse to “forget” your social obligations. (Hint: Another gentle reminder that works very well is a cattle prod. Don’t worry, the burn marks heal quickly…)

 ***

“We’ve got the Crichtons’ shindig tonight. Then the Simpsons’ on Friday. And from the look of the calendar next week, another three lined up… Jeez, you folks sure know how to party! How many bugs do we have left?” Jack sounds grumpy.

Can’t say that I blame him. It’s the third night this week that we’ve had a social engagement. Since his quote-unquote return, we’ve been inundated with cocktail and cookout invitations.

My neighbors are nosy about “the mysterious Carl Stone.”

It’s hard for me to forget all those years in which they ignored me while Carl was supposedly on the road.

But I’ll save my pity for later. Considering our mission, I guess this sudden burst of popularity is a blessing in disguise since it allows us into their homes in order to plant bugs that sweep the neighbor’s computers and their phones for any evidence that they are fronting for the Quorum.

Unfortunately, the bugs we’ve planted have yielded nothing.

We’re having a mission update in the one place I know we won’t be interrupted by the children: my bedroom. I pull open my underwear drawer, where I keep all the tracking devices. It gives new meaning to the brand Agent Provocateur.

I do a quick count. “We’ve got enough for the next six parties. I’ll ask Abu for refills.”

Before I can shut the drawer, Jack grabs a red lace thong and holds it up to the light. “You mean to tell me that you actually fit into this tiny thing?”

How dare he!

I’ve learn to ignore his teasing. This time, though, it’s a little too close for comfort.

I plant a supreme smile on my face. “But of course. In fact, I’m wearing one now.”

“Really?” His tone is a dare.

What does he expect me to do, strip down to prove a point?

As if.

Besides, I’d lose. The briefs I have on aren’t exactly granny panties, but still, they aren’t the come-and-get-me ass floss he’s holding, either.

As if reading my mind, he looks pointedly at the mirror behind me:

It shows my backside very clearly.

I feel my face heating up. “Just what in hell do you think you’re looking at?”

He cocks his head to one side. “Well, from this angle, it looks like a VPL.”

“Huh…? What does that mean?”

“Code word for ‘visible panty line.’ But it’s not in the official Acme manual, so don’t bother to check.”

I snatch the thong out of his hands. “Okay, so I lied. Those aren’t everyday wear. Only when I have to go… you know, undercover.” Enough of this crap. I shove him toward the door. “Go get dressed, ‘dear,’ or we’ll be late. Remember, we’re looking for any newbies: some single woman named Vivian Norman, a retired couple with the last name of Neufeld, and the Kelseys, that couple who moved in beside Hayley.”

He stops short of the threshold. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“What’s it to you?”

“My interest is purely professional. Think of yourself as the bait. When they bite, we get our man. Or woman.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet you like it when they bite.” It’s my turn to smirk. “I’ve got a little black number that will do the trick—”

“Nah. Go for that electric blue one. Skin tight, strapless—”

“Wait! How do you know about that one? Have you been rummaging through my closet?”

“Don’t act so shocked. I had to see what you had in the costume department—”

“My clothes are not costumes!”

“You don’t say?” I’d like to slap the grin off his face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and by the way, I noticed a Singapore Air flight attendant uniform, a nun’s habit, and a nurse’s uniform in there. I presume none of those are typical carpool attire?”

“No—of course not!”

Okay, he’s made his point. I slam the door after him.

Then I yank the clingy blue cocktail dress from my closet.

And the red thong.

Neither gives me any place to hide the bug.

Here’s hoping he’s right. Otherwise I’ll be giving the neighbors something to talk about for nothing.

(c) 2011 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books (info@signaleditorial.com).

 

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Hump Day Haiku: "Cross Purposes"

We say the same thing

But we don't hear each other

Let's not speak. Just...touch.

 

-- Josie

 

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