Miranda staggered back a step or two when Drew pushed her away from him. She caught herself on the frame of the doorway into Vin’s hospital room. He looked so angry. Could she have read him wrong?
“Don’t ever kiss me again.” He glared daggers at her. For several of the most uncomfortable moments in her memory they remained locked in a staring war. Then he spun on his heel and stalked down the hard, linoleum floor, each step a hollow echo of the pain in her heart.
For a few minutes there, while Drew consoled her, Miranda could convince herself everything would work out. Even feeling as if the shooter had put a hole in her chest instead of Vin’s, she had thought it would all work out exactly the way she had planned. Vin would not die. Drew would love her. They would all live happily ever after.
With Vin looking more than half dead already and Drew turning the corner, taking himself away from her as fast as he could go, Miranda’s world crumbled. She reached toward the too-still-form on the bed. Vin couldn’t make her feel better. If he knew she’d kissed Drew he wouldn’t console her anyway.
Something Vin had said popped into her head. “Who’s the daddy, Miranda? Because you can’t have the daddy.”
He had been talking about the little family she created in Suzie’s house. If Drew was the daddy and Suzie was the mommy, then what were she and Vin?
She felt like a daughter who had done something so awful that her father couldn’t come up with a punishment befitting the crime. Kissing Drew didn’t make her feel wonderful, the way she had expected. It made her feel wrong, which itself was wrong. It wasn’t like she had betrayed anyone. And no matter what Vin said, Drew was not her daddy.
Miranda wanted to say as much. She turned toward his bed, looking through the doorway at an angle, and stopped.
It hit her like falling down the last three steps of a staircase. He could die. No more best friend. No more good times. He could die.
Tears snaked out of her eyes, leaking onto her red leather vest. Where was Suzie? Miranda desperately needed someone to hold on to, someone to convince her it couldn’t be happening. Usually Suzie would be right there with all the comforting Miranda could handle, but the last time Miranda saw her was right before each of them went in to visit Vin. Why wasn’t Suzie waiting in the hall?
Only a nurse or two wandered by. Miranda has the sensation of repressed desperation and muted activity is if people were dropping dead right and left but no one wanted to run while trying to save them.
Would no one do anything about him? Shouldn’t they be monitoring his monitors? Taking his temperature? Couldn’t they do something, anything, to make him better?
Unable to stay out in the hall alone, nor to leave Vin in his room by himself, she returned to the chair pulled up next to his bed. He moved his head a little, only enough to convince her she wasn’t imagining it. Her heart surged wildly. He was alive! He might stay that way. She was so grateful she could kiss him.
Glancing over her shoulder guiltily, she checked that no one was round. He would never know. No one else would ever know. Only Miranda would, and she could keep it to herself until hell froze over.
Cautiously, she leaned forward. His lips were softly parted. She imagined what it would be like to kiss him for real, perhaps when he was sleeping, then pushed the thought from her mind.
Why did they ALL seem to think she should take Vin’s overtures seriously? Even Suzie thought she should date him, though she never came out and said it.
Her and Vin in love? The very thought gave her cold chills. Not that he wasn’t attractive. He was too attractive. If she ever fooled around with him she would lose herself to him. She already relied on Vin more than she should. If they were lovers she would be clingy and jealous. She would need him too much. Couldn’t anyone besides her see how important it was to remain just friends?
She settled back in her seat. She shouldn’t even consider kissing Vin. Except no one would know. It wouldn’t be a real kiss. With him laying there unresponsive he could hardly be any better than Drew, who had clammed up and pushed her away. It wouldn’t mean she was making any kind of commitment.
So no one needed to know she’d always wondered what kissing him would feel like. It could even be taken as a kind of good-bye kiss, though she hoped to God she would never have to say good bye to Vin. The point was if she didn’t kiss him now, she might never have the chance again.
That settled it. She stood up, then carefully maneuvered around to line up their lips without her touching anything that might hurt him, be it IV drip or bandaged chest. Softly, she placed her lips against his.
A fraction of a second later, having touched as lightly as a butterfly, she was on the verge of skittering away when his lips softened. It felt good. Better than kissing Drew. She shouldn’t indulge. She’d already done too much. But she’d never get to do it again, and he felt so good.
It wasn’t a deep kiss. Never that. But she did linger a moment or two. Long enough that when she pulled away she couldn’t be sure no one had seen them.
She settled into the chair, and took his hand with every intention of sitting there as long as they would let her. If she could she would make him better with willpower alone.
“Don’t leave me, Marvin. I don’t want to live without you.”
Vin smiled. “Miranda,” he whispered.
The previous was Suzie’s House 14: Mouth to Mouth
This is Suzie’s House 15: Resusitation
Got my results back. Sigh. Maybe next year.
Did you enter? If so, how did you do?
Alice
Here’s a picture of the shark I mentioned before:
I didn’t take it. The guide took it on my sister’s camera. The film from mine still hasn’t been developed yet, mostly because I haven’t used it up yet. Not much call for underwater cameras in Montana.
We also saw manatees, or as much of them as anyone ever sees,
and monkeys
and various reptiles
Yes, those reptiles are in doors. The lizard is inside a wall sconce in a restaurant. We watched him snag a grasshopper that landed on the top of the fixture, then drop back into the warmth by the light bulb. Now and then a tail would flick out.
The lizards in particular liked to get around. In Maya Breeze we would see whole confabs of them hanging on the outside walls under the lights. Must have been good bug hunting. I don’t know how the frog managed to hang on the wall like that. You should have seen him crawl up it. With a faster camera I’d be showing you.
There were birds all over as well as a variety of crabs. No, I didn’t get any pictures of the crabs.
People had horses in their yards, particularly in the Amish community we drove through. Yes, Belize has a community of Amish. I didn’t get any pictures because I was driving. Banana Bank had horses all over the place, along with a number of trophies for winning horse races.
All kinds of animals roam around in Belize. Some I’m more familiar with than others.
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Alice
Ericka! I was thinking Tessa might get into Pat more, as she doesn’t write Romantic Suspense or Mystery at all, but the coin insisted. Ericka, send me your choice from Pat’s backlist and your mailing address and I’ll get that out to you. Keep in mind I have her early backlist, but am missing releases from 2007 and 2006.
Alice
Daddy: You had the biggest eyes when you were a baby, like those toys you have – The Littlest Pet Shop Pets.
Daughter: Only I was cuter because sometimes the Littlest Pet Shop Pets are creepy.
OK, I’m cheating again on the food thing, but my mother sent me this link
http://www.belizenorth.com/belizean_recipes_text.htm
And I gotta say this looks exactly like what we were eating . Except the conch. Every place we asked said they were out. The Monkey River Tour Guide told us Iguana was legal for natives to eat, but not allowed to be sold in restaurants because in the short time it was allowed they were nearly hunted to extinction. Makes me wonder about the conch.
And the barracuda. I saw a couple of barracuda in the water while snorkeling. Frankly they were scarier than the shark. They sort of hovered there, eying us with a cold intelligence. I got the feeling if I hadn’t been swimming in a pack, I could have been HIS lunch. Kind of reminded me of some hyper-alpha Romance heroes.
Alice
I do a little work for Patricia McLinn. I help her handle submissions to her contests. The last one she ran involved questions that could only be answered if you had read a book released by a small press. It didn’t get a lot of response. Previous contests didn’t tie in that closely to her work, and brought in hundreds of entries.
She has asked me to help come up with a contest idea. I’m drawing a complete blank. Has anyone here ever read any of her books? Most of them are Heart-warming Harlequin Super Romances generally set in Illinois or Wyoming, and tend to include lots of people and some reference to sports.
Any ideas for a contest for her? I’m thinking it should be something people could answer without reading her books, but that relates more closely than “What’s your favorite flower.” I’d greatly appreciate any suggestions anyone here comes up with.
In the spirit of TessaD and Amy/India I’ll give one of my copies of her books to someone who comments here. Unlike them, I’ll give you a few days to come up with something. I’ll post the winner Wednesday.
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Alice
Going to the Zoo was a funky experience. We loved it. I loved getting way too close to dangerous animals like this guy: They called him a jaguar. What you don’t see here is the middle when I had to wait for my digital camera to get ready for another picture. (You realize, of course, that “digital” is a swear word, right?) The jaguar was so close I could have touched him if I’d been stupid enough to stick my fingers through the wire. One girl pointed at this bird, and got a nip. The entire zoo was set up so the distance between viewers and animals was psychologically minimized as well as physically. The jungle ran wild both inside and outside the cages. Often finding the animals turned into a game. We almost always found them, but only with some determined effort, and the occasional odd body position. And no you don’t get to see the pictures of me with my butt in the air while I try to find something. Sometimes, like with these monkeys I wasn’t entirely sure the “cage” would keep them in. There were hand painted signs everywhere, many of which were highly patriotic. Most of the animals were clearly native. The only ones I wondered about were the white-tailed deer, which may or may not have been. I haven’t checked. All of the animals were donated, many from a movie that was made in Belize a number of years ago. Some were pets donated when they turned out to be wild. Of course the part my kids liked the best involved an iguana in a tree whose branches spanned the path we were on. We didn’t spot him until he relieved himself, raining ick down on the path three or four yards from us. The kids couldn’t stop laughing. Oh, and near as I can tell, there’s only one zoo in Belize.
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Alice
Guilt wracked Drew as he sat in the hospital waiting room. Vin wouldn’t be in the operating room now if Drew had been better at his job. He should never have let Vin work for him. He should have parked in a different place. He should at least have gotten the license number of the man who shot Vin. He had a Styrofoam cup of tepid coffee in front of him. It was too bitter to drink.
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The sound of hard heels clacking on the linoleum brought his head up. Miranda, dressed in a long, tight black skirt with some weird pleat thing in back and a red vest with nothing under it bore down on him. Her expression was thunderous.
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“Where is he?” Her voice accused him of hiding Vin.
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“They are operating on him” he said stiffly, resenting her tone.
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“What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be all right? All I got was a message on my blackberry from Suzie.”
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“Is she coming?” Drew’s interest was purely personal. Vin wouldn’t know they were hovering in the waiting room, but Drew could hardly be anywhere else. If he had to be here, he’d like to have Suzie with him. Too bad he got Miranda instead.
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“Would you answer my questions before peppering me with your own?” She crossed her arms and looked mulish, which stung after the way she’d greeted him.
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“I’d like to tell you both at the same time, if I could, rather than have to repeat myself.”
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“She’ll be right up. She stopped off at the gift shop. Just tell me, he’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
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Drew didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. Could he comfort her when he needed comforting himself? For all he knew Vin might already have died under the knife.
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Miranda sucked in her lower lip and bit it hard enough he thought she might draw blood. Her breath shuddered. He was afraid she’d burst into tears then and there. She looked away, hiding her face. Luckily, before the storm could break Suzie arrived.
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She had a thermos in her hand and an expression of quite compassion that soothed him immediately. Miranda seemed to get comfort from her presence as well. She took a deep breath, and smiled in a wobbly fashion.
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“Ok. Tell us.”
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Both women looked at him expectantly, though Suzie had the kindness to fill his cup with some rich smelling coffee. Guilt immediately flooded him. He should never have allowed Vin to drive the taxi. He should have found him sooner, stopped the shooter. Now he had to confess his part. Only it wasn’t entirely his to tell.
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“You know Vin was working with me on a case. I can’t give you any details, but it involves him acting as a target for a particular group of criminals. Although I don’t have confirmation yet, it appears a member of this group forced him off the road and shot him. I wasn’t there when it happened. However, I saw a man with a gun in his hand leave the scene of the crime. He was only shot once, through the chest at close range. On last report he was in critical condition, but still alive.” He took a sip of coffee. It was perfect, which made him feel much better.
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Miranda stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “How can you be so cold about it? Don’t you care that he might die?”
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“Of course he cares,” Suzie said before Drew could gather a response from his blasted wits. She gave him a small smile. “I guess once an officer always an officer.”
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He didn’t see how his profession mattered, but had no energy left to argue. It was all taken in self-castigation.
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“Are you all with Marvin Sutter?” A doctor stood in the hall looking into the little waiting room.
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“Yes.” Drew stood slowly, afraid of what he would hear.
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“Family?”
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“As close as he has.”
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A crease of concern went to the doctor’s brow.
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“I’m his fiancé!” Miranda said hastily.
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She didn’t need to lie, nor did it help. The doctor’s expression didn’t smooth in the least. But it didn’t matter. He had already been talking to Drew about Vin’s condition for some time.
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“They are both with me,” Drew assured the man.
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“His condition is still critical, but he is out of surgery. Would you like to see him?”
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“Yes!” All three spoke as one.
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The doctor gave them each a few minutes with Vin. First Drew, then Suzie, then Miranda went in. Vin lay under the sheet unconscious the entire time. He looked pale and drawn. Thick bandages wrapped around his chest.
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“He was lucky,” The doctor. They stood in the hall as they looked through the door at Miranda, who sat by the bed holding Vin’s hand. “The bullet went straight through, chipped off a piece of his sternum, missed all major arteries, and he only lost partial use of one lung. We expect complete recuperation.”
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The relief was so palpable, Drew felt like Jell-O. He managed to not slump, but must have given some indication because Suzie squeezed his hand. He wished the touch were a little less fleeting.
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A nurse came and tapped the doctor on the shoulder. He excused himself and hurried away. Then Suzie excused herself, saying she’d left something in the gift shop.
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“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
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Her receding form had barely disappeared around the corner when Miranda came out of Vin’s room. She looked as devastated as he felt.
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“He’s in a bad way, isn’t he. He looks so different, like a wax dummy. A bad wax dummy of himself.” Her lower lip quivered. “When I first saw him I thought he was dead. He could still die.”
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She was working herself up and Drew was helpless to stop her.
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“I’m holding his hand and he doesn’t even blink. It’s like he doesn’t know I’m there. I want to crack a joke or something, but he can’t hear. And what if he never comes around again? What if he still dies?”
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She was making Drew feel worse with every word.
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“I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies. I don’t know what I’ll do.” She was sobbing openly now. To Drew’s horror she flung herself against him.
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Unable to find a decent way to respond, he simply put his arms around her and held her while she sobbed hysterically.
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It wasn’t long before the sobs eased into little moans and the hug went from purely sympathetic to something a bit more aggressive. Drew tried to gently extricate himself, but Miranda had other ideas. He managed to get one arm loose, then the other. She still had him by the neck when she planted a wet one right on his lips.
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Stunned, he froze for a count of five. When he finally managed to tear his lips away from hers, his gaze went immediately down the hall, as if searching for someone to rescue him.
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Suzie stood at the end of the hall, a small gift shop bag dangling from her fingers. She stared at them with eyes wide. Her jaw hung loose in an expression of surprised sorrow. Drew pushed Miranda roughly away, but the damage was already done. Suzie spun on her heel and dashed off leaving Drew with the wrong woman.
The previous was Suzie’s House 13: Of Duty and Honor
This is Suzie’s House 14: Mouth to Mouth
We interrupt this previously scheduled vacation discussion yet again for something more interesting. Avon FanLit.
It’s Tessa’s fault. She set me off with a question on her blog. Not that anyone would be surprised. I have lots and lots of strong opinions about the way Avon FanLit was run.
First, the question of where they should advertise – they should put a large ad in Romance Writer’s Review at least a month in advance. I know, easier said than done, but they would bring out a lot of dedicated writers who are eager for community by doing it. I would certainly recommend another article in Wall Street Journal as I too found out about it that way. From the question I asked on the boards over at Avon it’s clear that writer’s blogs brought in the largest slice. They could probably put notices in women’s magazines fairly readily. Maybe they could get something on the news wires. From there you’re talking big bucks for TV ads and such.
The absolute most important thing they could do to build a spirit of community on the site is to become far more proactive about cheaters. The zero bombers and .5 bandits devastated us. We had no way of knowing who we could or could not trust. I do NOT think they should put meters on everyone so you can see what kind of voters they are, as the sock puppet accounts keep the bandits from paying for their bad behavior and meters would encourage lying out of kindness, which is a disservice to those taking the scores seriously.
I think the best way to give the participants a strong connection to the authors would be to set up a workshop forum on the same level as the introductions, chapter discussions, etc. and have the authors offer their responses to participant’s how-to questions. If at all possible, it would be fantastic of the editors would drop an occasional comment into the forums as well.
The blog was a good idea, but I hardly ever went there because it never looked like anything new or fresh was going on there. Then I would hear back later that something was on the blog that I’d never heard about. It makes me wonder if the blog link I was looking at was the right link.
Ok, you’ve got me going again. This is already getting out of hand, and likely to get worse, so I’ll call it good here. Thanks for putting up with me, Tessa.
Alice
It helps to remember that Belize is a small country, only three or four hundred miles in any given direction. It could fit in a corner of Montana. Yet it takes all day to get from one end to the other. This is mostly because of the speed bumps.
I kid you not. This country puts speed bumps in the middle of their highways fairly often. Worse yet is the odd “cross walk” which is where pedestrians are supposed to cross. They are as wide as a sidewalk and raised anywhere from three inches to a foot above the road surface. Some of them are more rounded than others. Hit them at 60 mps and everyone goes “Ooofff”. The kids in the back seat literally touch the roof of the car, or in our case Jeep. These guarantee that you will slow down for the odd sign of habitation. Sometimes the cross walks appear in places where there are no houses.
But there might be a bus stop. Most of the bus stops were low concrete walls painted bright colors like mint green or peach with some sort of roof for shade, often thatch. They appeared everywhere, even places where there could be seen little more than jungle. They were often filled with people whom I thought at first were there to party. It wasn’t until the second day of passing these places that I saw the glum faces of commuters and realized that the structure was for.
It helps that about that time I also saw one of the buses. These are not Greyhounds. These are not tour buses. They are barely a step up from school buses. And they travel the countryside like Madison Metro travels city streets. You aren’t supposed to go around them, according to a sign on the back, but that never seemed to stop anyone.
Other things about the highways that will slow you down is that they are narrow, the shoulders tend to be crumbly, and there is often no center line. Some of the bridges are a single lane wide so that you have to take turns crossing with oncoming traffic. You’re more likely to find four lanes in a city like Belize City than the countryside, and they are choked with traffic that includes everything from sports cars to bicycles with bicycles taking the lion’s share.
Oh yeah, and sometimes the highways are made of dirt.
Although we never saw any accidents, I kept expecting to end up in one. On the highway out of Belize City we saw a billboard warning people to obey traffic laws and to slow down. A burned out wreck was mounted above it.
Along said highways you can find a lot of greenery. Orange groves meld into hill sides full of jungle. Banana orchards and teak plantations alternate with palm trees and tall grass. And people. People sitting, people standing around, talking, laughing, I even saw one woman nursing her baby as she walked along the highway. Yes, both at the same time.
Too bad my camera turned everything into a speed blur, even at 40 kilometers per hour.
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Alice
Mr. Al continues his take on English history with a look at one of Henry VIII’s wives.
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About Anne Boleyn. Although they ended up rivals, to put it mildly, Anne and Katherine were close friends for years. Anne entered Katherine’s service as a lady in waiting after serving for eight years with Queen Claude, (yes, that was her name.) of France. It was while in Claude’s service that Anne got her first lesson in the realities of a young lady at court. Claude’s hubby, Francis the I, held what was widely regarded as the most licentious court in Europe. No woman, married or unmarried was safe. Anne kept herself safe by sticking close to the Queen; Who, for some odd reason, preferred to spend as much time as possible away from the court at her own chateau in the Loire valley.
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Anne’s older sister, Mary, who had entered the queen’s service at the same time, was not so discreet. She soon had a reputation as a floozy and a party girl. Not exactly a scarlet letter in that time or place, but it wasn’t something she was telling their parents about either. Anne was in her early teens at this point, studying all the things a young lady would need to know to hold onto a good husband. She needn’t bother finding one; the queen would do that for her. That was the whole of point serving the queen if you were a young girl of good family. It was during this period that Anne made two discoveries that would have a profound effect on her future. First, floozies and party girls aren’t taken seriously by anyone. They get their hearts broken on a regular basis and more often than not, find themselves unmarried and pregnant. This didn’t happen to Mary, at least, not the pregnant part. But it happened to enough girls within Anne and Mary’s circle that the lesson was learned without having to learn it the hard way.
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The second thing was that she had “It”. What was “It?” She didn’t know, but she had it and it drove men crazy with desire. Anne was not conventionally beautiful. Even her most ardent admirers admitted that she was nothing special in the looks department. Short, with dark brown wavy hair, she had small breasts when large were the thing. What was described as a “swarthy” complexion when pale, alabaster skin was the height of fashion. Her eyes were dark to the point of being black. But for all that, Anne Boleyn had the kind of personality that can only be described as “magnetic” What Anne wore, other women copied. She moved with a poise and grace that caused heads, especially male heads, to turn. Anne was a trendsetter in a court that worshipped fashion and she knew it. But for all the male attention that was thrown her way, she was having none of it. Her virginity was a very hot commodity the value of which she was under no illusions about. With her sister’s example before her, Anne was determined not to make the same mistakes. She didn’t.
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Aside from “It”, Anne was also very intelligent and had the political instincts of a veteran Chicago ward boss. Who wielded power within the court, real power, not just who held what office was a matter of interest to her. She paid attention to who was in, who was out. She remembered who her friends were, and made sure they were taken care of. She remembered to take care of her enemies too. For all her good points, Anne could be a dangerously vindictive woman. If you made Anne’s shit list, you were in serious trouble. After returning to England, Anne’s Dad, Sir Thomas Boleyn secured positions for Anne and Mary with Katherine. By all indications, Anne and Katherine got on quite well with one another. Of course, Henry had not yet begun his pursuit of Anne, so there was no reason why they should not. Henry had, however, begun his pursuit of Mary. It was a short, but no doubt vigorous chase and the relationship, such as it was, lasted about a year and a half. If Sir Thomas had any qualms about using his eldest daughter’s promiscuity to advance himself and his friends, he never let on. Advance himself he did! If he had any worries about the marriageability of ex-royal mistresses, as Mary was bound to become, he never let on to that either.
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In due course, Henry got bored, dumped Mary and began mistress shopping again. Mary returned to the queen’s service. Katherine’s attitude seemed to be “He’s the King. I don’t like it, but that’s what Kings do.” She didn’t hold it against Mary. When Henry took an interest in Mary’s kid sister, that didn’t seem to bother her either. Anne would become another notch on Henry’s bedpost. She’d get dumped, have a good cry about it, then pull herself together and get on with her life. Katherine would be there for her and do her best to see that she got a good husband. No hard feelings. It didn’t quite turn out that way. Katherine knew that Anne was several cuts above the other women at court, but she apparently had no idea how ruthlessly ambitious she was.
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It came as a profound shock to Katherine when she found out Anne was gunning for her position. But that was nothing compared to the shock she experienced when she found out that Henry wanted Anne to have the job as well. Katherine was far from helpless. Though not as resourceful as Anne, she had a couple of things going for her. One, she held the moral high ground. She was the rightful Queen of England. Henry and the Boleyn faction could tie themselves in knots trying to prove otherwise, but Katherine knew she was Henry’s lawful wife and legitimate queen. The pressure brought to bear on her was intense. Not just Henry, but also Cardinal Wolsey and ultimately, the Pope himself asked her to cave. She wouldn’t do it. She had guts. More courage than most of the men that infested the court.
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She also had the people on her side. Katherine was very popular with the rank and file. No small consideration in a country where revolts by the “lesser sorts” were far too common to suit the land barons. When it finally sank into Henry’s head that what he was doing was VERY unpopular, he was shocked! How the hell did all those people find out about his goings-on?
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A London fishmonger knew as much about his private life as did his closest advisers! He actually tried to outlaw rumor spreading. Yeah, right! If the people were displeased with their bedhopping sovereign, they were beside themselves over his new girlfriend. To say that Anne was hated would be understating the case. Not that Anne cared a whit what the Lumpen Proletariat thought about her. She had her eyes on the prize and she was not going to give up.
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Alas, what she and Henry did not have was Papal dispensation. And dang it all to heck, wouldn’t you know it, Katherine’s cousin, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, Charles the V, had Pope Clement by the short and curlies. If Katherine had a spine of Toledo steel, Clement’s was one long strand of badly overcooked angelhair pasta. The man raised vacillating to an art form. True, as Charles’s prisoner, he had to tread carefully. The only thing that crossing Charles would get Clement would be a choice spot under the marble floor of the Sistine Chapel. Maybe. Unless Charles decided to just toss his sorry ass into the Tiber. You never could tell with a guy like that.
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At the same time that Clement was telling Charles that he had drawn a line in the sand with Henry’s ambassadors over the annulment business, he was telling the same ambassadors that it was A-OK with him if Henry did whatever the hell he felt like doing. Just leave him out of it! Unfortunately, it was part of Clement’s job description that he couldn’t be left out of it. Or so everybody thought. It was enough to drive a man to the sacramental wine.
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If nothing was going right for anyone, there was an extra sense of urgency for Anne. Her reason for being was not just to rock Henry’s world; she needed to give him the son he wanted above all else. Anne was twenty-nine at this point. She was twenty-four when they first got together in 1525. By the standards of the day, she was rapidly approaching middle age. It was not too late, but it would be a close-run thing. If she didn’t get into the marriage and baby making business soon, Henry would, no doubt with deep regret, put her aside and cast about for someone younger. A thought that had already occurred to Henry.
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The loss of the crown wasn’t Anne’s only consideration. Many members of her family had attained high positions within Henry’s government as a result of Anne and Henry playing snugglebunnies. Her family, and families associated with her family, had benefited. They had, especially her father, made powerful enemies along the way. If Henry dropped Anne into the remainder bin, the way he had Mary… It couldn’t happen. She had to succeed! And then, out of the blue, a chance meeting of three men in a lodging house in Essex provided Henry with everything he needed to clear the decks for Anne and he to get married.
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It was in the autumn of 1529. The three men were NOT powerful people in Henry’s government. Two of the men did, indeed, work for Henry. In fact, they were on their way back to London to report that the mission they had been sent on was a complete failure. They were not looking forward to that. The third man was a middle-aged cleric, a resident at Cambridge. He was in Essex to escape the plague that that was then running through that university town. It turned out that these gentlemen had all been classmates together way back when. Henry’s men, Stephen Gardiner and Edward Fox, hadn’t seen the cleric, Thomas Cranmer, in years. They stood Thomas dinner and went on about old times. They also touched on Henry’s problem and kicked it around as a sort of intellectual exercise. They had no way of knowing it at the time, but their conversation in that Essex lodging house would not only give Henry his heart’s desire, but shatter the power of the Catholic Church in England and change the course of European history.
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Mighty Oaks from tiny acorns grow. But that’s another story.
_____
Thank you Mr. Al. You kept me on the edge of my seat again.
Alice
Monotony can be very good for writing. Muses talk louder when they don’t have to be heard over other things.
Alice on FF 4/16/07
I’m not a photographer to begin with. Add to that a handicap from the time delay involved in using a digital camera and a tendency for my snorkel to fill with salt water and you can pretty well bet the best pictures got away from me. Worse, I felt compelled to refrain from taking pictures of people I didn’t know, which means I can’t show you the streets of Belize City as they really ought to be seen – full of people. I took a bunch without people, but I’m not sure what happened to them, as I can’t seem to find them now.
Anyway I thought I’d give you an example of what I’m up against here. This is the beautiful moonlit night as seen in my camera display.
And here is what I get when I use Photoshop to lighten and heighten contrast.
Even with the help of Photoshop all I can say is you should have seen how beautiful it was at that moment.
Alice
I’m going to cheat today, and send you all off to some recipes elsewhere in the Internet that look about right for the sort of food I was eating in Belize.
The Belizian diet seems to be a bit limited. They typically offer fry-jacks and beans and eggs for breakfast along with a juice like mango or watermelon. For lunch and supper it would be beans and rice then either chicken or fish. We also saw a fair amount of letus based salad which none of us were brave enough to eat and potatoes now and then. Even the Chinese restaurant we stopped at featured chicken and seafood. Mind you one of the items on the menu was conch, which they wouldn’t let us order.
What I found interesting was the variety of dishes they could come up with based on that simple selection of Staples. I had a very India tasting curried chicken in the Chateau Caribbean at the beginning of the trip, a Jamaican curried chicken on the Placencia peninsula, and a Chinese version of curried chicken in St. George. At least I think it was St. George. It might have been St. Ignatius. I had a fish pie at the Green Parrot that would amaze you and a barbecued chicken on Songbird Island that was to die for. I ate chicken every day, and didn’t realize it until just now.
The point is that Belizians made do remarkably well with very little.
I haven’t tried out these recipes yet, but the ingredients look about right to fit with what I ate. If you want a taste of Belize, give them a try.
http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,1718,128177-250193,00.html
http://www.reluctantgourmet.com/currych.htm
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http://www.recipehound.com/Recipes/Recipes2/7315.html
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Alice