******RP CURVE Forum The Book Signing

Stirring between silk sheets as dappled light beams danced upon her brow she suddenly realized it was Saturday.

Oh god! What time is it?

Frantically reaching for the clock on the (antique) Chippendale nightstand, willed to her by none other than her late granny NAG, a title hard earned. No need for complaints though. After all, she (the poet wannabe) was the soul beneficiary in the old nag's will and has become rather fond of living a life of lush and greed - or is it LUST and greed?

Enjoying her new role as a socialite, she only mingled with the rich OR famous; something she did rather well these days (even if she did say so herself) and for the record, she said so often and more times than anyone cared to give ear to.

What other means would have afforded her the freedom to write as she does, without having to concern herself with more lowly matters, such as: where the money to pay for her stately high-rise apartment would come from or how she would come by her next exquisite piece of MUST HAVE one of a kind � from where else BUT Tiffanies'

11:30! Why do I constantly do this to myself? I'll soon need to resort to evening rendezvous with Sir Chardonnay, if I'm to keep up this pace. A free-spirited girl like me needs something (better yet, someone) to lull her to sleep at night.

All at once, the flood gates of her imagination opened and�

Mmmm � I wouldn't mind at all if Brandon Cowell were to do me the honors of lulling me to sleep at night - every night - for that matter.

She tingled at the mere thought. Sigh

Not wanting to crawl out of the comfort of her double feather bed, she gave way to her wonderlust for just a few more minutes.Thinking of the book signing she was to attend, where she would finally come face to face with Brandon Cowell (a newly published poet) ignited all the motivation she needed to get her up and going � without further ado � she hastily made her way to the shower.

Damn! This marble is cold! I really need to make time for a trip to Bloomingdales for a bit of retail therapy. I could do with a few throw rugs on this cold bit of slab! What was Charles thinking when he leased me this place?

Charles was granny Nag's (Keeper of all things) so to speak, and it was he who rationed out the funds according to the guidelines stated at the reading of the will.

I've just got to get out from under his iron hand one of these days. Surely, where there's a will there's a way.

As warm beads rolled down her tired flesh, she recited the piece she had struggled to write late into the night � no doubt � the reason she overslept.

Her flower - a lusty mound - pressing hard - against his firmness - she lay beneath him in his bed - toiling on - beauty - untarnished ~ enveloped in his deep cold lap - yet feeling his warm embrace - - knowing that through it all - the sun shall shine - upon her face ~ Beneath terra firma - she is ~ Golden Tickseed

She could hardly wait to submit it to the "write for spring" poetry contest that the "Red Hat Society" is hosting at the "Writers' Block" convention. She simply loves double entendre pieces and well, she thinks this one is worth taking a chance on. This year it was being held at a FIVE STAR hotel - this alone - appealed to her lust for the finer things in life.

Ah, I must remember to grab one of those flyers they have strewn about in the reading lounge at the bookstore.

She passed it almost daily, en-route to the Writers' Caf� down on Fifth & Main and each time - she put it off for another day. Although, she never failed to pause for a gaze at Brandon Cowell's poster hanging in the window.

Time to pretty up and hurry along or I'll never get a seat close enough to beckon the attention of those big brown undress me eyes - of Mr. Brandon Cowell.

(4) The Poet