Garage Sale Addict-Part 2

Dear Readers:

Today is Tuesday and for some reason, seems like the best time to share Part 2 of my “Garage Sale Addict” story. (If you haven’t read
“Garage Sale Addict”-Part 1, you may want to.) Now, it’s easy for me to share my crazy, weirdo thoughts, hopes and dreams on my blog. Most of the feedback is positive, although I do receive the occasional “you stink!”. That’s to be expected when you open your life up on the world wide interweb.

What I love most about sharing with you on my blog are the responses that I get; the encouraging emails and real mail (if you can believe it)-you know who you are, Janice.

Today, I have something entirely different to share with you. I am nervous about sharing it. Instead of me being able to use words like “crap” or my made up favorites like “goody-ness”, what I’m about to share will be held to a higher standard. Because it’s part of my hidden soul-my personal writing projects.

Who knows if this will ever go anywhere-but it’s fun to write and to dream. I’d love to hear what you have to say, or maybe I won’t.

Regardless, everyone needs a critic-and with all of you, at least I’ll know if this is crap or goody-ness.

So, hear goes nothing.

*****

Garage Sale Addict (Young Adults)

Story Premise: Recently dumped pet photographer, Rosayln Jones, hosts a garage sale to purge her life from the memory of her extremely wealthy ex-boyfriend. News travels fast in a small town and the mayhem of the day proves to be a temporary distraction from her pain.

Rosalyn hopes to regain the excitement and holds another sale the following week. Selling off her own personal items, she is soon disappointed in the lackluster response.

Rosalyn becomes increasingly addicted to the garage sale “high” and convinces herself to purchase designer items to sell at a loss in hopes of creating new excitement for herself and her customers. However, she soon is under investigation for what the Department of Homeland Security is convinced is some sort of smuggling or counterfeiting ring.

******

Chapter One-Part 2

“So, let me get this straight. This crazy family asked you to come to dinner to tell you their son was breaking up with you?” Bonnie sat cross-legged on the couch, a box of tissues between the two of them.  “Ouch.” She threw an empty bag of cheese puffs on the floor.

“Don’t forget he already had a replacement. A tall, twiggy one.” Rosalyn burst into tears again, licking at her orange fingertips.

“And she had a ring?” Her friend handed her the box of tissues.

Rosalyn nodded, pulling several out of the box at once.

“How big was the diamond?” Bonnie whispered, eyes growing wide.

“Enormous.” Rosalyn fell into Bonnie’s lap, sobbing.

“Well, that would have never suited you anyways. Your fingers are too pretty to be overshadowed by a gigantic ring.” She brushed at Rosalyn’s hair with her hands. “What are you going to do now?”

“Move on. What else can I do?” Rosalyn sat up, sniffing.

“You aren’t going to try and win him back?”

“I started to go after him, after they had abandoned me in the entryway. Even the servant just shook her head and left me there, humiliated.” Rosalyn blew into a tissue. “But then I started to wonder if I loved Kyle, or the idea of Kyle. Or worse, if I just wanted to be married to someone and not be pathetically single.”

“Oh, don’t say that Ros. You’re not pathetic. And if you are, then I am, too.” Bonnie touched her friend’s knee.

“I might have loved him in college, but that was before I knew the real him. I didn’t like the way he treated waitresses at the country club and I hated that he would buy me expensive stuff that I could never use.”

Rosalyn emptied the tissue box and went after another one.

“I mean, seriously, who really needs a crystal porcupine or an ostrich leather handbag the color of pepto? He just bought gifts for me because of the name on it, and not because he thought I would like it.”

“He was a good boyfriend to you, though.” Bonnie’s word sounded hollow.

“You know as well as I do that he ran me through the ringer.” Rosalyn returned to the room and plopped back on the couch, a new tissue box in hand.

The two sat in silence, facing each other on the couch.

“I’m fine with it. I’m glad this happened. I wish he would have had a little more class as to how he dumped me, though.” Rosalyn threw another tissue on the floor with countless others.

“Stand up.” Bonnie rose from the couch.

“Why? I’m too tired to stand.” Rosalyn slumped lower.

“Come on, get up.”

Rosalyn pushed herself off the couch to form the semblance of an upright human.

“Where are your sticky notes?,” her friend asked.

“I don’t know. In the kitchen junk drawer, maybe?” Rosalyn wiped at her nose; while her friend sprinted towards the kitchen.

“Found them!,” Bonnie announced, and returned to the living room. “Now, put one on everything Kyle ever bought for you.”
“That will take forever. I’m too tired.” Rosalyn sat down on the floor.

“Get up. This, my friend, is therapy.” Bonnie smiled down at her.

“Why am I doing this exactly?” She accepted the sticky notes, but didn’t move.

“We’re going to get rid of the memory of Kyle. You said it yourself, it’s a bunch of stuff you don’t need. Why not have a garage sale and pad your bank account a little. You’ve got some nice stuff you could sell.” Bonnie started with the crystal porcupine-piercing the sticky note through its quills.

“If I agree to this, you have to help me every step of the way. No finking out at six in the morning when it’s time for the garage sale.” Rosalyn slapped a sticky note on a pair of candlesticks.

“Who said anything about 6 am?” Bonnie eyed her friend.

“I’ve learned that’s when the real buyers are out. If I’m going to do this, I want to get rid of it all. I don’t want to go through all of this, only to have leftovers at the end of the day. It’s 6 am or nothing.”

“Six it is.” Bonnie whimpered.

Her best friend turned up the stereo, changing the station from the Dr. Laura show to their local rock station. Several hours later and after rummaging through closets, under beds and in the attic, sticky notes pervaded the entire house. A bright pink square had been attached to artwork, televisions, purses, jewelry, knick-knacks and shoes.

“Kyle really knew how to shop.” Bonnie put a sticky note on another pair of silver candlesticks, marking them at thirty dollars.

“He sure did. And I am sure Twig will appreciate it.”

Rosalyn removed a signed Beatle’s album from the bookshelf that her father had given her long before he died.

“See, this is what I like, Bonnie. Stuff with meaning, stuff with a history. Not this.” Rosalyn put the record back and held up a purple and blue vase that stood two feet high.

“But that’s a Marc Tiere.” Bonnie playfully flipped her hair to one side, prancing on her tiptoes.

“Who cares? It’s now worth approximately fifty dollars to me.”

“That’s at least worth two or three hundred bucks. Rosalyn, you can’t price stuff so low.”

“I want Kyle out of my life. I don’t want to haggle with anyone, I just want everything gone.”

“If that’s what you want, then I’m going to advertise it online. We can get a lot of good buyers in here who will take everything in an hour, and then I can go back to bed.” Bonnie pulled Rosalyn’s laptop onto the couch, perching in front of it. “Where’s your camera?”

“I’ll get it. What should I take pictures of first?” Rosalyn pulled her camera bag from the closet.

“Anything that has a designer label.” Bonnie typed out a small description of several items, adding pictures and directions to Rosalyn’s house.

“Looks good.” Rosalyn peered over her friend’s shoulder, reading through the ad.

“Now, what Saturday do you want to do this?” Bonnie groaned dramatically as she typed out the agreed upon 6 a.m. start time, leaving a space for the date.

“Do you think tomorrow is too soon?”

“It’s a Saturday, isn’t it? Let’s do it and get it over with.” Bonnie finished the listing and hit enter.

“We’d better get to bed. Six comes awfully early for me. I’ll be over here at five thirty. Make sure you have a pot of coffee going.” Bonnie turned the laptop off and stretched. Rosalyn hugged her tired friend and walked her to the door.

“I’ll do better than that. Coffee and doughnuts.”

Bonnie’s sagging eyebrows lifted.

“And Bonnie, thank you so much.” Rosalyn hugged her again.

“Don’t mention it.” Her friend yawned, waving goodbye as she headed to her car.

Rosalyn shut the door and immediately set her alarm for five the next morning. She would hightail it to the doughnut shop and make it back before the coffee would be done brewing. She might even have a few spare minutes to brush her teeth and run a comb through her hair. Flopping into bed exhausted, she pulled the covers to her chin and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two, Part 1

Rosalyn couldn’t make sense why there had even been a noise at all. She strained to see the red numbers on the alarm clock.

“4:13? What in the world?” She mumbled and slid out of bed.

She grabbed her robe from the closet and shuffled towards the noise. Rosalyn squinted through the peephole in the front door. A man and a woman, armed with flashlights, whispered back and forth to each other on the other side of the door.

“Fred, it’s too early. The ad said 6 am.”

“We gotta beat everyone else.” ‘Fred’ knocked again.

Rosalyn opened the front door and yawned.

“We’re here for the garage sale.” The man turned off his flashlight after momentarily blinding himself and his wife.

“It doesn’t start until six. Come back then.” Rosalyn went to shut the door.

“Can we just have a look around real quick?” He smiled, craning to look inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m not even dressed. Why don’t you come back at six?” She tried shutting the door; ‘Fred’ put the flashlight between it and the door frame.

“Oh, we don’t mind if you’re not dressed. Where’d you get all that nice stuff? Did you steal it?” Fred looked at his wife. The two giggled at each other.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but the sale starts at six and I need more sleep.” Rosalyn moved the flashlight out of her way with a bit of persistence and then locked the door.

Crazy people.

Dragging her body back to bed, she pulled the covers to her chin and closed her eyes.

Garage Sale Addict-A Story, Part 1

Dear Readers:

It’s easy for me to share my thoughts, hopes and dreams with all of you here on my blog. Although most feedback is positive, I do receive the occasional reprimand. That’s to be expected when you open your life up for the world to see, read about and judge.

What I love most are the responses that I get; the encouraging emails and real mail (if you can believe it) and the occasional “I hear you, Sister!”.

Today, I have something entirely different to share with you. I am nervous about sharing it. Instead of me being able to use words like “crap” or my made up favorites like “goody-ness”, what I’m about to share will be held to a higher standard. Because it’s part of my hidden soul-my personal writing projects.

Who knows if this will ever go anywhere-but it’s fun to write and to dream. I’m going to share the first section of the first chapter of a book I’ve been writing called “Garage Sale Addict”. I’d love to hear what you have to say, or maybe I won’t.

Regardless, everyone needs a critic-and with all of you, at least I’ll know if this is crap or goody-ness.

So, hear goes nothing.

*****

Garage Sale Addict (Young Adults)

Story Premise: Recently dumped pet photographer, Rosayln Jones, hosts a garage sale to purge her life from the memory of her extremely wealthy ex-boyfriend. News travels fast in a small town and the mayhem of the day proves to be a temporary distraction from her pain.

Rosalyn hopes to regain the excitement and holds another sale the following week. Selling off her own personal items, she is soon disappointed in the lackluster response.

Rosalyn becomes increasingly addicted to the garage sale “high” and convinces herself to purchase designer items to sell at a loss in hopes of creating new excitement for herself and her customers. However, she soon is under investigation for what the Department of Homeland Security is convinced is some sort of smuggling or counterfeiting ring.

Chapter One

“He asked me to meet him at his parent’s house. For dinner,” Rosalyn pinned her cell phone between her ear and shoulder, speeding towards her home.

“What do you think that means?”, asked her best friend, Bonnie.

“The only thing I can think of is a proposal.” Rosalyn said and then grinned.

“After seven years? I would hope so. What are you going to wear?”

“My black dress with heels. Perfect for a life-altering occasion. Plus, it’s clean.” Rosalyn pulled into the driveway and threw the car in park.

“Call me when you get home tonight and tell me every single detail. I’m glad someone knocked some sense into Kyle, finally.” Bonnie giggled.

“Amen to that. I’ll call you tonight.” Rosalyn dumped her phone into her purse and checked her watch.

Fifteen minutes notice. Typical for Kyle.

She threw her keys and purse on the counter, rushing to her room to get dressed. One of her shoes landed near the doorway to her room, the other at the threshold of her closet. Her skirt and earrings found a home somewhere in between.

Rosalyn parted the hangers in her closet and shouted, “Black dress, come forth!”.

After slipping on her dress and shoes, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Makeup had long since melted from the day’s heat, leaving a rock star smudge around her blue eyes. She tried her best clean up the lines around her lashes using a q-tip.

“Oh well, they know what I look like.” She murmured, deciding against a ponytail and letting her curly hair fall around her shoulders again.

Checking her watch, she sprinted for the car. Rosalyn triple-checked her teeth for lip-gloss in the rearview mirror.

“Mrs. Kyle Fitzhugh, the Third.” She said aloud, but frowned.

“Am I ‘The Third’ as well, or is it only Kyle that gets to say that?” She muttered, dialing Bonnie halfway through her trip.

“Hey, what do I call myself?” Rosalyn spit out in the middle of Bonnie’s ‘Hello’.

“You mean besides crazy?”

“Funny. Kyle is the third ‘Kyle’ in his family. Do I call myself ‘Mrs. Kyle Fitzhugh, The Third’ or leave off ‘The Third’?”

“I have no idea what you should be called. How about just being Rosalyn Fitzhugh? It’s not 1953, you know.” Bonnie said.

“That’s not an option in the Fitzhugh family, you know that.” Rosalyn sighed.

“You can always break tradition.”

Rosalyn turned into the Fitzhugh drive and entered a code into the keypad.

“Thanks, Bonnie. I gotta go, I’m here.” An iron gate with a scripted ‘F’ slowly whined open.

“Good luck!” Bonnie said.

Rosalyn parked her tan Honda Civic in the circular drive, behind a silver Jaguar. Next to the silver Jaguar sat two identical black Mercedes with a red BMW in front of the entire pack.

“Don’t be intimidated, Molly.” Rosalyn kissed her lips, transferring her affection to ‘Molly’s’ steering wheel.

She inhaled several deep breaths, forcing her heart to slow and glanced at the hands that would soon wear a diamond ring. She regretted not taking better care of her nails-although her ‘clients’ didn’t care if she had a French manicure or not.

Rosalyn pressed the brass doorbell several times, staring at the wooden door, twice the size of her own front door.

She heard laughter seeping from within the mansion. The sound stopped abruptly and clacking footsteps approached her.

Mrs. Fitzhugh swung open the door, revealing the rest of the family standing just behind her.

“Come in, Rosalyn.” She said, an unprecedented smile finding her face.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fitzhugh.” Rosalyn stumbled over the threshold, immediately her face felt hot.

There was Kyle-flanked by his three brothers, his sister and their respective mates. Mrs. Fitzhugh wrapped a limp hand over her husband’s arm, who cleared his throat, nodded first towards Kyle and then to Rosalyn.

She steadied herself. The big moment had come-and with no fanfare, no dinner, no hiding the ring in the champagne. It would happen right here, in front of the entire family. The family that had never really liked her.

Kyle glanced at a woman standing next to him, causing Rosalyn’s eyes to follow. A woman stood not just next to him, but precariously close to him. In fact, the woman held onto Kyle’s arm, much as Mrs. Fitzhugh did with Mr. Fitzhugh.

How had she overlooked the non-Fitzhugh?

“Kyle, go ahead.” The pearl-wearing, Kyle-touching, woman spoke.

“Well, Rosalyn…” He looked straight at her and used her full name.

“Yes, Kyle?” Rosalyn smiled, staring back.

“This is Gwennie, I mean, Gwendolyn Simmons.” Kyle patted the small hand that had been resting on his arm.

Rosalyn flinched, turning her eyes from his face to the woman he referred to.

“Nice to meet you, Gwennie.” Rosalyn stuck her hand out, but the woman didn’t budge.

“Gwendolyn.” The twiggy woman corrected her.

“Right.” Rosalyn smiled her snapshot smile at the Twig and retracted her unmet hand.

“Gwendolyn’s father owns Heritage, Incorporated. It’s a large real estate investment company.” Kyle spoke as if addressing a grade-schooler; not his long-term girlfriend.

“Good for you, Gwennie.” Rosalyn nodded in the Twig’s direction.

“Gwendolyn.” The Twig grumbled.

“They own real estate here, in California, overseas…” Kyle’s voice tapered off.

“…And in many other places.” The Twig spoke again, this time finishing Kyle’s sentence.

“Great.” Rosalyn said. Who cares? The foyer was getting smaller by the moment.

“I have spent a lot of time helping her and her father’s company buy real estate. And we have found that she and I have a lot in common during that process.” Kyle paused and peeked at Twig. The thin woman smiled politely back at him.

Rosalyn felt for the handle on the front door to hold her up.

“I wanted you to be the first to know, since you and I have such a history together, that she is…well…” He laughed that nervous little laugh.

Twig cut in, finishing his sentence-again.

“…that I have accepted his proposal. I am going to be his wife-Mrs. Kyle Fitzhugh, The Third.” Twig beamed, as did the rest of the family. She held out her fingers to show off an enormous diamond.

“What?” Rosalyn’s mouth hung open.

“Gwendolyn has accepted his proposal and is going to be his wife, dear.” Mrs. Fitzhugh oozed every ounce of sarcasm she possessed into the word ‘dear’.

“I heard that, but what? Why am I here?” Rosalyn’s heart had refused to beat for several seconds.

“We thought it would be better for you to hear it from the whole family, knowing your history with our Kyle.” Twig sunk her arm around Kyle’s back, pulling him towards her.

“My history? Your Kyle? We’re dating-have dated for seven years. We aren’t just friends, you know.” Rosalyn’s neck felt warm and prickly.

“We all knew you and he weren’t going to go anywhere. Now, don’t be crass and congratulate the new couple.” Mrs. Fitzhugh pushed Rosalyn towards Kyle and Twig.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t going anywhere. I had every right to think it was going somewhere.” Rosalyn clutched at her purse.

“Don’t you think he would have committed to you by now if he were serious, Ros?” Twig used a nickname she had no clearance to use.

Rosalyn looked to Kyle, but he watched his shoes, aligning them on the edge of the marble floor where it changed from white to black.

“Kyle, can we talk about this in private?” Rosalyn’s mind flashed through the years with Kyle; the first day they met on campus, their first date, their first kiss. “Rosalyn, there’s nothing to really talk about. Your little ‘whatever it was’ with Kyle is finished. He needs someone serious. You can go home now.” Mrs. Fitzhugh moved behind Rosalyn, pulling open the front door.

Rosalyn stuck a foot behind her, stopping the door from opening.

“Kyle, do you have anything to say to me?” She hated that her voice squeaked.

“Ros, these seven years with you have been fun. But you didn’t think we’d get married? We met in college and now you live one way and I live another.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

She loved it when he did that.

“But that’s what makes us great. We compliment each other, balance each other out.” Rosalyn hated that he wouldn’t look at her.

“You didn’t think we’d really work together as a real couple, did you?” He whispered.

“Of course I thought we’d work. Why else would I put up with your family and stick this out for so long if I didn’t think we’d work?” Rosalyn could feel her knees buckling.

The family exchanged sympathetic glances with each other.

“Why did you even invite me here tonight?” Rosalyn whispered, her eyelids growing hot.

“I thought it would be best for you to see that the whole family is behind Gwennie and I.” Kyle stepped forward and touched Rosalyn on the shoulder.

She flinched away from his touch, and a tear cascaded over her eyelashes.

“When did this happen? I just don’t understand.” Rosalyn wiped at her cheek.

“It’s for the best.” He patted her shoulder.

“Now, if you don’t mind, Rosalyn, we have a dinner that’s getting cold. I am sure you can find your way out.” Mrs. Fitzhugh turned her back to Rosalyn, swooped her arms to gather her brood, including The Twig, and ushered them towards the dining room.

Not one of them looked back. Not even Kyle.

A stunned Rosalyn mechanically counted the echoing footsteps, while staring at the floor in front of her. She willed herself to chase after the man she had spent seven years investing into, but her feet refused to move.

“Kyle-come back.” She whispered into the large entryway.

She opened her mouth to yell for Kyle again, but stopped and dropped her head.

Leaving the Fitzhugh estate for the very last time, her hands shook as she dialed Bonnie.

“Hey, that was quick!” Bonnie screamed in the phone.

“Settle down, Bonnie.” She muttered, opening the car door.

“So, is there a ring?” Her best friend sang out.

“Yes, but not on my finger.” Rosalyn glared at her bare hand.

Pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you meet me at my house in fifteen?” Rosalyn sniffled.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to come pick you up?” Bonnie could turn maternal in seconds.

“No. Just come over to my house, please. As soon as you can.” She hung up without saying goodbye, something she never did. The tears just wouldn’t stop.

Well played, God. Well played.

I’ve been praying for rain for weeks. Correction-for months. We’ve been in the worst drought Oklahoma has seen since the dust bowl. My crispy garden limps along with wilted leaves during the day, only popping to life at night or in the cool of morning.

This Saturday, I planned a garage sale without regards to the weather. I’ve taken for granted the blue sky, the shining sun, the brown pokey grass and my sweaty pits. So, I set up for the sale, advertised, priced, organized and didn’t look back.

 

That’s when God answered my prayers. At the exact moment that I didn’t want them answered.

He didn’t consider my garage sale when he planned his weather. He didn’t consider that I had been praying for rain for weeks and didn’t answer me. And after all, I just didn’t want it to rain for this one Saturday. He didn’t consider me whining as the first drops fell and he didn’t stop the rain when I begged him to do so.

He just let loose and let the rain fall. All over me and my garage sale, all over my huge stack of Dwell magazines, my perfectly organized display of clothing, my pink gigantic cardboard flowers, my carefully priced tools and my fancy picnic basket.

God didn’t do what I wanted. I closed up shop after complaining quite a bit to Biceps and to my friends that stopped by. I grumbled as I pulled out the whole wheat flour and buttermilk to make pancakes for all of us. I whined as we sat down to our impromptu breakfast.

We bowed our heads as Biceps prayed, thanking God for the blessing of the rain, for the break in the garage sale action which provided the opportunity to spend time with some of our closest friends and for the financial blessing we had already experienced that morning.

Ouch. God did what he wanted to do in his timing, not in my timing.

Well played, God. Well played.

Love (and my Living Room) is a Battlefield

Tomorrow is the big day. The Garage Sale day. I’m not only looking to make a few extra bucks, I love purging my home of all things unnecessary. (I told you earlier how pickles were not even off limits.)

Here’s part of my craigslist ad and I had fun with it, so there, stick-in-muds!:

Easy to find due to my awesome signage-in between Harvard and Yale, north of 15th turn onto Richmond and there you’ll find my Large, organized garage sale with prices clearly marked and everything displayed for your easy viewing pleasure. No awkward, “How much is this?”, no digging, no cockroaches, no cobwebs. Just a clean, simple sale for a girl trying to make ends meet. Even if you don’t want to buy something, but for once want a pleasurable garage sale experience, come on by.

I’d love to see you there! If you don’t come, well, then I’ll miss you. (Email if you have questions, but try to weed out the stupid ones.)

I’ve already had two stupid questions. I thought I distinctly said, “no stupid ones”. Hm….

However, the organized side of me is freaking out a little. This is my living room.

MY living room. It looks like the remnants of a house raid gone awry. And yes, those are gigantic cardboard flowers.

There is a merchandise setup in the middle of the room with hundreds of clothing items hanging from it. Maxwell has spent his time removing each one from the hanger when I’m not looking. He’s been “spanked” several times, however, this does not deter.

Boxes are piled on top of boxes and the cats have had a hey-day climbing through, around and into anything they can get their little furry paws on. I found Bianca cuddled in between a pair of shoes in all of her furry glory. Lint rollers have been a necessity.

I cannot wait for my home to return to normal, to clean up the “battlefield”, so to speak. And to earn an extra few greenbacks. And maybe a treat for all my hard work (hint, hint Biceps…).

Wish me luck!