The band’s song ended as the flag team and majorettes took their seats on the bleachers.
Conrad exhaled. “Please pray that the Glee Club doesn’t perform.”
“Since when do you pray?”
“At the thought of the Glee Club. I’ll take rock and roll any day of the week.” He flashed a rock and roll fist pump and stuck out his tongue like Gene Simmons from the group Kiss.
“Here they come.” Lonnie pointed to the girl’s locker room exit.
The cheerleading squad sprinted into the gym screaming and tumbling. “Go Spartans!” Three male cheerleaders and the team’s Spartan mascot dashed from the boy’s locker room. Several cheerleaders performed backflips until they lined up in formation across center court. The mascot strutted his way in front of the bleachers as his red cape flowed. His fake gold Spartan helmet almost fell off as he grabbed it.
Conrad elbowed Lonnie again and then pointed at the mascot. “I wouldn’t dress like that even if they gave me a million dollars. Oh, wait. I already have a million dollars. I’m a trust fund baby.”
“Now, I know you’re a snob.”
“A rich snob, but what male in their right mind wears a gladiator dress exposing his hairy ass legs? He looks ridiculous.”
“You’re one to talk. Have you noticed we don’t exactly fit in either?”
“It’s not because we can’t. It’s because we don’t want to.”
Conrad raised a rocker-fist pump. “Rock on!”
Lonnie smiled and waved at Jamie Seamore, a seventeen-year-old senior with long curly brunette hair, green eyes, who held the position of head cheerleader. She stopped at center court several feet in front of the squad.
Jamie took her position as she quickly glanced at the other squad members. “Ready? Okay!”
The squad performed a cheer that included Jamie as the flyer at the end of the stunt. She flipped off backward landing in the male cheerleader’s arms.
Lonnie never took his eyes off Jamie as the squad cheered their way to a dance formation.
“Is she still pressuring you about going to the homecoming dance tonight?”
“I’ve got it handled.”
“I’m just saying, if you give in now, you’ll always have to give in. Set your precedents early in a relationship.”
“This explains a lot. It’s clear why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I don’t want one. I’m waiting for the finer women to come my way. It’s called college women.”
Lonnie cupped his hands over his mouth. “Go, Jamie!”
Conrad elbowed Lonnie again. “Please don’t embarrass yourself. Let’s get out of here.”
As the squad performed their dance routine, Lonnie and Conrad exited the gym.
Jamie’s animated cheerleader demeanor momentarily faded as her eyes followed Lonnie.
***
Angela, self-assured in her stance, stood in front of the floor to ceiling window in the journalist cubicle area. A few feet away, Francis observed as she wrote down every question Houston Meadows, a handsome KWNC male reporter asked of her boss as his camera operator filmed.
“Ms. Whitford, one last question. How do you intend on keeping the magazine’s reputation now that your father has retired?”
Angela bumptiously pursed her lips. “My father would not have put me in this position if I wasn’t ready. I have worked for this magazine since I was sixteen. I started by scrubbing toilets. I delivered the mail. I served as a receptionist. I sold advertisements. I copy edited. I wrote articles. My father made sure I understood every aspect of this company. There isn’t a job at this magazine I haven’t done myself, or willing to do again. Our reputation as the nation’s top woman’s magazine will maintain.” Her eyes glared at the reporter. “Any more questions, Mr. Meadows?”
“That just about does it. It’s a wrap.”
The camera operator switched off his camera.
Houston smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Whitmore. This story should air tonight on the evening news.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He nodded, and then he and the camera operator left.
Angela rolled her eyes. “Francis, that was one of the worst interviews I have ever had. The guy is a complete jerk.”
Monique approached Angela and Francis with a message in her hand. “I hate to tell you I told you so, but I told you so.”
Angela rubbed the back of her neck. “How did you know?”
“I dated him in college. He was a jerk then. He hasn’t changed.”
“That’s not important.”
Monique handed her a message. Angela glanced at it. “Great, simply great. Another appointment canceled.”
Francis smiled. “Look at the bright side, that gives you an opportunity to vet other potential clients.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Behind her, a platform on the outside of the window dropped down with the man in the Blue Bayou cleaning uniform whom Angela collided into on her way to work. He smiled and waved at everyone. He grabbed his squeegee and began to clean the windows.
Several of the female journalists stood as they stared googled-eyed at the window washer.
Angela’s brows furrowed. “What is everyone staring at?”
Monique grinned and pointed toward the window washer. “Him.”
Angela turned around; her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Francis swallowed and sighed. “I love the way he washes windows.”
Monique nodded. “He can wash my windows anytime.”
“I agree with you, Monique.” Francis waved at the window washer again. “I wish he could come right through that window and get closer to me. I want to smell him.”
One of the ropes, which held the platform, loosened dropping the platform a couple of inches.
Monique’s heart raced. “Oh, my God!”
Everyone in the room now focused on the window washer. The ropes loosened again jolting him.
“He’s going to die. We have to save him.” Monique’s eyes widened with fear.
Angela’s clenched her jaw.
The window washer knocked on the window and yelled, but they couldn’t hear him. He tapped on the window again as the platform swayed. “Open the window! Let me in. Please, help me. Help.” Only his mouth moved as the glass prevented anyone from hearing him.
Angela took a deep breath. “He’s asking for our help. We have to get him inside before that thingamajig drops. Somebody, call for help!” She tried to open the window, but it didn’t budge.
Monique frantically dialed nine, one, one.
Francis bolted to the far side of the room toward the fire safety alarm system. She pulled it. The fire alarm sounded.
Angela threw her hands into the air. “Why in the hell did you do that? He’s not on fire. We have to get him in here before he falls.” She continued to try to open the window as the window washer’s face turned panic-stricken.
Richard Hastings, an overweight African American male journalist, grabbed a trash can and then ran toward the window. “Move out of my way. Step back; we have to break the window.” He hurled the trash can in missile style formation toward the window. The trash can crashed into it, but bounced off, and knocked the journalist backward hitting his head on the corner of a desk.
Monique bolted toward Richard. “That’s not what I had in mind for men falling at my feet.”
Angela took control. “All right people, Plan B.” She raised the left side of her skirt exposing a black lacy garter belt, a thigh-high black stocking, a leather holster with a semi-automatic gun, and then quickly retrieved it.
A bead of sweat formed across Francis’ upper lip. “So, are you going to shoot him?”
Angela aimed her weapon toward the glass pane.
The platform dropped another couple of inches as the window washer’s eyes widened. He raised hands waving no and almost fell.
The platform jolted a couple more in
ches downward. It jerked and swayed more almost sending the window washer off. He tosseled, but grasped the railing.
Angela waved her hands frantically for the window washer to slide to the left. “Move, I’m going to shoot the glass.”
The window washer obeyed her command as he grasped the platform and kneeled.
“You’re going to kill him.” Monique put her hand over her eyes. “I can’t watch.”
Outside on Canal street, a crowd gathered as they gazed at the platform that dangled and swayed. People bolted from the building chaotically as sirens blared.
Houston and his camera operator immediately acted by broadcasting a live remote in front of the building. “I’m Houston Meadows, and I’m live in front of Benson Towers on Canal Street. Moments ago, a window washer almost fell to his death. Stay with us here at KWNC as this story develops.”
Several fire trucks pulled up and stopped in front of the skyscraper. The firefighters exited their vehicles and bolted into the building.
A news helicopter flew over and maintained its position, and several local news trucks pulled to the side of the skyscraper.
Angela aimed her weapon. Bang! Bang! Bang! The glass cracked. Bang! Bang! The glass shattered.
Angela handed her gun to Francis as Richard, and several of the journalists pushed the rest of the glass away.
Richard hurled the trash can toward the window making an escape path for the window washer.
Angela and Richard pulled the window washer into the office just in the nick of time; the entire platform fell as the people below scattered like ants. Smash!
The window washer landed face down in extreme pain as a pool of blood puddled around his left leg.
Monique’s hands trembled as she returned the gun to Angela. “I don’t like guns. They kill people.”
Eight firefighters and four police officers led by Sergeant Danielson bolted into the area. The Sergeant eyed the gun in Angela’s hand and retrieved his and aimed it at her. “Put down your weapon.”
Angela stepped forward. “Officer.”
“I said, put down your weapon, now!”
Angela dropped the gun. Bang! A bullet ricocheted throughout the area sending everyone to take cover. Monique fell to the floor and rolled as she learned once in high school during a shooting drill.
The police officer approached Angela with caution as several paramedics darted into the room. He kicked the gun to the side, and another officer quickly secured it.
Richard grabbed his chest. “I’m having a heart attack.”
Monique, now under a desk fainted, and the rest remained gobsmacked.
Two paramedics rushed toward Richard and immediately performed CPR. The others dashed toward the window washer as the police officer handcuffed Angela.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
“…But, officer, I shot the window. I didn’t shoot to kill.”
“Tell that to the judge, lady.”
The window washer opened his eyes. The room spun; his vision went in and out of focus. “Excuse me, officer. She saved my life. She’s my guardian angel.”
Francis, grinning, sauntered toward the officer. She flashed a smile and batted her lashes. “Now, officer, that man would be dead if Ms. Whitford didn’t shoot the window.” She glanced at the officer’s name tag on his uniform. “Now, wouldn’t he, Sergeant Danielson?”
“Even if that were true, she discharged a firearm illegally. I’ll have to take her in.”
Angela pursed her lips. “Francis, call my attorney.” This is the worst thing that could have happened during my first week of flying solo.
“I’m on it.” Francis bolted to Angela’s office.
Sergeant Danielson escorted Angela toward the door just as the debonair striking John Legions entered. “Ms. Whitford?” His golden-brown eyes bulged. He swept his fingers through his thick, raven hair.
“This isn’t what it looks like.” My dad is going to kill me.
Contact Dr. Melissa Caudle at [email protected].
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Melissa Caudle debuted her novel “Never Stop Running: A Novel on Reincarnation” as the #1 New Release on Amazon. She is best known for her book “The Keystroke Killer Transcendence,” a psychological thriller that took her to death row to interview serial killers. Her books have received five-starred reviews in Publishers Weekly, Booklist, Goodreads and on Amazon. She also writes non-fiction guidebooks for screenwriters on how to create a one pager, write a logline, write a synopsis and more. She also has a series of adult coloring books called “Abstract Faces.” Her blog, “Dr. Mel’s Message,” has more than 125,500 followers where she writes about myriad interests. She enjoys the city life of New Orleans along with her husband Mike and their two sidekicks, a Tuxedo cat named Meow Mix and an American Gray Shorthair named Simone. She retired from a twenty-year career in education after writing a number one best seller on crisis management that took her worldwide as a keynote speaker to educational conferences and entered the film industry where she experimented with various occupations: production assistant, director’s assistant, travel coordinator, script supervisor, screenwriter, and director. However, she left that field in favor of pursuing her lifelong passion for writing. She does her best writing at her beach condo, on cruise ships, or in her sunny-patio-home office overlooking the paradise pool.
Another side to Dr. Mel is her love for music. At the age of eight, she began taking viola lessons and played in her school’s orchestra. Soon after, she learned the cello and the violin. As an adult, she taught herself to play the piano. Her love for music inspired her to compose songs. She has five albums under the name Mystic Towers and has composed original scores for independent films and dozens of book trailers.
Dr. Mel’s hobbies include drawing, composing music, and collecting marbles, both antique and contemporary. The symbol you see throughout the book she drew. Her original art show above and her marble collection of more than 30,000 are on display at Family Tree Antiques & Treasures in Bay St. Louis, MS. And, yes, this is the antique store that Jackie and Margarette visited in Never Stop Running. You can have that experience too. If you travel to the area, be sure to stop and visit.
In the summer of 2017, Dr. Mel met Liz Ashe Havrilla, author of One Step at a Time. After hearing her story of surviving Hurricane Katrina in 2005, she helped Liz by editing her book and writing the introduction. “It is a special book with power to heal with God’s grace.”
Because of One Step at a Time, Dr. Mel is writing the companion book, The Golden Needle and Thread, a devotional for healing. Both books are based from real-life experiences and show the power of faith and hope. One Step at a time is available on Amazon.com.
Dr. Mel lives in New Orleans, LA with her husband and two cats. She is the mother of three daughters and has seven grandsons and one granddaughter. When she is not writing or drawing, she loves to go to the New Orleans Saints games, ballroom dance, swim, camping and spend time with her family. Her goal is to keep living life to the fullest and cherish every moment.
For more information check out Caudle’s website at www.drmelcaudle.com and subscribe to her blog at www.drmelmessage.com.
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If you are interested in having Dr. Melissa Caudle serve as your editor, contact her at [email protected] or visit www.absoluteauthor.com
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ADULT COLORING BOOKS
BY DR. MELISSA CAUDLE
One of my hobbies, other than writing, is drawing abstract faces in a Picasso kind of way. I put together my favorites in a series of Adult Coloring Books. You can buy them on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and my website: www.drmelcaudle.com, and other online retailers. I also have my art for
sale on my website and at The Family Tree Antiques & Treasures in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.
BOOKS ON FILM AND SCREENWRITING
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