Rustler’s Rooste
Rustler’s Rooste is in Tempe. With a magnificent view of Phoenix, a slide down to the dining room, a bullpen outside, and rattlesnake appetizer, it has all the local charm and ambience a first-time visitor to Phoenix might desire.
Salt River Wild Horses
There are wild horses living in the Arizona wilderness near the Salt River. Many people enjoy watching the horses and have given them names; photographers often take stunning pictures of the herds. The Forest Service planned to round them up for auction in 2015, claiming they were a nuisance to crops and farmers. Although wild horses are protected by federal law from harassment, these particular horses, descended from escaped domestic horses, don’t technically qualify as “wild,” and therefore are not covered by the federal law.
Such a fierce public outcry arose over this roundup that the Forest Service temporarily suspended the plan. In 2016, Governor Doug Ducey signed into effect a local law protecting the horses from public harassment. However, because the horses often roam onto federal land, they will not be protected there by the state law, and their future is still in jeopardy.
Scorpion Lollipops
Scorpion lollipops are a great hit with Arizona tourists. They are 100% edible, and come in various flavors like banana and cherry. They’re manufactured by a company in California called HOTLIX. The secret to making the scorpions safe to eat is baking them, which apparently denatures the poison, but the sharp tip of the tail is removed so it won’t pierce someone’s mouth.
Desert Wildlife
You can go on desert wildlife tours and see scorpions, tarantulas, bats, owls, and other creatures. Other Arizona wildlife that you won’t see quite as often—but you might—include Gila monsters, multiple species of rattlesnake, bobcats, coyotes, and javelinas. The closer you live to foothills, mountains, or desert, the greater chance you have at seeing critters, but even in the heart of the city you’ll often find scorpions.
Exhibits at the Phoenix Art Museum
The Phoenix Art Museum has a gallery dedicated to Philip C. Curtis, an American surrealist. It also has a fantastic installation by Yayoi Kusama called You Who Are Getting Obliterated in the Dancing Swarm of Fireflies (2005). It was inspired by a Japanese fairy tale about a person in a field with ten thousand fireflies. It’s one of the museum’s most popular works.
“Thirty-Six Questions”
The “Thirty-Six Questions” study is real. Published by Arthur Aron et al. in the 1990s, it’s entitled The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings. In this study, they were not seeking to get people to fall in love, but rather, attempting to understand the mechanisms by which closeness is fostered, and whether eye contact and discussion of a set of increasingly personal questions could do so.
Synchronized Heartbeats
Studies about lovers’ hearts beating at the same rate are fascinating. A 2012 study by Jonathan L. Helm, David Sbarra, and Emilio Ferrer called Assessing cross-partner associations in physiological responses via coupled oscillator models is the one mentioned in my novel.
Ballamas
There is a vendor on Etsy who sells cute little pins called ballamas, which are a combination of a llama and a banana, and are absolutely adorable. Search on Etsy for the name InnaboxDesign.
Malcolm Gladwell
Malcolm Gladwell is a journalist, author, and speaker who writes for the New Yorker and has published several bestsellers in nonfiction/psychology. In his book Blink, he discusses the concept of “thin-slicing,” positing that in some cases, quick judgements can be more accurate than those that took much time and research. In cases where thin-slicing is used successfully, a person can get an accurate assessment of a situation or individual from a surprisingly short amount of time spent in examination. It’s not a substitute for logical analysis, nor should it be used for endeavors that require data. However, he explores how a person’s gut reaction, or gut feeling to something, can often be trustworthy and correct; when a person overrides that initial gut feeling with later explanations, it can often mask something that should have been further explored.
One of his most interesting examples involves an extremely famous sculpture that turned out to be a fake. Some people who first viewed it, art historians and experts, said they got a bad or weird feeling, just a fleeting sense, when they first saw it. Later on, they tried to rationalize that feeling and convinced themselves that the thing must be real, because of all the proof. However, if they had trusted that gut instinct and insisted on doing more questioning and testing, they would have realized that their brain was right. Something about that sculpture was “off,” and that first flash of insight, something that came faster than any logical processing, tapped into information in their brain that was not subconsciously evident.
In cases like this, where you automatically make an assessment about the trustworthiness of a person or situation, a flash of gut feeling can often be more useful than is given credit. He doesn’t say that a person should always trust their first instinct, but that you should pay attention to it and investigate if you feel the necessity.
REFERENCES
Jonathan L. Helm, David Sbarra, Emilio Ferrer. Assessing cross-partner associations in physiological responses via coupled oscillator models. Emotion, 2012.
Emilio Ferrer, Jonathan L. Helm. Dynamical systems modeling of physiological coregulation in dyadic interactions. International Journal of Psychophysiology, 2012.
A Aron, E Melinat, EN Aron, RD Vallone, RJ Bator. The experimental generation of interpersonal closeness: A procedure and some preliminary findings. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin 23 (4), 363-377. 1997.
Chadwick, Whitney, Susan Ehrlich, Harry Rand, David. S. Rubin and Dickran Tashjian. American Dreamer: The Art of Philip C. Curtis. Forward by James K. Ballinger. New York: Hudson Hills Press, in association with the Phoenix Art Museum. 1999.
Cebra, Chris et al. Llama and Alpaca Care—E-book: Medicine, Surgery, Reproduction, Nutrition, and Herd Health. Elsevier Health Sciences. 2014.
Gladwell, Malcolm. Blink: The Power of Thinking without Thinking. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 2005.
Botz-Bornstein, Thorsten. Wabi and Kitsch: Two Japanese Paradigms. Canadian Aesthetics Journal, Volume 15. 2008. From http://www.uqtr.uquebec.ca/AE/Vol_15/Authenticity/Authenticity_Bornstein.htm.
Hiroshi Nittono, Michiko Fukushima, Akihiro Yano, Hiroki Moriya. The Power of Kawaii: Viewing Cute Images Promotes a Careful Behavior and Narrows Attentional Focus. PLOS. September 26, 2012.
Ratner, Paul. Why Do Japanese People Love Cuteness? Learn the Science of “Kawaii.” Big Think. bigthink.com
Fireflies. Phoenix Art Museum. Retrieved 2017. From http://www.phxart.org/fireflies.
Vaughn, Jason. Everything You Wanted To Know About Scorpion Candy. Bon Appetit. November 19, 2014.
Stuart, Elizabeth. Arizona Governor Signs Bill Protecting Salt River Wild Horses. Phoenix New Times. May 12, 2016.
In the News: Harassment of Wild Horses. Salt River Wild Horse Management Group. Retrieved June 2017.
Williams, Florence. Why Are Fractals So Soothing? The Atlantic. www.theatlantic.com. January 26, 2017.
Carroll, Sean B. Whatever Doesn’t Kill Some Animals Can Make Them Deadly. New York Times. Dec 21, 2009. From http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/22/science/22creature.html
Buerk, Roland. Fugu: The Fish More Poisonous Than Cyanide. BBC News, Tokyo. May 18, 2012. From http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-18065372, retrieved June 2017.
Meyjes, Toby. Plane Plummets 3,000ft In Turbulence So Severe That Toilet Ripped From Wall. August 16, 2016. Metro.co.uk.
How Far Do Planes Fall During Turbulence—And Where In The World Is It Most Common? The Telegraph at www.telegraph.co.uk. Telegraph Travel. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/travel-truths/turbulence-explained-is-it-dangerous/. Retrieved June 2017.
A HANDFUL OF FIRE
A taboo relationship... steamy passion... and secrets that c
an ruin everything.
Single father Gabriel Baystock is rich and powerful, educated and handsome—and helpless when it comes to ensuring his son Michael recovers fully from a childhood cancer. He’ll do anything, even hire award-winning child therapist Shai Bonaventura.
Shai is drawn to brooding, sexy Gabriel, and while she falls in love with the little boy she’s hired to help, she loses her heart to his father. Their powerful chemistry is off the charts hot, and Shai thinks he might be the one to help heal her own demons, even if it means crossing professional boundaries.
But when old secrets from Shai’s past are revealed, it’s not clear if their fragile relationship can survive the harsh reality of the real world… or whether they have the courage to fight for what they really need?
A Handful of Fire is a full-length stand-alone romance (about 80K words) with an HEA. It's a contemporary love story with a high heat level and gorgeous, poetic prose.
SHAI
Even from across the room, I can see that his eyes are the color of emeralds glowing in the dark. If I thought his lean body was dangerous, if watching his muscles moving under the expensive suit made me catch my breath, the glimpse of his face only increases my attraction. He’s far more attractive in person than even his best pictures on the internet. I find it hard to believe that this is the father of my newest patient—assuming he hires me, of course; Allison explained how he thinks therapy is usually a “complete waste of time.”
He notices my gaze; a beat goes by, our eyes locked, and then he smiles. Does he know who I am yet? I stand straighter in my heels and fluff my red-brown curls with one hand. I know I look good in my blue sheath dress; I’ve been working out. Still, the people around him are a world apart in terms of elegance.
“Shai?”
I turn to my boss with a smile, tuning down the images. “Allison. This is amazing.” I gesture, the word amazing no match for the elegance of the charity champagne fundraiser our company, Frazier Pharma, has sponsored.
“Our entire team worked hard to make it happen. Thank you for being part of the effort. Having my therapy team manager here is critical for our fund-raising.” Allison Emercy is perfection in a crimson gown and blond up-do, looking younger than her fifty-two years. With her at the helm, our charity auctions bring in an unprecedented amount of money. This time our pharmaceutical company is raising money for childhood cancer research. It makes the company look good, that’s a given, but it’s something we all believe in.
“It means a lot to me.” Instinctively I touch my silver locket. It’s fancy enough that it matches any outfit, even formal wear, not that I’d care. It’s a reminder of Mani, and I’ll never take it off.
I shoot another look over at him, but he’s not looking anymore; he’s busy with a cluster of elegant people, doctors and rich patrons.
Allison looks over, too. “There’s Gabriel. When he’s free I’ll introduce you. You’re ready, yes?” She raises an eyebrow.
For a second I feel like my heart hangs at the top of a roller coaster, ready to head down, then it bangs into action, staccato. “Yes.” But lusting over a patient’s, well, a potential patient’s father, is not professional.
I keep looking. He’s in his early thirties, like I am—but he’s separated from me by a chasm of wealth and privilege. He’s got a sylph on his arm, a few handsome men around him, and several women hover, coming and going like delicate butterflies around a blazing sun.
I know these things from my internet search mixed with information from Allison: He’s a single father, widowed. One of the richest bachelors in Chicago. A difficult ten-year-old son with emotional issues and a genius I.Q. And, although this shouldn’t matter to the job at hand, I can’t help but notice that he’s breathtakingly handsome.
I remember what Allison told me at our last meeting: “Gabriel Baystock could be one of our biggest donors. He already gave to the cancer research fund, but he’s unsure about the therapy program. He doesn’t think therapy works. His son is recovering from pleuropulmonary blastoma that spread—a good prognosis, but the child is having emotional difficulties. Their surgeon recommended therapy, so Gabriel said he’d try our program, and if it helps Michael, he’ll donate to help it expand. He asked for the best child therapist—that’s you.”
When Allison asked if I could work an extra patient into my schedule and still lead the therapy team, I said, “Yes, of course.” Because she wasn’t really asking.
And how could I say no? I love the sparks of challenge and hope that come with each new child. Taking a little person and helping them replace the rotten broken railings on the hanging bridge of their mind, allowing them to cross from anger and pain to a happier place—that fulfills me.
Beneath the pride and excitement, though, came that additional feeling that I get more often these days, the ever-increasing tone of unease. I pour everything I have into this job. But my batteries are wearing out and I don’t know where to recharge them.
I remember how much it meant to me when I had a therapist help me after the incident, all those years ago, and how I promised myself that I’d devote my life to helping other kids out of their own personal hell. So if I’m running on fumes some days, I just have to figure out how to keep going. I brush my index finger down the thin scar on the side of my face, which is usually hidden by my curls, and bite my lip, trying to push back memories. This isn’t the time, or the place. I need to focus.
A passing couple in their sixties stops to greet Allison. He’s tall and lean; so is she; they both walk with the confidence you see, always, in the best surgeons. The man takes her hands and kisses both cheeks. “Dr. Emercy. It is so good to see you.” He’s got a lovely French accent.
Allison steers me forward with one hand on my shoulder. “This is Shai Bonaventura, my Therapy Outreach manager. We started a new initiative at Frazier, a way to connect with the children in our community who need help beyond the lifesaving medicines we work so hard to provide. Shai has received the Chicago’s Best Therapist Award three years in a row now. It’s a peer-driven award and a high honor.”
I smile and shake hands.
Allison adds, “There are many children who can benefit from behavioral therapy while they undergo treatment and recovery for childhood cancer and other illnesses. Shai heads our new department of therapists. For qualifying families, we will provide free therapy sessions for up to a year. Right now it’s a beta program, and after we prove our success in a limited market, we’re going to expand.” She smiles and the couple smiles back. “Shai, can I leave you with Dr. and Dr. Pelletier, Lucas and Lena, to explain more about our program?”
I take the verbal baton. “Of course.”
After I finish selling our project to the doctors, who promise to donate a sum of money that is double my annual salary, I need a moment alone to recoup. I duck out into the hallway.
There’s art on the walls—I recognize the small rapid brushstrokes of Monet; the bolder, rougher ones of Cezanne. These are originals; I’m sure of it. I regard another picture, one by an artist I don’t recognize. It’s like a photograph, but it’s painted. It’s bleak and beautiful and it tears into me immediately, fierce and sad. It’s raindrops on a window, and a shattered alley outside, the only beauty from the smeared wet colors and the perfect desolation, from the way the water distorts the reality into art.
The one next to it is diametrically opposite in tone. It’s sunlight streaming in beams across a field, waving flowers, and so much space captured in so little space that it’s a miracle. Inside bigger than the outside. A trick of a master. It’s a magic wardrobe, a sidewalk chalk painting you can jump into, a book you want to read forever. I can tell it’s by the same artist because—well, I don’t know the artistic words. But I know it in the way I can tell music by Mozart just by hearing a few bars. Songs by Madonna. A painting by Van Gogh. Prose by Hemingway. Some things are so essentially themselves that you always know them, even if you don’t have the language to explain why.
&
nbsp; Nor do I know why someone put these two pictures here, side by side, unless they want to showcase the opposite ends of human emotion. My eye darts from one to the other, unable to choose which one is more powerful. They’re both fascinating; I can’t pick which one I like better. It’s almost like both are necessary; they work together to highlight the beauty of the other.
Allison comes up behind me, touches my shoulder. “Gabriel’s ready to meet you now, Shai. He has some time before the next speech.”
Before I can answer, he enters the hallway and comes right up to us, and my heart jumps to my throat as he reaches out his hand. “Shai? I’m Gabriel Baystock.”
I put out my hand, and when he takes it, an unmistakable spark travels down my fingertips and dissolves into my bloodstream. When it pulses to my heart, I catch my breath. “Hello.” I smile, feel my face flush, and don’t care. “It’s nice to meet you.”
His eyes are mesmerizing, deeper than both of those pictures on the wall, and more beautiful. Also, sadder, I think; he’s guarded. This man is sexy and muscular and he seems completely unrelaxed, even though he’s confident. I wonder why.
“I understand you’re Frazier’s top therapist.” His voice sends reverberations into my skin. He’s still holding my hand, and I’m reluctant to take it back when he releases it. His eyes move up and down my body, and it’s like I can feel his fingers doing it. I suck in a breath. I’ve never been so attracted to someone so fast, felt a gaze so intense. But he’s probably just examining me. I don’t want to imagine desire in his eyes, when it’s merely the want reflecting from my own. Besides, I have to stay professional.
Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads Page 247