Blood of the Goddess Chpt 1
Blood of the Goddess
By Sherrie Parnell
Chapter 1
Earth Lady
A bright orange sun complimented the fiery rain of leaves, as autumn reigned in glory. The day was promising to be a chilly day full of fallen maple leaves and chimney smoke. Georgette Witt watched the roots of a fern disappear under the blackness of topsoil as she replanted it into a larger pot. She mused at how she wore her name as uncomfortably as the fern had once worn the smaller pot. With long hair as black as the soil she mixed into the pot and as curly as the fern’s newly sprouting leaves, green eyes woven with specks of golden sienna and skin that bronzes in winter. Georgette embodied the persona of a Mother Earth Goddess. Her soiled hands accentuated the image.
When she was born with a head full of black curls, her mother immediately named her Georgette, after her grandmother whose black curly tresses was alleged to have once inspired love poems and whose fashion style was the toast of high society. Though Georgette’s hair resembled that of her great-grandmother, the rest of her features were her own, as was her humble personality. Favoring jeans or long bohemian skirts, Georgette would never be the toast of fashion. Instead of being a prominent wife of a successful politician, she was owner of the second largest nursery and garden shop in the county.
Heather, a college student who worked part-time at the greenhouse, called to Georgette, “Miss Witt, can I take my lunch break?” Georgette nodded and watched her gallop out of the greenhouse. Heather’s hair was the color of weathered bark covered in sparkling sunlight. Heather. Now that was a name Georgette felt she should wear. The name Heather was floral and green, embracing a mist on the moors and a Celtic song on the air.
Georgette surveyed her work area, noting she still had three ferns to repot by three pm, but it was almost time for Trip’s moment of daily fame and she wouldn’t dream of missing it. She took off her dirty apron and laid it on her worktable. Her office was in the main building and if she wanted to catch his spot, she would have to run for it. What a pair they made! She was of earthen clay and he was made of sunlight. In fact, he loved the spotlight, something she ran from in horror.
Trip Trevor was a field reporter at WRXZ, a local television station. He had recently been rewarded for outstanding fieldwork in a political scandal and acquired the position of hosting a short weekday program featuring news from the local universities, which was shown during the lunchtime news hour.
Georgette raced into her office, letting the door slam behind her. She turned her television on and hastily pressed the record button on the VCR. Trip would be very disappointed in her if she failed to record his show. His favorite pastime was rating how he looked on the air, which was lucky for Georgette, for she loved any reason that brought them together, even if it was a review of how he looked on camera.
As soon as the record feature started, Trip’s chiseled features filled the television screen. His thick golden blonde hair fell over his forehead. Georgette pretended to smooth it. His emphatic blue eyes bore into her, as he spoke to the camera before announcing his guest of the day. Trip possessed features that would be found attractive on either sex, a full set of lips, eyes that could say paragraphs, hair that stayed in place even if ruffled, skin that wasn’t reddened easily, but his height was a feature he couldn’t do much about. He barely topped five feet seven inches. Georgette liked to say his good character lent him the height of a legend.
The show was over quickly. Georgette wished the station realized how lucky they were to have Trip, and being so lucky the station should reward him with more airtime. Heather knocked on the door, as Georgette removed the VCR tape. “Miss Witt? There’s a call for you on line one.”
“Thanks, Heather. Do me a favor and start repotting those ferns I was working on earlier. I’ll be there in a few minutes to help.” Georgette waited until Heather closed the door behind her before answering the phone. “This is Georgette Witt. How may I help you?”
A low throaty laugh filled her ear. “Ah, Georgette. How professional you sound! Well, did you see the show? Did you remember to record it?” Trip asked.
“Trip! Yes, I did both. You were wonderful. Definitely, the most handsome talented man at the Z. I’m so glad they finally noticed. The show was great.” Georgette gushed over him. She wished she could find a way to bottle it, so he could have a sip whenever he needed a boost of confidence.
“Sweetie, why don’t you come over at seven o’clock for supper?” Trip paused. Then added without waiting for an answer, “And bring the tape. Got to run. See you then”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.” Georgette’s heart danced.
“Oh and Georgette? Don’t forget to park on the side street. The new neighbors are nosy.”
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Swann Song
Jennifer Swann stared icily at the leering businessman sitting in the chair across from her desk. She hated when people like this man, assumed that because she was beautiful and blonde that she was also dumb and a tramp. It never occurred to these types of people that she was the one person who had power to veto a loan approval. She was tempted to do just that, but Mr. Redden was one of the bank’s biggest patrons. Jennifer bit her tongue until her anger ebbed. It wouldn’t do her position any good to show offense. He might take it as encouragement to continue his decadent proposals.
In her best professional no-nonsense voice she said, “Mr. Redden, dear sir, I think you misunderstood me. I’m referring to the home-improvement loan you applied for and not my home.” He had insinuated that she should invite him over for a nightcap and other treats.
“Sorry, Ms. Swann. I misunderstood.” His dark eyes lost their playful look. An edge of steel appeared in his voice. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Tell me where to sign and I’ll be on my way.”
She x-ed the lines in ink and he scribbled his signature on all lines of the duplicate form. His barely concealed anger vibrated in form of the door closing hard behind him. Jennifer let out a long somnolent sigh. She hated dealing with the public but it was part of the requirements of her trade.
Jennifer walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her desk. Tall and statuesque, she looked like a blonde Amazon minus the breastplate. She kept her hair short and sleek, not a stray hair anywhere. Her wardrobe cost could buy a family of four a vacation twice a year. The reflection staring back at her was a spitting image of her mother; blonde and fair with blue-gray eyes. During her childhood and youth, Jennifer won many beauty pageants, much to her mother’s delight. But sadly, they ended when the mother she loved so deeply died when Jennifer was 17 years old.
She turned her back to her image, pulling herself from the past. It never did any good to travel down memory lane. There was only sorrow down that road. Jennifer was proud that she was not a weak-willed woman. Through the years of her young adulthood, she had learned the hard way that beauty didn’t open every door, nor was beauty immune to the cruelties of life. She had worked hard to get her career to the place it was now. Many sacrifices and hardships knew her well, but she triumphantly succeeded. Jennifer Swann, VP of the Loan Department at Bank of Carolina had shown many that being blonde and beautiful wasn’t all she was made to be. Her receptionist buzzed in, distracting her from her rambling thoughts.
“Yes, Celeste?”
“Ms. Swann, Mr. Dale Larkin is on the line. Shall I put in through?” Celeste’s speech was a bit unclear, as if she was chewing her fingernail or something.
“Celeste, are you chewing gum? If you are, I expect it expelled from your mouth within three seconds. Am I clear?”
Celeste hesitated briefly. She knew the wrath that she could incur, if she answered wrong, “I’m sorry, Ms. Swann, it’s a throat lozenge. Not gum. My throat is scratchy today. I’m worried I’m catching a cold.”
“All right, then. Be sure to cough in a tissue and wash your hands often. I don’t want any of our customers getting sick. Nor do I want to catch a cold.” Jennifer cleared her throat. “And Celeste, if I find out you’re fibbing, I will make a note on your files. Now, to answer your question…yes, I will speak with Mr. Larkin.”
With the issue of her receptionist’s incoherent speech cleared away, Jennifer put on her best sunny voice and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Larkin. This is Ms. Swann. How may I assist you?”
“Hello, Ms. Swann. How are you? Lovely day, it is. I’m calling about that property over at Walnut Cove that you were inquiring about a few days ago.”
“Oh yes. The lovely gray stone house with the rose garden out back.” She had outgrown her townhouse and was ready for a roomier home.
“If you have some time free late this afternoon, I can show it to you.”
Jennifer looked over her appointment book; idly thinking how more professional Mr. Larkin—realtor and owner of Larkin Properties, Inc. sounded than the tedious Mr. Redden ex-Congressman could ever sound, even during his politicking days.
“Good news and bad news, Mr. Larkin. I’m busy until 6:15, but I’m free after that.”
“Delightful, Ms. Swann. How does 6:30 sound?”
“As you said, Mr. Larkin. Delightful. I’ll meet you there.”
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By Sherrie Parnell
Chapter 1
Earth Lady
A bright orange sun complimented the fiery rain of leaves, as autumn reigned in glory. The day was promising to be a chilly day full of fallen maple leaves and chimney smoke. Georgette Witt watched the roots of a fern disappear under the blackness of topsoil as she replanted it into a larger pot. She mused at how she wore her name as uncomfortably as the fern had once worn the smaller pot. With long hair as black as the soil she mixed into the pot and as curly as the fern’s newly sprouting leaves, green eyes woven with specks of golden sienna and skin that bronzes in winter. Georgette embodied the persona of a Mother Earth Goddess. Her soiled hands accentuated the image.
When she was born with a head full of black curls, her mother immediately named her Georgette, after her grandmother whose black curly tresses was alleged to have once inspired love poems and whose fashion style was the toast of high society. Though Georgette’s hair resembled that of her great-grandmother, the rest of her features were her own, as was her humble personality. Favoring jeans or long bohemian skirts, Georgette would never be the toast of fashion. Instead of being a prominent wife of a successful politician, she was owner of the second largest nursery and garden shop in the county.
Heather, a college student who worked part-time at the greenhouse, called to Georgette, “Miss Witt, can I take my lunch break?” Georgette nodded and watched her gallop out of the greenhouse. Heather’s hair was the color of weathered bark covered in sparkling sunlight. Heather. Now that was a name Georgette felt she should wear. The name Heather was floral and green, embracing a mist on the moors and a Celtic song on the air.
Georgette surveyed her work area, noting she still had three ferns to repot by three pm, but it was almost time for Trip’s moment of daily fame and she wouldn’t dream of missing it. She took off her dirty apron and laid it on her worktable. Her office was in the main building and if she wanted to catch his spot, she would have to run for it. What a pair they made! She was of earthen clay and he was made of sunlight. In fact, he loved the spotlight, something she ran from in horror.
Trip Trevor was a field reporter at WRXZ, a local television station. He had recently been rewarded for outstanding fieldwork in a political scandal and acquired the position of hosting a short weekday program featuring news from the local universities, which was shown during the lunchtime news hour.
Georgette raced into her office, letting the door slam behind her. She turned her television on and hastily pressed the record button on the VCR. Trip would be very disappointed in her if she failed to record his show. His favorite pastime was rating how he looked on the air, which was lucky for Georgette, for she loved any reason that brought them together, even if it was a review of how he looked on camera.
As soon as the record feature started, Trip’s chiseled features filled the television screen. His thick golden blonde hair fell over his forehead. Georgette pretended to smooth it. His emphatic blue eyes bore into her, as he spoke to the camera before announcing his guest of the day. Trip possessed features that would be found attractive on either sex, a full set of lips, eyes that could say paragraphs, hair that stayed in place even if ruffled, skin that wasn’t reddened easily, but his height was a feature he couldn’t do much about. He barely topped five feet seven inches. Georgette liked to say his good character lent him the height of a legend.
The show was over quickly. Georgette wished the station realized how lucky they were to have Trip, and being so lucky the station should reward him with more airtime. Heather knocked on the door, as Georgette removed the VCR tape. “Miss Witt? There’s a call for you on line one.”
“Thanks, Heather. Do me a favor and start repotting those ferns I was working on earlier. I’ll be there in a few minutes to help.” Georgette waited until Heather closed the door behind her before answering the phone. “This is Georgette Witt. How may I help you?”
A low throaty laugh filled her ear. “Ah, Georgette. How professional you sound! Well, did you see the show? Did you remember to record it?” Trip asked.
“Trip! Yes, I did both. You were wonderful. Definitely, the most handsome talented man at the Z. I’m so glad they finally noticed. The show was great.” Georgette gushed over him. She wished she could find a way to bottle it, so he could have a sip whenever he needed a boost of confidence.
“Sweetie, why don’t you come over at seven o’clock for supper?” Trip paused. Then added without waiting for an answer, “And bring the tape. Got to run. See you then”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.” Georgette’s heart danced.
“Oh and Georgette? Don’t forget to park on the side street. The new neighbors are nosy.”
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Swann Song
Jennifer Swann stared icily at the leering businessman sitting in the chair across from her desk. She hated when people like this man, assumed that because she was beautiful and blonde that she was also dumb and a tramp. It never occurred to these types of people that she was the one person who had power to veto a loan approval. She was tempted to do just that, but Mr. Redden was one of the bank’s biggest patrons. Jennifer bit her tongue until her anger ebbed. It wouldn’t do her position any good to show offense. He might take it as encouragement to continue his decadent proposals.
In her best professional no-nonsense voice she said, “Mr. Redden, dear sir, I think you misunderstood me. I’m referring to the home-improvement loan you applied for and not my home.” He had insinuated that she should invite him over for a nightcap and other treats.
“Sorry, Ms. Swann. I misunderstood.” His dark eyes lost their playful look. An edge of steel appeared in his voice. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Tell me where to sign and I’ll be on my way.”
She x-ed the lines in ink and he scribbled his signature on all lines of the duplicate form. His barely concealed anger vibrated in form of the door closing hard behind him. Jennifer let out a long somnolent sigh. She hated dealing with the public but it was part of the requirements of her trade.
Jennifer walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her desk. Tall and statuesque, she looked like a blonde Amazon minus the breastplate. She kept her hair short and sleek, not a stray hair anywhere. Her wardrobe cost could buy a family of four a vacation twice a year. The reflection staring back at her was a spitting image of her mother; blonde and fair with blue-gray eyes. During her childhood and youth, Jennifer won many beauty pageants, much to her mother’s delight. But sadly, they ended when the mother she loved so deeply died when Jennifer was 17 years old.
She turned her back to her image, pulling herself from the past. It never did any good to travel down memory lane. There was only sorrow down that road. Jennifer was proud that she was not a weak-willed woman. Through the years of her young adulthood, she had learned the hard way that beauty didn’t open every door, nor was beauty immune to the cruelties of life. She had worked hard to get her career to the place it was now. Many sacrifices and hardships knew her well, but she triumphantly succeeded. Jennifer Swann, VP of the Loan Department at Bank of Carolina had shown many that being blonde and beautiful wasn’t all she was made to be. Her receptionist buzzed in, distracting her from her rambling thoughts.
“Yes, Celeste?”
“Ms. Swann, Mr. Dale Larkin is on the line. Shall I put in through?” Celeste’s speech was a bit unclear, as if she was chewing her fingernail or something.
“Celeste, are you chewing gum? If you are, I expect it expelled from your mouth within three seconds. Am I clear?”
Celeste hesitated briefly. She knew the wrath that she could incur, if she answered wrong, “I’m sorry, Ms. Swann, it’s a throat lozenge. Not gum. My throat is scratchy today. I’m worried I’m catching a cold.”
“All right, then. Be sure to cough in a tissue and wash your hands often. I don’t want any of our customers getting sick. Nor do I want to catch a cold.” Jennifer cleared her throat. “And Celeste, if I find out you’re fibbing, I will make a note on your files. Now, to answer your question…yes, I will speak with Mr. Larkin.”
With the issue of her receptionist’s incoherent speech cleared away, Jennifer put on her best sunny voice and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Larkin. This is Ms. Swann. How may I assist you?”
“Hello, Ms. Swann. How are you? Lovely day, it is. I’m calling about that property over at Walnut Cove that you were inquiring about a few days ago.”
“Oh yes. The lovely gray stone house with the rose garden out back.” She had outgrown her townhouse and was ready for a roomier home.
“If you have some time free late this afternoon, I can show it to you.”
Jennifer looked over her appointment book; idly thinking how more professional Mr. Larkin—realtor and owner of Larkin Properties, Inc. sounded than the tedious Mr. Redden ex-Congressman could ever sound, even during his politicking days.
“Good news and bad news, Mr. Larkin. I’m busy until 6:15, but I’m free after that.”
“Delightful, Ms. Swann. How does 6:30 sound?”
“As you said, Mr. Larkin. Delightful. I’ll meet you there.”
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dribbled by Sherrie @ 11/06/2005 10:53:00 PM
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