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“Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only: The Life of America’s First Black Filmmaker” by Patrick McGilligan
Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only: The Life of America’s First Black Filmmaker
by Patrick McGilligan
Genre: Biographies & Memoirs/Movie Directors
1.99 at time of posting!
Oscar Micheaux was the Jackie Robinson of film, the black D. W. Griffith: a bigger-than-life American folk hero whose important life story is nearly forgotten today. Now, in a feat of historical investigation and vivid storytelling, one of our greatest film biographers takes on one of the most talented and complex figures in the history of American entertainment.
The son of freed slaves, Micheaux grew up in Metropolis, Illinois, then roamed America as a Pullman porter before making his first mark as a homesteader in South Dakota. Disaster and defeat there led him to forge a career publishing a successful series of autobiographical novels. Ever the entrepreneur, when Hollywood failed to bid high enough for film rights to his stories, he answered by forming his own film production company. Going on to produce or direct twenty-two silent and fifteen sound films in his lifetime, Micheaux became the king of the “race cinema” industry at a time when black-produced films had to scrounge for venues in a segregated society.
In this groundbreaking new biography, award-winning film historian Patrick McGilligan offers a vivid and fascinating portrait of this little-known pioneer. Part visionary, part raffish Barnum-like showman, Micheaux was both a maverick filmmaker and an inveterate hustler who used every weapon at his disposal to break the color barrier and thrive in a profession he helped to invent. He made a fortune and lost it again, and launched repeated con games that were followed by public arrests and bankruptcies. He eagerly took credit for the work of others—including his unsung-heroine wife. In his desperate later years, he even sunk to plagiarizing his final novel—a discovery McGilligan reveals here for the first time.
In this searching exploration, McGilligan tracks down long-lost financial records, unpublished letters, and unmarked pauper’s graves, pinpointing Micheaux’s birthplace, his tangled personal life, and the circumstances of his tragic death. The result is an epic that bridges a fascinating period in American history, and offers lessons for anyone who would understand the role of black America in forming the culture of our time.
The rain is now falling at a steady beat but I refuse to leave my little girl’s grave. With my finger, I trace over the name Amity, which has been delicately engraved into the headstone by my husband, himself. The rain does well to disguise the tears that flow freely down my face, as I lie on the ground beside the headstone. I have an incredible longing to hold my precious child once more. Amity’s death was an unnecessary crime, committed at the hand of someone I had loved very much and someone I never suspected had such darkness inside. Although Edmund is buried on our property, Amity was laid to rest at the local churchyard surrounded by our family and friends. She was loved by everyone and had the unique ability to lift anybody’s spirits with just her presence.
James and I have suffered so much heartache in the past two weeks, I don’t know if I can find the strength to stand up and make the long dreary walk home. As the rain soaks through my clothing, I can feel the cold penetrating my skin and I start to shiver uncontrollably. My eyelids feel heavy and I suspect that it is a result of all the sleepless nights I have been experiencing. All I need is just a little nap and I will feel better…
“There’s like a hundred buttons. I’ll never get this dress off you. Whoever made this dress certainly didn’t have the events that occur at the culmination of a wedding in mind.”
“Just think of it as unwrapping a present. Your growing anticipation as you become closer to discovering the treasure that lies within the layers you are unwrapping.” I can feel James press his lips down my spine as each button is released, causing a shiver to run through my body.
“Mmmmm, a present, I like that and just so you’re aware… something’s growing all right but it’s not my anticipation.” James whispers into my ear, his lips so close I can feel his breath tickling against my face. I almost melted into a puddle at James’s feet. I’m not even sure my legs will be able to hold me up much longer because his words made me weak with longing. James presses into my back and I can feel his erection, hard and eager to be touched. It’s impossible for me to stop myself from reaching behind me to grasp him in my fist.
Standing back, James pushes my hand away. “You’ve already unwrapped your present, it isn’t proper etiquette to play with your gift before the other guest unwraps theirs.” I let out a low growl of frustration, which James evidently finds amusing if his laughter is any indicator.
Little did James realize the impact opening the letter would have on his life. The letter his dead father left for him to find
Family secrets that have remained buried for over two decades surface, leaving James floundering and wondering what to do.
Certain events that unfold has James questioning the accuracy of his father’s letter. Will James finally find the answers he needs to bury the family secrets once and for all or will he uncover more than he bargained for?
As the sun moves to its most radiant spot in the sky the warmth softens the earth beneath our feet. We continue to take turns in silence, and with each shovelful of earth, my apprehension grows. When I’m not shoveling, I am pacing the forest floor, in an attempt to get rid of the pent-up energy that is humming through my body. When that doesn’t work, I was begin breaking sticks from fallen branches.
“James, I think I found something,” Benjamin says quietly. My head whips in his direction, my heartbeat racing in my chest. I take a deep breath and head over to the hole. Looking down, I can see what Benjamin is referencing. There is a wooden box at the bottom of the hole. It’s not very big, but it wouldn’t have to be for a small child. I take the shovel and start digging around the perimeter of the box to make it more accessible. I can’t seem to shovel fast enough, and I don’t stop, even when my arms are screaming and shaking with fatigue. The lid is sealed tightly, so I start working away at it with the shovel, each stroke splintering the wood a little more. I start yanking the pieces of wood off the box, cutting my hands in the process. Benjamin gets in the hole with me and starts helping me. By the time we’ve cleared away the wood from the top of the box I can barely close my hands, that’s how mangled they are, but I don’t feel the pain anymore. I am holding my breath and it is silent aside from the sound of my heart beating anxiously. I peer into the box and it’s empty. I start to sob and I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.
I walk over to my stereo and press play. Linkin Park’s, “Breaking the Habit” breaks the silence. I sit on the carpeted floor and with shaky hands, I carefully pull the cloth away from the instrument of pain nestled inside.
Tears sting my eyes and I can feel my heart rate accelerate … Is it fear? Adrenaline? Or is it the trepidation of giving into my craving … my addiction. I run my finger along its surface feeling the urge start to take a stronger hold and my resolve is fading fast. Taking the x-acto knife in my hand, I submit to the addiction. I run the tip of my finger along the edge of the fresh blade and watch in fascination as blood starts to drip and land on the carpet. Pressing the blade against my inner arm I add enough pressure that the tip cuts into my skin. A euphoric feeling floods my body as the blade cuts deeper and the emotional pain is no longer there. The anger of the music speaks to me, consumes me… I hate my life, I hate the way I look, I can’t do anything right, no wonder no one wants me, I no longer want to feel…. I press down on the blade a little bit harder. Looking towards the ceiling, I plead once again with God. “Please let me die. Why won’t you listen to me? I am begging you to end my misery. I have nothing to live for!” My grip on the blade slips and I realize it’s from the blood covering the handle. So much blood… I feel woozy as I look at the open wound on my arm. I am unable to see how bad it really is because of the blood that continues to weep from the wound. The rivulets of blood painting a trail along my arm, bears a striking resemblance to tears… it’s my soul weeping for me. With each beat of my heart I can feel my soul fading.
What have I done? I’ve never cut this deep before. Stumbling to the bathroom, I push my way through the darkness that is starting to cloud my vision. I can’t pass out… I can’t pass out. I now have a new focus and it’s to slow down the bleeding. I lean on the bathroom counter for support, resting my bloodied hands on the surface. Looking into the mirror I am terrified at the person staring back at me. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m lost in the maze of life and have yet to find the exit. It seems at every turn there’s a dead end, and with each wall I meet my sense of hope diminishes. My blood covered hands make it almost impossible to get a grip on the knob to the linen closet but through the use of both hands I manage to open the door and grab a towel from the shelf. I slide my back down the bathroom wall and after haphazardly wrapping the towel around my arm; I lay on the mat that lies beside the counter and close my eyes.
I start to turn back to the front of the lecture hall to listen to the professor when a paper missile comes flying at my head. It bounces off my face and lands on my notebook. Opening it up I recognize Michelle’s writing right away.
Kings of Leon – Sex is on Fire
Now I’m adjusting myself. How am I supposed to focus after a note like that? Brody is snickering beside me. It’s quite obvious he must have read the note over my shoulder. I lean my head on the back of the seat, take deep cleansing breaths and think about naked, wrinkly old ladies. I shudder at the thought but it worked. I’m now back in the zone… the learning mode. Although I would like to be in another zone…like Michelle’s erogenous zone…between her legs…sinking into her hot, wet core…Oh crap…naked wrinkly old ladies…naked wrinkly old ladies.
I turn the piece of paper over and write…
Baby I’ll treat you like my homework – I’ll slam you on the table and do you all night long.
I bunch the note up once again and toss it over Michelle’s shoulder. Jenni reaches down to pick it up and as she starts opening the paper up Michelle grabs it out of her hand and shakes her head playfully. She opens the paper and after reading what I wrote she tosses her head back and silently laughs, her shoulders shaking. She peeks at me over her shoulder and winks.
And back to my mantra I go… naked wrinkly old ladies…naked wrinkly old ladies.
Michelle turns her back towards me and drops her towel to the floor. I lick my lips as I take in every delicious curve of her body. She peeks over her shoulder and crooks her finger in a “come and get it” kind of way. Of course, it was a very hard decision to make… NOT… and I follow her like a lost puppy dog, or maybe it was a hungry dog… but before I follow her, I grab the bowl of whipped cream.
I set the bowl of whipped cream on the bed, and Michelle’s eyebrows lift up in amusement, her eyes unable to hide the desire burning in them. Pointing at the bowl she says, “Are you hungry?”
“Uh-huh. I want my dessert.” I cup the back of her neck and I slant my mouth over hers, luxuriating in the softness of her lips moving against mine. Before I pull away, I gently bite her lip. My hand cups her breast and my thumb caresses her already turgid nipple. Leaning down, I take her nipple in my mouth and using my tongue I circle it, my cock growing even harder when I hear her moan. I gently ease her back on the bed, and grabbing a spoonful of whipped cream, I cover her nipples with it. I lap the sugary cream off her nipples, and follow the white dessert laden trail to the landing strip that so adequately points me in the direction of where I must go. Picking up the spoon, I paint her hot core with more dessert topping. Running my tongue along the folds of her pussy, I swirl the tip of my tongue around her clit.
“Oh god, Jax that feels so good. Is dessert to your liking?” She speaks to me in a husky voice.
“Oh yeah, baby. You taste so good.” I place Michelle’s legs over my shoulder and continue to lap at her hot center, absorbing the sounds of her quickening breath and groans of pleasure. My cock is as hard as granite and pushing against the fabric binding it.
“Jaxon!” Michelle screams my name as an orgasm rips through her body.
I’m shaking with pent up sexual energy. I have to be buried in her right now. I reach my hand out to help Michelle up from the bed. She complies, but her eyebrows are scrunched with confusion. I turn her around so she’s bent over with her hands resting on the bed. My lips brush along her spine.
“Is this okay?” I wait for her to grant me permission. This is my favorite position, and at one time hers as well, but I never want to do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable or scared.
“Yes.” Her voice is trembling but I don’t think its fear, but rather desire.
“Are you sure?” I ask again.
“Jax if you don’t fuck me right now then… I don’t know what I’d do, just do it already.” She almost growls with frustration.
Fall brought cooler weather, and with it, nature’s kaleidoscope of colors. The trees shed their greenery and displayed glorious shades of red, yellow, and orange. You could almost taste the pumpkin spice in the air. It had always been my favorite time of the year, but now I found myself resenting the cooler weather. The change in seasons meant Jesse had to work more for his landscaping job, clearing away fallen branches and leaves before they became hazards for drivers and pedestrians alike. I missed him during the long hours he was away. I tried to make the best of it, though.
Our very active sex life was great inspiration for the hot scenes in my book. We were compatible in the bedroom in so many ways. Neither of us ever shied away from trying new things in bed, and it was fun vying for who would take control. Each time we were together, it was a new experience, an adventure. Finding my sexual equal was both refreshing and liberating.
“I’m under your spell. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I just can’t stay away from you.” His words spoke directly to my heart. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach; something I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. Things with Jesse felt like they were perfect, almost too good to be true. I was a little afraid to pinch myself for fear I’d wake up and find it had all been a dream. I knew I had a history of falling in love too quickly, though, so I was a little afraid of letting myself really relax and let him in. After everything I’d been through, what if I ended up jinxing things?
“If there’s magic involved, I’m consumed by it, too. I feel the exact same way.” Every waking minute, it seemed, my thoughts were on him. I’d remember how I felt when he’d hold me, when he kissed me. When I was alone, my thoughts traveled to his gentle touches and caresses when we’d make love. When we were apart, time couldn’t seem to move fast enough until we could be back in each other’s arms, and that thought was terrifying. I loved and I feared my body and mind’s reactions to him. He made me vulnerable. He made me hope. We were headed for the kind of love you only see in romance novels, but I knew I was giving him the power to crush me if he chose. Love was always a risk, but the reward was worth it if you found the right one. I’d just never dared to dream that it could happen to me.
“When I get off work, I want to take you somewhere.”
“Oh? Where are we going?”
“Hmm… well, I could tell you, but I think it would be more fun to surprise you.”
I giggled. “Give me a hint?”
I stuck my lower lip out, though I knew he couldn’t see it over the phone. “Come on! You have all this work stuff keeping you busy all day, but now I won’t be able to write because I’ll be crazy with curiosity.”
“You know, you’re adorable when you pout.” I could hear his smile through the phone.
“Bring a sweater. I have to go, Babe. See you soon.”
Melissa lives in the Great White North in her spacious igloo with her two daughters, one of which is a mermaid, the other a unicorn. When she is not writing, she is riding her moose and wrestling with her polar bear. Due to the demand of her books, she was forced to train her hamsters to guard her home, as she typed out what the crazy voices in her head demanded.
She’s an avid supporter of World Wildlife Fund and makes an effort to involve herself as well as her family in fundraising campaigns for various charities. Melissa has an Employment Counsellor Diploma from Fleming College, but she prefers writing stories over resumes
Presently she has eleven books published in a variety of genres, which include Poetry, Historical, Contemporary, and Suspense Romance.
I’m pleased to welcome Michael Okon to the blog today. Michael is the author of Monsterland, the recently released fantasy and magic, coming of age story focused around a monster-inspired theme park!
Read on to find out more about Michael Okon and his plans for Monsterland.
FD: Welcome, Michael! Tell us where you’re from.
MO: The North Shore of Lawn Guyland. (Long Island, New York! 😀 )
FD: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
MO: I’ve been writing since kindergarten but I started taking it seriously when I was 15. Then I got really into writing screenplays in college. Then I started taking those screenplays and turning them into novels in my 20s and 30s. I got my first publishing deal at 39 years old.
FD: What inspired you to write your first book?
MO: I have dozens of books out under various pen names (Michael Samuels and Michael Phillip Cash), but for my first published book, Monsterland, it’s quite an interesting story. I was binge watching a classic movie marathon with my son. You know, the good ones, The Goonies, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Jurassic Park, etc…. I have always wanted to write a monster book but couldn’t settle on which monster I wanted to pursue. It was while watching all these movies, that I came up with the idea, why isn’t there a theme park with zombies. I called my brother immediately and told him my idea. He said, no – it has to be a theme park with werewolves, vampires, AND zombies. I started beating out the story that night.
FD: Who designed the cover?
MO: My brother. He wanted the convey the promise of the premise for Monsterland. It’s simple – werewolves, zombies, and vampires.
FD: What genres do you enjoy reading and what are you reading now?
MO: I’m actually a big self-help guy. I love law of attraction books. I also read a ton of screenplays and books on the history of Hollywood. I find all of that fascinating. Right now, I’m reading Our Ultimate Reality by Adrian Cooper, Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, Rounders the Screenplay by David Levien and Brian Koppelman, and Powerhouse: The Story of The Creative Artists Agency.
FD: How do you relax and have fun?
MO: I love to gamble, but haven’t lately because I have kids. I’m a big poker and craps guy. I love watching movies with my kids, especially Disney and Marvel movies. My son and I are really into WWE wrestling (I haven’t watched it since I was 9, his current age). I cook dinner for my family every night. My wife and I go on one date night a month to our favorite restaurant. I also exercise a lot and have been lifting heavy weights. Best shape of my life. I also love Disney World, my family and I vacation there as often as we can.
FD: What’s one thing from your bucket list you’d like to experience or accomplish?
MO: To have Monsterland made into the next big franchise summer film. I think that’s closer than further away.
FD: What are your current projects?
MO: Monsterland 2 is coming out on my 40th birthday – May 26th, 2018. I’m knee-deep in Monsterland 3. I’ve already started beating out Monsterland 4 & 5. It seems I’m going to be writing about monsters for the foreseeable future.
FD: Can you share a little of your current work with us?
MO: Welcome to Monsterland—the scariest place on Earth.
Wyatt Baldwin’s senior year is not going well. His parents divorce, then his dad mysteriously dies. He’s not exactly comfortable with his new stepfather, Carter White, either. An ongoing debate with his best friends Melvin and Howard Drucker over which monster is superior has gotten stale. He’d much rather spend his days with beautiful and popular Jade. However, she’s dating the brash high-school quarterback Nolan, and Wyatt thinks he doesn’t stand a chance.
But everything changes when Wyatt and his friends are invited to attend the grand opening of Monsterland, a groundbreaking theme park where guests can interact with vampires in Vampire Village, be chased by werewolves on the River Run, and walk among the dead in Zombieville.
With real werewolves, vampires and zombies as the main attractions, what could possibly go wrong?
FD: Where can readers find you online?
FD: Many thanks for visiting with us today, Michael. Continued success to you!
MO: Thank you! That was super fun!!
Read the three exciting excerpts from Monsterland, then scroll down ↓ and enter Michael’s giveaway for a chance to win a SIGNED copy of Monsterland, or scroll up ↑ and purchase your digital copy today!
TWO lucky winners will win a signed copy of Monsterland! Enter Today!
~R A F F L E C O P T E R ~
A howl erupted from his throat, followed by another, and then another. Grabbing handfuls of dirt, he tried to fight the awful change, but, as the sun set, the moon took control of his life, and the unnatural force tore through his unwilling body.
Reason fled, his heart raced. Falling on his hands and knees, Billy let loose a keening cry as his face elongated, his body changing into a canine, fangs filling his mouth. He raced in a circle in a demented dance, knowing his fellow pack members did the same thing.
Slowing, he regulated his labored breathing, forcing the icy calmness he needed to keep some semblance of reason. He peered through the dense brush. Lights from the search party bobbed in between the thick reeds. The odor, the stench of humanity, filled the clearing. The enemy had arrived.
He turned, digging furiously on the ground, throwing dirt on the campfire flames, hiding their existence. Discovery would ruin everything. No one could live with their kind.
Humans brought disease; humans brought anger; humans brought hatred. They were there; he could smell them, see their clumsy bodies splashing through the bog.
“They’ve found us,” he growled in the unique language they used after transformation. “Run!” he barked as he turned to his pack, watching his friends’ naked skin transform until it was covered with the same silvered fur.
They cried out in unison at the pain, howling with the injustice, and then ran in fear from the interlopers threatening their habitat.
The boat stalled and then drifted. The attendant pushed his intercom frantically. He flicked the ignition, and the boat roared to life once again.
Melvin reached up, his face filled with wonder.
“Sit down!” the driver ordered. “Now!”
“Mel!” Wyatt called, breaking his trance. “Sit.” He turned to the guide. “Is this part of the show?” he asked frantically. “Is it?”
The man ignored him, his face solemn. Wyatt felt a mixture of fear and the niggling doubt that he was being made a fool.
Melvin slid silently into his seat.
They traveled under the ledge, so close they could hear the uneven panting. Drool dripped onto the boat floor not protected by the canopy.
Jade made a noise, moving so close she was practically underneath Wyatt. Slowly, the boat slid through the water.
Wyatt turned around. The animals were gone, but he felt his scalp tighten. He knew they were watching. Peering through the thick leaves, he searched the foliage but could see nothing. Sean looked back at him nervously.
“That was creepy. Right, Melvin? Mel?” Sean cried.
Melvin was gone.
The world narrowed to the two of them, and the hunchback laughed hard then as if he knew something that Howard didn’t. Howard felt panic return, his stomach tightening in his gut until the only thing he felt was the beating of his heart in time to the pounding drums.
A roar exploded behind the teens. They twisted to the rear; their jaws dropped when a vampire wearing huge rawhide wings soared over the arena in a graceful arc.
Wyatt pointed to the other side of the theater and yelled, “Look!”
They turned to see five more vampires gliding toward them, their leathery wings creating enough wind to cool the overheated crowd.
People were screaming and gasping, some were laughing. The flying vampires were skimpily clad females. Howard wondered how they had the strength to pluck members of the audience up and bring them airborne to the stage.
Screams of “Take me!” filled the air from the spellbound audience.
Underneath their feet, the ground shifted, and the entire amphitheater began to vibrate, as the floor circled in one direction and the stage moved in the other.
The boys grabbed each other’s arms as they moved slightly off-balance. Howard and Wyatt felt a tug and stared slack-jawed as Theo was snatched from his spot by one of the flying vampires. Theo’s sneaker slammed into the person’s head in front of him as he was dragged to the revolving stage.
I’m in the hot seat with Fiona Mcvie! 😉
Name Felicia Denise
Where are you from Tucson, AZ
A little about your self `ie your education Family life etc
My husband and I just celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. We have three adult children and a son-in-law. No grandchildren yet. We both had to retire relatively young from the workforce for health reasons.
Fiona: Tell us your latest news?
Family Matters, books 2 of my debut novel, In the Best Interest of the Child, will be published in October 2017.
Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?
I entered a poetry contest in elementary school.
Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
After writing my first complete story with chapters. I was twelve.
Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?
A friend I used to write fan-fic with was into NaNoWriMo and challenged me to enter and write a book.
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Helen Beatrix Potter ( 28 July 1866 – 22 December 1943) was an English writer, illustrator, natural scientist, and conservationist best known for her children’s books featuring animals, such as those in The Tale of Peter Rabbit.
George Bernard Shaw ( 26 July 1856 – 2 November 1950), known at his insistence simply as Bernard Shaw, was an Irish playwright (who held both British and Irish citizenship), critic and polemicist whose influence on Western theater, culture, and politics extended from the 1880s to his death and beyond. He wrote more than sixty plays, including major works such as Man and Superman (1903), Pygmalion (1913) and Saint Joan (1923). With a range incorporating both contemporary satire and historical allegory, Shaw became the leading dramatist of his generation. He was the first person to be awarded both a Nobel Prize and an Academy Award, receiving the 1925 Nobel Prize in Literature and sharing the 1938 Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for the film version of Pygmalion.
“A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.”
“There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart’s desire. The other is to get it.”
“Some men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not.”
From Wikipedia and Pinterest
I’m pleased and honored to welcome Marquessa Matthews to Nesie’s Place today. If you’re not familiar with her short stories, Travel Tuesday Tips or AtoZ Challenge entries, you’re definitely missing out. Marquessa is a gifted writer with a talent for the slow build-up and plot twists you never see coming.
Please enjoy an excerpt from Two Can Play That Game and join me and Marquessa’s many followers by visiting her blog and encouraging her to PUBLISH – the world needs her stories!
Photo credit: hansvandenberg30 via Foter.com / CC BY
A strong cup of hot black coffee was the only thing I wanted.
Like everyone else standing in the queue, I needed my morning caffeine fix so I decided to stop at the first coffee shop on my way to the office.
For the first time that week, I was actually early for work. But that was only because Brittany had kept me up for most of the night and I had never really gone to bed. When I’d picked her up from the airport the night before, she had wanted to make up for lost time, lots of lost time. I was glad that I had no meetings that day because I knew that when the wave of tiredness eventually hit me, it would hit hard. Right then, all I wanted was to sit and enjoy my coffee in peace before starting my work day.
With my cup in hand, I scanned the coffee shop for an empty table but there were none to be found. If I really wanted to sit, I’d have to do it by joining someone at their table. I took a minute to assess my situation.
Two nerdy guys sitting in the far corner with their noses almost pressed against their laptop screens?
A gaggle of loud teenagers who looked too young to drink coffee?
Three cute but young twenty-something women in a corner booth giggling and giving me the flirting eyes?
I smiled at them and they all smiled back.
Yes, sitting with them was the only way to go.
Until my eyes landed on her.
Sitting alone at a table for two, dressed in black yoga pants, wearing a bright mauve T-shirt with “Au Naturelle” printed on the front and a black hoodie, she stood out among the business attire and teenage trendy school wear.
Her dark curls were in a messy ponytail, a pair of glasses dangled dangerously from just above her forehead and she was sipping from a large mug as she flipped through a newspaper. The way she slowly took her time to peruse the page and the fact that she had a mug instead of a to-go cup meant that she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
I watched as a smile spread across her face at whatever it was that she was reading. When she picked up her cell to check the time, she glanced around just enough for me to get a perfect view of her face.
And I immediately wanted to know what shade of brown her eyes were.
As I passed my “threesome” with a nod of acknowledgement, I noticed their looks of disappointment.
But I was on a mission.
I walked up to her table and positioned myself in such a way for her to notice me. But when she didn’t, I had no choice but to break the ice.
“Hey! This place is pretty crowded. Would you mind if I sit with you?”
She graced me with the warmest of warm dark brown eyes and her smile could have lit up the entire coffee shop.
“Be my guest. But you might regret it…”
She motioned for me to sit and I promptly accepted.
“With a smile that beautiful smile, regret would be impossible.”
©2016 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved.
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