I did mention that this blog would be doing a quick-change, no? Likely be back to short fiction for Wicked Wednesday next week, but this week seemed right for something different.
Three days from this posting will be the release of my first novel on Kindle: Just Prey – Savannah Book One. My longtime readers will recall Savannah.
For those of you that are new to these pages…first off, welcome and thank you for reading…second, perhaps an introduction to Savannah is in order.
Savannah is an Emmi warrior that was sent to Earth. Her mission is to make contact with The Predator, whom has been deep under cover since the latter half of the 19th Century. When that connection is made, eviction is to begin. On Savannah’s arrival, however, there is a random act of kindness that changes her view on evicting humanity from this planet.
Originally, Savannah appeared in a short story as part of the Songbirds series and initially planned as a recurring member of their stories. Quite a ride with her since then (yes, a euphemism).
With our near futures so intertwined, I called and asked if I could interview her before the release of the book. The invitation was sent to meet me at the pub downstairs from Stranded HQ. She only agreed when I promised to pay for her drinks.
Typical, she was late.
My first Shock Top was two-thirds gone when she finally strode in and kicked the snow off her black stiletto boots. Those boots came up to her knee, offering a hint of dark stocking before the heavy fabric black skirt took over. On top, a red blouse was hidden beneath the black leather and silver zippers of a biker jacket. Were this a red carpet, which it was not, she would likely claim her ensemble to have been put together by Arthur Fonzarelli.
She slammed down into the seat across from me. “Why am I here?”
“Because I invited you.” This was not how I anticipated the conversation to go.
Her big brown eyes burned at me until she caught sight of the nearest barmaid. “Beer, now.”
The barmaid turned with a swish of red and black kilt and her blonde bob cut hair flaring out. Her mouth opened to ask a question, likely about which beer, but nothing came out. One look at Savannah had her thinking better of it and retreating to find the expected beer.
“Seriously, the fucking book is done. Can’t I have a rest for a while before book two? Never mind that this fucking interview idea is stupid.” Her eyes glanced around the pub in search of something.
“I thought it would be fun.”
Again her eyes found mine and burned. “Do you see that guy over there? Third table to our left.”
I glanced over quickly and nodded. The man she referred to was a beefcake stereotype with his t-shirt straining to retain his muscles. He was the type of dude that Schwarzeneger or Lou Ferrigno in their prime would have been impressed by.
“Gerald is nice and all, but why couldn’t you hook me up with a beast like that?”
“First off,” I said while pointing without trying to appear as though I were pointing, “That guy is overcompensating for something. Second, I thought Gerald was a good lover.”
She exaggerated her nod. “Sure. Great cock size and he knows what he’s doing with it and his tongue, but…”
The barmaid returned with Savannah’s pint and looked even more bewildered walking into this discussion mid-stream.
Savannah took a sip.
“But?” I asked. I watched the barmaid move to the table behind us with a cloth, still in earshot.
A grin crossed Savannah’s lips knowing she now had an audience. “But Gerald always wants to cuddle after sex. He wants to lay in bed and tell me about the last book he read.”
“You don’t want to…”
“Fuck, no, I don’t want to hear about that. I want to fuck again. I loved the swingers club you put us in.”
The barmaid, behind Savannah, grinned. Her blue eyes caught mine, which then made her blush as well. Yet she stayed close.
“So you want a rest,” I began to summarize her issues.
“And you want to fuck more.”
“How about now?” I asked, feeling my cheeks forming my grin.
“What do you…” Her eyes brightened as she remembered the audience. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, “She’s nice, but a bit skinny.”
A quick head cock followed. “Good point. I’ll be right back.”
I chuckled and, under the circumstances, was glad I didn’t end up in full-blown belly laugh. That would have made things even more awkward.
Standing, she looked down at the barmaid. “You’re with me.” Grabbing the blonde’s wrist, Savannah dragged her behind her.
The barmaid gave me one desperate fearful look before vanishing down the hall towards the restrooms.
I waited, studying the savaged wood décor of the establishment with random sports memorabilia scattered across the walls. When I tired of waiting, I walked to the bar and ordered my own refills from the curly blonde bartender who tried not to look me in the eye.
She must be one of my readers.
After the third trip up, the blonde bob-cut barmaid reappeared. Now, however, hair was askew and kilt was just high enough to give a guy hope. In all my time as a regular at this pub, I cannot say that I’ve ever seen a brighter smile on her face.
Savannah followed a few minutes behind, looking as though she had just showered and put on pressed clothing. Returning to our table, she drained the remaining two-thirds of her warm pint in one swig. “Much better. Sorry about that.” Her gaze turned back to the barmaid.
Sensing the look, the barmaid accepted a psychic order and went to get another pint.
“Now, where were we?” Savannah’s voice was deeper and smoother now.
“We were discussing your thoughts on the book.”
“I don’t think we quite got that far.”
I shrugged. “Okay, we were discussing your need to get laid, but that’s where we were going.”
“Right, getting laid. Hazel is good at that.”
“Yeah, she’s off in twenty, so can we make this quick? Going to bring her home to surprise Gerald.”
“Okay, then,” I sipped my ale. “How about we talk about…”
“Can I ask a question? Why do you dress me like this?”
“Dress you like what?”
“Come on, I’m only missing the slicked back hair and I’d be Vinny Barbarino in drag.”
I held up my finger to stop her. “I’ve seen Hairspray, and can safely say you look better in that outfit than he ever would.”
“It’s the fucking dog, isn’t it? Fifi got to you and is putting me in stuff he likes the smell of.”
“Fifi has nothing to do with your appearance.”
“Okay, it was that Gray guy, isn’t it. He likes his women collared and in tight leather.”
“That jacket really isn’t tight on you.”
The barmaid placed a fresh pint down and, before moving off, her hand combed through Savannah’s hair.
“Wait,” Savannah said with her finger pointed square at my nose, “Gray’s the secret project, isn’t he? He’s the other one you have going other than Fifi and I?”
I picked up my ale and said nothing.
“Yeah, now you go silent. Stupid fuck…trying to make me the female alien version of James Bond or something.” She slugged half her ale. “How many books are we talking?”
“Four, at least.”
Her eyes widened. “Fuck you! I can’t do that much work.”
“There will be breaks where other characters carry the story.”
“Do you have a title for book two?”
“Yes,” I said with a grin.
“Maybe it should be called ‘Boot Camp’, and it can be the story of how I train Gerald so he can bulk up. He could wear more skin-tight t-shirts like that guy over there.”
“I don’t think that’s…”
“Oh, look at the time,” she said without moving her gaze from me. “This has been a slice, but think I need to get rolling.”
“You said we had twenty…”
“Yeah, well, things to see, people to do…”
As though on cue, Hazel returned to our table with her parka already on with short kilt flaring out beneath.
Savannah stood with a screech of wood chair on wood floor. Grabbing a handful of blonde hair, she pulled the barmaid’s head back and kissed her deeply. After releasing, her eyes found mine again. “You should have made me a villain.” Grabbing Hazel’s hand, they walked back out into the blustery snowy evening.
I picked up my ale and stared at the golden liquid. “I still could.”