Inner Diva

by Laurie Larsen

  Inner Diva

  By

  Laurie Larsen

  Inner Diva

  COPYRIGHT 2011 by Laurie Larsen

  Smashwords Edition in 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is also available in print at most online retailers.

  Cover art by Kimberlee Mendoza

  Published in the United States of America

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To my network of writing friends who understand, listen, commiserate and celebrate, including but not limited to:

  Laurie

  Leta

  Genevieve

  Kathy

  Other books by Award Winning author Laurie Larsen:

  The Chronicles of Casey V, Or Mental Ramblings of the Most Awesome Summer of My Life

  Preacher Man

  Legacy of Lies

  Momentary Lapse

  Whispers of the Heart

  And upcoming in fall of 2012: Keeper by Surprise (see exciting new excerpt at the end of this book!)

  Visit Laurie online at www.authorlaurielarsen.com

  Chapter One

  Thirty minutes late.

  Monica Lampton sprinted out of her sister’s house like a racehorse breaking from the gate. She jumped into her car, started the engine and buckled up. She’d told her sister and mother that she needed to leave by five. Yet they’d come home late from shopping as though her request meant nothing She dove into traffic and urged her little car forward.

  Good ole Monica, always around to babysit, run errands, help with dinner parties, whatever her sister needed. After all, Barbie was the important one – married to a politician, mother to Mae and Spencer, the only grandchildren on both sides.

  Monica gripped the steering wheel and sighed. And what did that make her? Single. Available. Reliable. That’s how her family saw her.

  She knew they loved her, but sometimes the disparity was just too much. What about her needs? Her accomplishments? Didn’t they count for anything?

  Despite the stressful dash across town, Monica broke land-speed records getting to the neighborhood of Senora Josefina Garcia on the west side of St. Louis. She arrived only seventeen minutes behind schedule, her car and her person intact. She hated to start off on the wrong foot for this first meeting together, when she was volunteering for a job as a positive role model. But hopefully Mrs. Garcia would give her a chance to make up for it.

  She parked in front of the tiny bungalow-style house and dashed up the front steps, her breath coming in nervous pants. The door snatched open, revealing a short, somewhat chubby woman. Her dark hair, slightly graying, was pulled back with a thick barrette and she wore the unmistakable brown and gold polyester of a fast food restaurant uniform.

  “Que tarde! Dios mio.” The woman waved her inside.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. You see, …” But Mrs. Garcia made a sharp tsk-tsking sound, effectively cutting off any further explanation.

  “Five thirty. You say five thirty, right?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I got held up. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Monica glanced around the tiny living room – cluttered with furniture but clean and tidy.

  “I don’t have time now. I late for my second job.”

  During this first meeting, they were supposed to cover what Mrs. Garcia expected of Monica in her relationship with her daughter, as well as what Monica expected of Mrs. Garcia. Then, if they were on the same page, Mrs. Garcia would introduce her to Luisa.

  “I understand,” Monica said, anger stoking, directed at her mother and sister. “Do we need to reschedule our meeting? I swear I won’t be late again.”

  “No no.” Mrs. Garcia shook her head fiercely. “I don’t have another night. You must meet Luisa. But you need to talk to an adult from the family first, yes?”

  Monica nodded. “Yes, that’s the program. But I understood Luisa doesn’t have a father, is that correct?”

  “No, no papa,” Mrs. Garcia replied, shaking her head sadly. “My Pablo, gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She waved the sympathy away. “So you must talk to Carlos. I call him.” And she did, loudly, “Carlos!”

  Monica looked around the room expectantly.

  “Carlos! Venga aqui!” Mrs. Garcia checked her watch and began shuffling around the room, collecting her purse and a big canvas bag. A sound from the kitchen doorway made Monica turn her head and her breath caught in her throat. A man entered the room. The cliché, “tall, dark and handsome” flashed through her mind. So this was the man who had inspired that tired phrase. It had never held much meaning for her before – until it came to life today.

  He was dressed in worn jeans, frayed around the pockets, Monica imagined, from the thousands of times he had thrust his big, powerful hands into their depths. Hands he was currently wiping on a greasy white cloth, as if he’d just been called in from some dirty, sweaty, manly work.

  He wore a black sleeveless muscle shirt, which did an excellent job of revealing his brawny shoulders and arms. His thick dark hair framed a face complete with sculpted cheekbones and the most intense mocha brown eyes she’d ever encountered.

  She loathed the heat that washed over her face, because she knew her skin was blushing along with it, all the way down her neck. She gave herself a mental toe-stomping and tore her gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes.

  “Carlos, mira. Tienes que hablar …”

  “In English, Mama.” Carlos shook his head at her. “You know you have to practice.”

  “Ay!” Mrs. Garcia spit out. “I’m running late and I don’t have time for this nonsense. Listen to me. You must talk to this young woman for me.”

  Carlos looked in her direction and gave her a nod of his head in greeting. A heart-stopping smile followed and Monica felt the heat begin its travels again.

  “She is to be Luisa’s Big Sister.”

  Carlos shook his head, his face now clouded with confusion. “What?”

  Mrs. Garcia turned and shuffled to the door. He followed, bending closer to her. His words became quieter as he spoke in Spanish. Monica turned her back to them, giving them privacy. Although she couldn’t understand the words they were exchanging, she couldn’t mistake the tone. Carlos didn’t know she was coming. And from the sounds of it, he wasn’t inclined to welcome her with open arms.

  Monica had often felt invisible around her sister Barbie, and although she generally hated the sensation, now she would prefer it to standing there in the room, a third party knowing that one of the child’s family members didn’t want her there.

  The door closed and the conversation stopped. Monica turned to see that Mrs. Garcia had left. Carlos stood by the door, his chiseled arms even more defined as he crossed them in front of his chest. He ran a hand over his chin and lips, a picture of a man normally in charge, now unsure of how to proceed.

  A silent moment passed while Monica determined her plan of action. Becoming a Big Sister was something she’d thought long and hard about. She wanted desperately to have a positive impact on someone. She wanted to help and guide someone less fortunate. And she’d love to show her sister and her mother that there was a greater purpose in her life.<
br />
  She took a few tentative steps in Carlos’ direction. “Excuse me.”

  He aimed those gorgeous, albeit stormy, light brown eyes at her. “Yes. I’m sorry. My mother hadn’t told me about your appointment. If she had, I could have saved you the trip over.”

  Monica nodded. “Your mother applied to Big Brothers/Big Sisters for an adult companion for Luisa. I was assigned. I’m supposed to meet with the family about expectations. That’s how it starts.”

  He stared motionless, then he walked toward her, stopping a hand-breadth away. “Yes, she filled me in before she left. But my mother is mistaken. Luisa doesn’t need a Big Sister.”

  Monica frowned. Maybe he wasn’t familiar with the program. Once he knew how helpful the organization was, and what positive things could come out of the time she and Luisa would spend together, there’s no way he could object. “A Big Sister is simply an adult female role model to help enhance her schooling and social network. I would help her with homework, reinforce her learning, take her to plays, movies. How does that sound?”

  He ignored the question, but shook his head. They stood so close to each other that when she inhaled she took in his aroma – a clean soap smell combined with the tartness of oil. He looked down, his jet-black hair falling over his forehead, and for a moment hid his eyes from her view.

  “Could I meet Luisa?”

  But the words were barely out of her mouth when he chopped them off with his own, “No.”

  “Why?”

  Carlos turned his back and interested himself with a figurine sitting on a nearby table.

  Monica sighed, unsure of what to do. They were at an impasse, and without Mrs. Garcia, she could see she’d make no headway with this protective older brother. Despite Mrs. Garcia’s insistence that she didn’t have another free night, she would have to try to reschedule the meeting. She looked at Carlos and shrugged a single shoulder. “All right then. Thank you for your time.”

  She slipped past him and returned to her car. He stood leaning a muscled arm against the doorjamb, watching her drive away. She gripped the steering wheel, her mind focused on the challenges ahead. Somehow, she had to clear the obstacles in the Garcia family so she could provide a positive role model for Luisa. First, she must figure out how to get around a dark, stormy and totally gorgeous hermano.

  That night, at least twenty minutes after Carlos expected her, his mother arrived home, carrying a grocery bag. He rose to his feet as she entered through the front door.

  “Mama, here, let me help you.” He covered the distance between them with a few strides and took the bag from her arms.

  “Ay, Dios mio, you scare me sitting there.” The older woman placed her hand atop her heart. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I was waiting for you. “ He motioned to the bag. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve picked up groceries.”

  She waved a hand, a dismissal of his suggestion. “You’re busy enough, hijo. You work so hard. I take care of shopping.”

  Carlos bit his tongue. The thought of her stopping at the grocery store so late at night bothered him. He didn’t like her working late hours anyway; making a stop afterward invited trouble.

  He carried the bag to the kitchen and pulled out a gallon of milk, a box of cereal, a few apples and a box of Pop Tarts. Mama swiped them into her arms and bustled around the kitchen, putting them in their places.

  “Would you like tea?”

  “No thanks, Mama. You go ahead. I want to talk to you.”

  She nodded while pouring water into the teapot.

  “This woman that wants to work with Luisa…,” he began.

  “Monica.” Her tone was firm. “You learn her name, hijo. She be a part of your sister’s life. Monica.” She banged the teapot on the burner.

  Carlos held back an angry retort. He took a breath and tried again. “I wish you had consulted me before you agreed to a Big Sister for Luisa. I have concerns about this Monica.”

  Mama turned to him, leaning a hip against the stove. “She is a smart woman. Independent. Just like I want my Luisa to be. She be good for Luisa.”

  “Mama, I’m not so sure. How much do you know about Monica?”

  Mrs. Garcia blinked. “The agency recommend her. That’s all I need to know. They do screenings.”

  Carlos stood and took a step toward her. “Let me take a guess. She’s smart, she’s professional, she has a good job, she’s dedicated to her career. She would never turn down a promotion or transfer if it helped her climb up the ladder of success. Then, what about Luisa? She could get very attached to this woman only to have her leave.”

  His mother studied him for a silent moment, then came to him and placed a tender hand on his cheek. “My son, you still mend your broken heart, si?”

  Carlos turned away. “I’m not talking about myself, Mama. What about Luisa? She would be heart-broken if she got attached to this woman, only to have her desert her.”

  “Monica no talk about a transfer.”

  “Neither did Angela.” His tone was bitter, and he hadn’t meant to get into this topic with his mama. He shook his head, trying to pull the conversation back on track. “Do you remember Luisa’s tears when Angela left us?”

  Mama came up behind him and patted his shoulder. “Luisa is a little girl. She have many losses in her life. She learn to deal with them. Monica will help her, not hurt her.”

  Carlos drew a breath and exhaled. Was she right? Was he being overly sensitive to the possibility of loss because his heart was still raw from Angela’s departure? Not to mention that Monica physically resembled Angela, the two women seemed to be cut out of the same cloth. He made the mistake once of allowing an ambitious woman to steal his heart and his family’s trust. He would never allow the same mistake twice. He wouldn’t do that to Luisa.

  “Any chance the agency could assign Luisa a nice Hispanic girl? Someone from the neighborhood -- maybe someone we know already?”

  Mama chuckled and gestured at him with her hand. “You worry too much. You let Monica do her work. Just watch. Luisa will do well.”

  Mama placed a kiss on his cheek and sat down at the table with her tea.

  The door of her limousine slid open, and she stuck out a high-heeled foot, pausing to soak in the expectant silence of her onlookers. With a satisfied grin, she turned in her seat, gripped the hand reaching out to her and left the automobile, standing on the red carpet that covered the sidewalk. Her silk Versace gown hugged her slim form and floated like a dream as she strolled, gracing the crowd with her best Mona Lisa smile. Her escort and most perfect accessory slid out of the limo behind her and followed, dressed in his black tuxedo and crisp white shirt, holding her arm protectively.

  “Watch out! Down below, watch out!”

  Monica looked up and bolted, barely escaping the onslaught of a huge stage light on its cable wire just inches away. Steve Phillips, the stage guy on a twenty-foot high backstage platform about two feet square, and one of her best buds, hoisted the cable on its pulley, halting the light before it collided with the stage. “Got it under control!” he said with the slightest trace of panic in his voice. Monica suspected he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else. “Wouldn’t have let it hit anyone. Or anything.”

  Monica grinned at him. She’d worked with Steve on several productions, and he was a fun-loving guy who made her laugh. He drew his hand over his brow with an exaggerated “Whew” gesture and tugged the light back up where it belonged. She really needed to keep her mind on her work and her imagination under wraps tonight.

  The set was coming together. But it needed a few more details. She dug through the big box at her side, searching for a crystal clock for the end table. A framed family photograph showing members of the cast at a younger age hung on the wall behind her, adding authenticity.

  The theater’s winter production this year took place in a ski lodge. An unexpected blizzard trapped the visitors in for Christmas, and the play followed how each family resol
ved its issues through the love and togetherness of the holiday.

  Steve stepped off the lowest rung of the backstage platform. She gave his arm a gentle punch. “Watch those flying objects, okay buddy?”

  He chuckled. “Lost my grip. Makes life exciting, right?”

  Monica gave him a half-hearted whack with a pillow from the ski lodge sofa.

  “Looks really good out here.”

  “Thanks,” Monica said. She looked around and had to agree – it was like standing in an actual Colorado ski resort.

  Steve sat down, leaning back into the sofa’s cushions. “So, when are you going to move to the front of the stage?”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re always backstage, making it work behind the scenes. When are you going to give it a try front and center?”

  She gave him a dubious look. Her, act? It was a frequent daydream, but she knew the difference between fantasy and reality. “When are you?”

  He shook his head. “Not me. I’m happy with the lights and sound. This is where I want to be. But you. I know you have talent, and I think it’s high time you start using it.”

  She stared at him. “I was under the impression I was using my talent. For this.” She made a gesture to include the intricate decorations of the set.

  “Sure, you do a great job with sets. And God knows where the theater would be if you hadn’t become the manager. You’re great with publicity and all the administrative details. But when are you going to try out for a part?”

  She looked at the floor and felt a little warmth in her cheeks. “Now, why would you think …?”