Penelope Lemon
Page 21
She currently had a brain freeze from drinking her blueberry Slurpee too fast, but this too would pass. She reached for the volume knob, but it was already as loud as she could get it. How could anyone not like Eddie Van and David Lee? No one rocked harder. She’d bought dollar personality bracelets at 7-Eleven—SOPHISTICATED for Sandy, INTELLECTUAL for Rachel—and her friends would love them as much as she loved the bright-pink bauble on her own wrist, which confirmed what everyone already knew: she was CLASSY with a capital C. It felt luxurious to splurge on silly stuff, and she couldn’t wait to see the gals.
She pulled into Sandy’s driveway with her phone buzzing. She parked and snagged her phone from her purse, impatient to get inside and get the party rolling with her pals. It was her employer:
Please tell about the can of whoop-ass you opened on Ms. D.
Penelope replied: Like I told you. Situation is handled.
Missy: I hope you at least rapped her knuckles like the nuns did to me when I got sassy, which was every single friggin day.
Penelope responded with a smiley-face emoticon.
Missy: Just confirming one more time that you will definitely work six months. You promised.
Penelope: Yes. I told you. Six months. I swear.
Missy: I have it in writing now.
Penelope smiled and wrote: Send a copy to my attorney.
Missy: I bet we can come up with a scheme for Dimwit. I’m about whacked out.
Penelope: Glad to help anyway I can. Six months. Then I’m off to Wall Street. Have to run now.
She turned off the phone and grabbed the 7-Eleven bag with the bracelets, smiling at all the dirt she had to dish to her friends.
Dimwit, for starters. That freak would blow their minds. And the new job. Theo and the bully. James and the teacher. They’d go crazy on that one. James and his dojo. James and the return of Shorty Robe. Escape from Neti Pot Island. She was chock-full of material, and it would be nice to enjoy a glass of wine or several and talk about apartment-hunting and the upward trajectory of her life.
She thought she’d tell an expurgated version of the BrettCorinthians2:2/Paybacks Are Heaven/hot tub at Missy’s episode, and not mention the HHR at all. They would stroke out over the HHR—her own personal catnip, according to Sandy—and send her home with a sack full of knitting needles and a chastity belt.
She also wasn’t sure if she’d tell them about Fitzwilliam, or that she’d messaged him just an hour ago, agreeing to meet up for a lunch date next week. His age and yet-to-be-determined career/job/financial situation would just get them unduly riled up, Sandy especially.
Then again, it was pretty fun to rouse them on occasion. A good lathering was just what someone like Sandy needed every so often to rinse off the suburban sheen.
Penelope smiled as she got out of the car and started down Sandy’s sidewalk, already hearing—and ignoring—the very good advice of her friends.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All of my books have been a collaborative effort, enlisting close friends and family to act as first readers and editors, often of very rough initial drafts. This novel is no exception. Christy performed yeoman duty this go-round, reading the entire manuscript multiple times and offering plot suggestions, characterization ideas, and editing tips. The book couldn’t have been written without her help and support. She, along with her partners in crime—Kristi Cross and Jen Feller—inform this book. Their bonhomie around our kitchen table about the foibles of men, high school misadventures, and the crazy things that all mothers go through proved a bounty of information. I am in their debt for the times they let me sit in on wine-time. My aunt Betty, to whom this book is dedicated, was the original inspiration for this story about a smart, single gal just trying to get by, and it is her appreciation for the comically absurd that gives Penelope Lemon its spirit and tone. Her wry humor and sharp tongue will be sorely missed.
Reid Oechslin and Chris Vescovo read early versions of the manuscript and offered feedback and support. Also lending a supporting hand were Anna Vescovo, Jason Hottel, and Frank Majors. Thanks to all for your assistance.
David Jeffrey, my dean at James Madison University, has been a stalwart in my corner for the past thirteen years. There aren’t adequate words to describe what he’s meant to my writing career, and the life I now have. I’m forever grateful for all he’s done on my behalf. I’d also need to thank my former provost, Jerry Benson, Michael Speight, and the James Madison University Foundation and its Creative Development Fund, which allowed me the time and resources to complete the book and get started on its sequel. Mark Parker, Rose Gray, Dabney Bankert, and Bob Hoskins are others at JMU who have gone beyond the call of duty. I value the encouragement and friendship they’ve offered, and the smiles along the way. Finally, I’d like to give a nod to my fine, fun, talented students. I’ve enjoyed every class I’ve taught at JMU and have been well treated by students and administration alike. I’m grateful to have the job I do.
For a host of reasons, it will be six years between books for me, and I’d like to thank the following for various acts of kindness and support during this often trying time, especially those who helped out my family during my extended illness: Frank Majors, Chris Vescovo, Nancy and Stan Braun, Jeff and Karen Pickering, Steve and Becky Elkins, Jen and Eric Peifer, Wayne and Skip Smith, Don and Jeanmarie Sharretts, Liz Barnes, Mollie Bryan, Whitney Barker, Justin Rogers, Bruce Dorries, Nicole Oechslin, Kelly Flanders, Ed Fowler and Wendy Carlton, Karen Moran and Wistar Morris, and David Strasburg and Dania Chastain. There are many others who chipped in with phone calls and emails or giving a kid a ride. Thanks to all.
These folks offered much appreciated encouragement and advice: Bryan Di Salvatore, Allen Wier, Kim Trevathan, and Kathie Lang. The members of the Charlottesville Hung Jury Lunch Club—John Grisham, Corban Addison, and John Hart—were especially invaluable and supportive. I value your camaraderie and hope we can continue our literary roundtable for years to come.
Julie Stevenson, my champion of a literary agent, hustled like nobody’s business for this book. Her patience, tenacity, faith, and good humor mean the world to me. She is the opposite of a front-runner, and the kind of advocate that every writer hopes for.
Michael Griffith, my editor, selected this book for his “Yellow Shoe Fiction” series and—frankly—saved my bacon. I will never be able to repay him for bringing my fifth book into the world when it was a little too this, a little too that, for others. He is also the best line editor I’ve witnessed firsthand, a great writer, and an all-round dude. I feel fortunate to have worked with a writer/editor who treated my work with the same painstaking care he shows his own. I had more fun revising than should be legal.
Everyone at LSU Press has been a dream to work with, and I’m proud to be publishing with people like MaryKatherine Calloway, James Long, Erin Rolfs, Lee Sioles, Neal Novak, M’Bilia Meekers, and Michelle Neustrom. My copy editor, Susan Murray, was fantastic as well.
Thanks to Mom and Stan, who have been in my corner since the beginning. The same can be said of my grandmother, Nina Winton, who will be 100 when the book comes out. My brother Frank is the kind of sibling we should all be lucky enough to have. He’s not just my sounding block for every tough decision I’ve ever had to make, but also my oldest and truest friend. All of my books could be rightfully dedicated to him or to Christy. The help he gave me and my family during my illness meant so much.
Finally, thanks to my daughter Tess and my son Maxwell. Having two smart, cool kids in the house has kept me sharp and on my toes. All along you guys knew the score with this book—as did your mom—and never lost the faith. Your encouragement and good humor kept me going.
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