Snippeting a new Romantic Suspense book I have yet to title (or outline or even start writing until today). Read the complete snippet at Webbiegrrl's Writings or just read the beginning of it below.
Marlena Magdalene Dietrich, or Mags to her friends, stopped just inside the door to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The two couples pushing in behind her shoved her into the line to pay the cover charge. Great. This was going to be one of those evenings.
The place was packed. The music was booming even in the vestibule and it blasted out of control everytime another group went inside through the second set of doors. She kept worrying someone might have seen her, followed her here, but she’d walked from the T station without a tail and had to assume, she was safe here. There was just that niggling sense of being watched raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Maybe it was the girl behind her staring her down and making snide remarks about how Mags was dressed, interspersed with giggles of objection to the guy pawing her. Yeah, this was definitely going to be one of those nights. She just hoped it would be worth the ten dollar cover charge. That was half of all her worldly assets, not counting the clothes on her back or the not-inexpensive hiking boots on her feet.
She noticed the slush still clinging to her boot soles and deliberately stomped onto the carpet where she was standing before taking a step forward. She had to smile when the girl behind her made a noise of objection as her spiky heeled shoes squished into the puddle Mags had left behind. The girl made her date trade places with her. She didn't want to be in the wet spot. Mags had to stop herself from laughing. Spoiled Girl probably blamed him for the wet spot in bed, too. Ungrateful bitch. She was lucky to have a bed. And a date. And high heeled shoes to wear clubbing.
Mags had to stop herself from mentally railing against the girl. It wasn’t her fault she was a spoiled middle-class twenty-something with no idea how hard life could really be out “in the real world.” From the accent, Spoiled Girl wasn’t Israeli but definitely came from the region, somewhere in the north, maybe—Mags stopped trying to guess when Spoiled Girl switched to gutteral Arabic and mentioned a neighborhood in Southern Lebanon. Of course, come to Cambridge, Massachusetts to hear an Israeli rock star and get in line next to Lebanese immigrants. Just her luck.
Mags focused on the line ahead of her. Most had taken their coats off and obviously paid an additional two dollars for a ticket at the coatroom off to the right. Mags would not be joining in the divesting of outerwear. The group behind her did though, and the spoiled girl’s date apparently volunteered to deliver all four coats to the coat room. He deliberately shoved the pile into Mags’s back as he passed, giving his spoiled-girl date a little chuckle. Mags repeated the common Israeli mantra I will not kill you. Today. I will not kill you. Today. It wasn’t working. She really wanted to turn around and whack the girl.
[Read more at Webbiegrrl's Writings]