Lately, with the Covid-19 lockdown, my writing has been a real blessing. Working on fiction is a great way to get one's mind off the current calamity. It seems crucial to take a thorough mental break every day from the frightening news.
If you're not a writer, READ your favorite books and stories. Maybe you're already doing this. I've been re-reading my favorites, and loaning them to friends. Our local library is closed due to the pandemic, so this is a way to help each other.
I'm doing everything I can to get the new novel released. Right now it's in the hands of three advance readers. One of them is terribly busy... she's an accountant who's trying to find her clients money so they can stay in business. Scary, strange times. Anyway, before I can comfortably publish the new novel, which is entitled Webs in the Mist: The Jessie Morgan Series, Book 2, I have to go through the entire thing at least one more time to make it better and find any mistakes I may have missed.
Meanwhile, here is a sneak peek at the novel's first chapter. I hope you enjoy it.
Please stay safe and healthy, everyone!
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Chapter One
Jessie Morgan rubbed her sore neck, gazing at the pastel San Francisco skyline shimmering in the golden afternoon. The burning sensation in her right arm made her think of Twisty, and the wreck. She shivered, recalling her friend Betty’s words: “Mean guys just get worse.”
It was a clear November day, not a wisp of the city’s legendary fog in sight. Except for one dark building, San Francisco’s skyscrapers were white, their rose-tinted windows glittering like well-polished rhinestones. Gilt mist, backlit by the low sun, rolled through the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge. Jess got out of her VW, the chilly gusts off the Pacific making her reach for her windbreaker. She’d stopped at the vista point to absorb the moment and study her city map. A few other cars occupied the parking lot, but everyone else stayed in their vehicles. Maybe they figured they’d be blown right off this howling headland.
The city across the windswept bay was Jessie’s latest adventure. This past year she’d driven alone, mostly on back roads, from Detroit to Kentucky to Key West to Montana to here, her Bug crammed with everything she owned. Along the way she’d worked seasonal jobs – race horse hot walker, waitress, fishing boat mate, bus girl, apple picker. She was out to experience everything, and it was time to live in a cosmopolitan city – far from her family. The Bay Area was a mecca for hippies, misfits, and dissenters. People from all over the world were drawn here as if pulled by a powerful magnet. San Francisco’s rolling hills seemed to hum with energy.
Jess sat on a bench facing away from the wind and contemplated the orange-vermilion bridge stretched out before her, its color contrasting with the royal-blue Golden Gate Strait. The sky was the same shade of azure. Far below the vista point, cargo ships passed each other under the bridge. Out on the bay, further east, a dozen white sailboats leaned sharply, skimming across the water. An expansive park bordered by verdant forests occupied the city end of the bridge.
She studied her city map, holding it tight so it wouldn’t blow away. The park was the Presidio, a military fort. She’d follow highway 101 through there to Divisadero, turn right, and go down to Haight. There, she’d turn left, go a few blocks to Pierce, and turn right to her friend Donna Wolf’s place. They were going to share the apartment. On her first day in Key West last winter, Jess had met her on the beach. They’d been good buddies ever since. Donna and her Navy boyfriend Rich were from Omaha. Jessie hadn’t seen her since leaving Key West last spring. She couldn’t wait to hang out with Donna again.
As she drove across the bridge, Jess caught glimpses of the ocean and the misty headlands, gilded by the slanting rays of the sun. From city intersections she spotted views of the bay and the flatter neighborhoods that stretched toward the ocean. She bounced up and down steep streets where the buildings looked old, European. The colorfully-painted Victorians stood in rows, almost touching. Jess caught a whiff of Thai food and noticed an Ethiopian café. Ethiopian! The bars looked interesting, too. She was glad she’d finally turned twenty-one and could go to bars. The sidewalks were full of people, most in T-shirts and jeans with a sweater or jacket tied around their waists.
She found Pierce and the skinny, gray Victorian. Parking half a block down, Jess grabbed her overnight bag and locked the Bug tight. The street, which ended at a park a few blocks down, was quiet as she climbed the steps and rang the doorbell labelled “Apt. B.”
She heard Donna shrieking as she thumped down the stairs. The door was flung open. “Jess!”
“Donna!” They fell into a tight hug, and Jess caught the scent of coconut.
“You look great!” Donna grinned.
“So do you!” Jess hugged her again. Donna looked the same as she had in Key West: barefoot, in T-shirt and cutoffs, her curly hair loose around her shoulders. The lavender, tie-dyed shirt she wore today said “Women United for Peace” and showed a clenched fist in the middle of a peace symbol.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here! Come on up.” Donna tucked her gold-brown curls behind her ears and bounded up a long flight of stairs to a half-open door toward the back.
Following her, Jess smelled something cooking. Something garlicky.
Rubbing against the door frame was the gray and black tabby Jess had taken in, down in Key West. “Ramona Magnolia!” She picked her up and cuddled her. “Thank God!” When she’d left Key West, she couldn’t figure out how to travel with the cat, who was so terrified of riding in the car she’d trembled and panted and clawed, and peed down the front of Jessie’s shirt. But here she was, purring like a little engine. “How did you get her to travel?”
“The vet said I could keep her sedated, in a carrier.” Donna reached over and pet Ramona’s head.
“I should have figured that out.” Jess stroked the short-haired kitty. “I’m sorry,” she crooned as Ramona scrunched the air with her front paws. Jess followed her friend into a cozy living room with orange shag carpet, yellow beanbag chairs, a mattress covered with pillows and an Indian print bedspread, wooden crates, and a small marble fireplace. “A fireplace!”
“Yep. It’s the back half of a flat… really a one-bedroom. It’s small but we’ll save tons of bread splitting the rent.”
“Cool.” Jess kissed Ramona’s silky head as they moved to the kitchen. It had a beat-up linoleum floor and a pegboard on the wall, from which hung spatulas, wooden spoons, graters, an antique egg beater, and two cast-iron skillets.
“I’ve gotten into cooking,” Donna said.
“And collecting?” Jess shifted Ramona higher in her arms and pressed her cheek against the cat’s cheek.
“Guilty. Flea markets. Here’s your room.”
Off the kitchen was a glassed-in porch with a twin mattress on the floor, and tall windows that could swing open. “Neat!”
“But… we have to walk through here to go to the bathroom,” Donna said.
“Cheap rent is worth it.”
“Rich stays over sometimes.”
“I’m not worried.” Jess smiled at her.
“You can use this mattress for now. A double will fit…”
“I love it. What direction is this?” Jess pointed to the windows.
“East. Oh! Your key!” Donna went into the kitchen, came back, and put a key in Jessie’ palm. “Forty-five a month, due on the first.”
“Far out.” Jess put Ramona down and put the key on the ring with her car keys.
The bathroom didn’t have a tub. “Good shower, though,” Donna said, “and plenty of hot water.”
Off the living room, Donna’s dark bedroom had the same orange shag as the living room. A skinny window faced the building next door, which looked close enough to touch. Two vintage floor lamps flanked a queen-sized mattress covered with a blue granny-square afghan.
“Cute,” Jess said.
“I made this.” Donna touched the afghan. “I’ve gotten into crocheting, too.” She pointed at an entire wall of stacked wooden crates full of colorful skeins of yarn.
Jess laughed. “You’re crazy!”
“Guilty.” Donna’s green ten-speed bicycle leaned against another wall. “I ride to work sometimes. You have to watch out for streetcar tracks, though. The skinny wheels can get stuck in them and dump you.”
Jess flopped into the beanbag chair next to the fireplace.
“Wine?”
“Sure.”
Donna handed her an empty glass, showing her the bottle of Sebastiani Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Looks expensive.”
“Not at all. It’s from Sonoma.” She poured the wine and made a small fire.
Jess sipped. “Nice.”
Donna nodded. “California wines are the best things about living here!”
“Cool. Sonoma, you said.”
“Yeah.”
“My friends Liv and Pancho are there. I met them in Colorado when we were stuck in that blizzard.”
“Right, you wrote me about that.”
“We traveled together, and they came to Flathead Lake. They’re working for Liv’s cousin Delilah.”
“At a place called Delilah’s?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve heard it’s great. I wanna go there.”
“Let’s do it. You’ll love ‘em. Hey, have you heard of a church called the Table of Faith?”
“Nope. But you know me, not into churches.”
“Same, but Liv says it’s cool, helping poor people, changing the world. She thinks the leader, Jerry Owens, is a rock star.” Jess lit a Benson and Hedges 100, and offered Donna one.
“Thanks, but I like Menthol, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Donna got a cigarette and sat on the floor next to the fire. “I sit here when I smoke, so the stinky stuff goes up the chimney.”
“Good idea.” Jess joined her. “So, who lives in the front?”
“Two guys. Probably gay. They stay to themselves.”
“Tell me again where you work?”
“Bechtel, a huge engineering firm downtown. I have to work tomorrow, but this weekend I want to show you the city.”
“OK.” Jess couldn’t believe how good the wine tasted. It was dry, but not too dry – worlds beyond her usual crappy Spanada.
“Maybe we can hit some flea markets, too,” Donna said, puffing on her cigarette. “So, tell me what happened with Twisty.”
“Oh, my God.”
Donna looked at her, waiting.
“He showed up in Montana, and, man, was he weird.”
“That’s nothing new…”
“Extra weird. Hyper. We were partying and he was just … wild. He had this Cadillac convertible and he was drunk and I wanted to drive, but he wouldn’t let me. Stupid me, I rode with him even though he was shit-faced. We had a wreck…”
“Holy crap!”
“We almost hit a telephone pole and the car almost rolled. I hit my head… Hard.” God, that day was a blur.
“You OK?”
“I had a concussion, but I’m fine. Well, my neck is weird…” Jessie’s hand automatically went to her neck, rubbing the stiff muscles.
“Damn! I KNEW that son of a bitch would screw you up. Remember that day Betty and I tried to warn you off him?”
Jess nodded, taking a deep drag from her cigarette and remembering the last time she’d seen Twisty. He’d been handcuffed, in the back seat of a cop cruiser.
“Swear to God, you play with fire with that guy.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Give!”
“They arrested him and it turned out he was wanted in North Carolina on drug charges and for bail jumping, plus he’d skipped out on his car payments. They were looking for him and that fancy land barge.”
“Jeez.”
“He’d kept all that from me.”
“Now you’re done with him, right?”
“Right,” Jess said. “He’s in jail in North Carolina, and wanted me to move there. I wrote him that I wasn’t coming, that I couldn’t take any more of his lies.”
“Good for you!”
“I need a fresh start.”
“Nice guys, Jess.”
“Like Rich?”
“Yeah, like Rich.”
“How are things with him?”
“Good. The same. I love his stupid ass.”
“But he’s a nice guy.”
“Yep.”
“Why don’t nice guys do it for me?” Jess tossed the rest of her cigarette into the fireplace. “How come I only like the mean ones?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Man, I hope so.”
“But Montana was good?”
“The best.” Jess smiled.
“How was your trip, coming down?”
“Good, but I miss the convertible.” Her ’65 VW convertible had broken down last summer. Now she had a Bug sedan. “I loved the Oregon Coast. How was your trip across the country?”
“Bitchin. We drove straight across, then hung out in Vegas, Death Valley, and Yosemite.”
“I’d love to see Yosemite and Death Valley.”
“We’ll go.” Donna grinned. “Girl, we’re gonna have fun! Oh, some friends are having a brunch on Sunday, a potluck. We’re invited.”
“Great.”
“It’s a gay commune,” Donna explained. “San Francisco is full of gays and radicals.”
“Far out. Doesn’t that drive Rich nuts?”
“He’s getting used to it. He only deals with the city on his days off.”
“It’ll be good to see him.” Jess finished her wine. “I’m starving!”
“Me too. Fish and chips? There’s a great place down the street.”
“Sure! Let’s go!”