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Date Posted: 03:16:43 04/08/14 Tue
Author: Lady Morilka
Subject: Hi, nice to read something new again here. I personally like your piece a lot, you got me guessing from the start and didn't solve the mystery. I am hooked.
In reply to: JustGina 's message, "Homework! I'm not super excited about it... I just threw it together this evening and really haven't done much editing, but I WROTE something, damnit! There is something odd going on at this party..." on 22:25:07 04/03/14 Thu

But just a suggestion, I would like to have a bit more "back and forth", can't name it better, but I mean that with the things distracting him (Beth i.e.) I would love to have him glance back in between and make some of the observations that you wrote prior or after. Like she is interrupting him even more. Do you get what I mean? Not sure I could put it in proper words.
I am waiting for that story to evolve ;)

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[> [> Thank you both for your comments! I do see what you mean about fleshing it out a bit more I didn't have much time to work on it, so maybe that is why I wasn't super happy with it. :-) -- JustGina, 20:31:54 04/14/14 Mon

>The ebb and flow of the crowd swirled around her as
>she stared at me. She didn’t seem to notice the buzz
>of conversation, the clink of the glassware, or the
>extremely noticeable, scantily clad underwear
>models, both male and female, who were the main draw
>for this cougar-fest masquerading as a charity event.
>She was young. If I were to guess, she was in her late
>teens or early twenties, but I readily admit I’m no
>judge of such things. I know my share of horror
>stories about men my age who thought they were
>good judges of a beautiful young woman’s age and are
>now sporting broken noses, or worse- serving time
>because someone’s father taught them differently. I
>learned the minute I turned 18 and suddenly the
>majority of the girls in my senior class were off
>limits that it’s best not to guess.
>Her stare was a bit unnerving, I admit. I like to
>think I’m pretty good in social situations. My job as
>a reporter demands it. When my editor sent me to this
>wine-drenched den of desperate housewives, my plan was
> to pop in, ask a few questions of the least
>inebriated of the the city’s “A” list, eat a few high
>dollar hors d'oeuvres as a nice break from Swansen’s
>finest, avoid the worst of the gropers who knew better
>than to touch the models but seemed to think that a
>reporter for the city’s leading events magazine is
>fair game, and be gone in time for kick-off at B-dubs
>with the other Hawks fans.
>Her eyes, though. She was staring right AT me. No
>flirtatious glances from this one, and no sultry
>half-smile to go with her direct gaze. Her face was
>intent; as if she was afraid that taking her eyes off
>of me would cause me to disappear into an abyss and
>she would never find me again. There was a desperation
>in her expression that had nothing to do with the
>emotion of the bored, middle aged women surrounding
>me, looking for anything to add a spark to the lazy
>recreation-filled days of American affluence. She was
>in trouble. Deep trouble.
>*click* “Oh man! Did you see that one? Did you SEE
>him?! I could scrub my laundry on those abs! Best.
>Assignment. EVER!” The photographer assigned to this
>event with me was gleefully clicking as fast as her
>finger would move. “Good thing I brought an extra SD
>card! The girls in reception are meeting me later for
>drinks and we are going to go over today’s shots. Oh
>wow, check him out!”
>“You better get some shots of the ladies too, Beth, or
>Bruce is going to have you taking pictures of the
>Little Miss Toddler Sex Pot pageants for the rest of
>the year. Don’t forget to get some of the patrons
>either. I interviewed Mrs. Jones, Ms. DeWalt, and the
>Jackson twins. Get some shots for the story, and I
>won’t say anything about your little preview party
>tonight.” I smiled. I genuinely liked Beth, and I know
>she wasn’t going to be so distracted by polished,
>waxed, and sculpted man-flesh that she wouldn’t do her
>job. There wasn’t a more driven photographer than she
>was, and I was glad to have her along.
>“Ugh. The Jacksons. I can’t even tell them apart, can
>you? One of them pinched my butt earlier, but I don’t
>know which one it was and they both deny it. It’s like
>we never left high school, the lecherous losers. You
>should try to look like you are having a good time. No
>one is going to tell you shit if you don’t wipe that
>scowl off your face. What the hell are you staring at,
>anyway?” She turned her camera in the direction of the
>girl, but didn’t stop to focus.
>“You see that woman over there? The one in the coat?
>She’s been staring at me like I’m growing a third
>eye.” I said, tilting my head in her direction.
>“Um… nope. Maybe she went to powder her nose. Hey! I’m
>getting a chocolate crepe before they are all gone!
>Don’t leave before I get a list of everyone you
>interviewed!” With that, Beth clicked her way towards
>the buffet and the dwindling pile of chocolate
>I looked back toward where I last saw the girl, and to
>my surprise, she hadn’t moved. How could Beth have
>missed her? I walked towards the stranger, weaving
>through the crowd, and she never broke eye contact.
>When I arrived, one of the models, a tall brunette in
>a filmy bedroom ensemble was standing right next to
>her. She smiled a bored smile and looked me up and
>“Well,” she said, “this party may not be a dead loss
>after all. What’s a handsome young guy like you doing
>in this sea of botox and veneers?”
>“I…uh…” I looked from the model to the young woman,
>who didn’t spare a glance at the scantily clad godess
>standing a hair’s breadth away from her. They were
>standing so close, but neither seemed aware of the
>other’s existence.
>“Ohhhhkayyyy…” The brunette looked annoyed. “That
>answers that question. The only eligible guy here and
>he’s simple in the head. 5 o’clock can’t come too
>soon.” She glided off to the opposite end of the room
>from the Jackson brothers.
>We stood and looked at each other while the party
>swirled around us. She _was_ young. Gold flecked brown
>eyes flicked over my face, memorizing my features. Her
>brown curls swept her forehead and brushed the
>shoulders of a worn leather coat. Full lips pressed
>together, and she still didn’t speak.
>I wanted to say a thousand things, ask a hundred
>questions. She didn’t belong here, that was obvious. I
>opened my mouth to speak, my reporter’s spidey sense
>on full alert, ready to grill her story out of her.
>“Hi.” I said. Hi. That was it. And I BARELY got that
>out. Smooth, real smooth.
>“It’s you.” Her voice was soft, with a slight tremble,
>but strong nonetheless. “Thank God I found you. I
>almost… but it’s okay, I’m here now. I just hope it’s
>not too late.”

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