Superb! Spectacular! Sublime!

THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Who on EARTH is the first person who look at a cow and said, “Hey, those things hanging under it look cool. Let’s squeeze them and drink whatever comes out.”

Well, the writing might not be superb, spectacular, and sublime, but . . . Oh, well. Here’s to writing! Below is a segment of my story that I’ve just started writing, Element Warfare. (PS: If anyone knows if Elemental is really a word, let me know.) Okay, technically, this isn’t a full segment. It’s just what I wrote today. (Which is why it’s so short.) Oh, let’s take the leap together, shall we? Enjoy, and I’ll see you at the bottom!

Lavaloto was probably the most exclusive beach in America. B-list celebrities were turned away, anyone in politics couldn’t even dream about getting past the velvet ropes, and even the busboys for the on-the-shore restaurant – LAVA On The Rocks – had to show ID at two separate checkpoints. Located in southern New Jersey, it was the ideal place for the most famous to get away from all that ‘West Coast drama’ – at least, that’s what my dad says. I can’t help rolling my eyes every time he mentions it, though. How hard can life as a celebrity really be? It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, smile, shake hands, wave. Smile, shake hands, wave. Smile, shake hands, wave. This meet-and-greet routine had gotten old about an hour after I had started it for the first time. When I was five. Seven years and three-hundred-sixty-four days later, the day before my thirteenth birthday, and nothing had changed. The same routine, the same boring ordeal. Talk about deja’vu, I thought. I was doing the smile, shake ’n’ wave routine with none other than Chance Teo. Chance Teo was the first person I welcomed to Lavaloto all those years ago, on opening day. His father was none other than Renz Teo, international actor, and his mother was Gemma. The Gemma. I can still remember that first smile as Lavaloto’s cutest little slave. When Renz was still Renatus, and Gemma was still apart of The Gemini. Their little boy had just turned six the day before, and they were taking a ‘family vacation and gathering’ after the public party to avoid press. They had heard about us from intense Google-ing, and were planning to take full advantage of our then-cheap, opening night prices. They had rented out the beach for the night, and people were starting to arrive. Chance was getting bored and impatient, so they let him run onto the beach a bit early. He tried to get under the red velvet rope, but I stopped him. He straightened up and bowed. “Miss.” Then he tried to go under the rope again when I didn’t open it. Once more I stopped him, and he just started to stare at me, finally figuring out that he wouldn’t be able to go under the rope. I did my smile, shake ’n’ wave, and he did the same back to me – being a little copycat. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he did the same. I took a swipe at him, missing his arm by mere centimeters. He leapt gracefully over the rope this time. “Ballerina!” I had shouted after him. He turned around and smiled. “Velvet rope smart-ass!”

To this day, he has never let me forget that I would not let a celebrity through the velvet ropes, and I in turn had never let him forget that he had leapt like a ballerina. They were petty insults at the time, true, but his family was there often and that particular joke had sustained the test of time. Coming back to present day, I performed my bland routine, this time while muttering “Ballerina,” under my breath. While shaking my hand, he returned the favor. “Velvet.”

“Enjoy your visit!” I said, extra perky. He gave a little chuckle and continued  through to the beach. The rest of my shift went on in the same way it always had, with each and every customer shaking my hand and strutting through the velvet rope like they were a million bucks – which, come to think of it, they probably were. When my hours of hell were officially over at seven o’clock, I wasted no time in getting to LAVA On The Rocks. My dad always had impossible expectations, and he dictated everything. Dinner was no different. I was expected to be sitting at our table at seven sharp. He had pointedly overlooked the fact that until seven the bouncers wouldn’t even let me out of my greeting station, and it takes a full ten minutes to cross the beach and get to the restaurant without doing a headfirst-dive into the  sand. But he was my dad. And I made it happen.

Wow. That was really short. Ugh, this is kind of embarrassing . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Oh, well. Tomorrow I officially start my new writing schedule, which I have all planned out. Wish me, and my fingers, luck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sincerely, Lemons


2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Freedom, by the way on February 4, 2011 at 6:16 pm

    Yes, elemental is a word–it means fundamental or simplified or relating to natural forces.

    I like your story. But I’m seriously having trouble envisioning an “upscale” Jersey Beach. (I’ve been to a few Jersey beaches and having lived in Florida for many years, sorry–no comparison). But it’s ficition, right?

    Good luck. I’ll be interested to see what happens next!


    • Thank you! Everyone insists that it isn’t, but I could have sworn I’d heard it from somewhere. Finally, PROOF!
      I know what you mean – and it’s DEFINITELY fiction. I live in Jersey, though, and I figured I would write like a Jersian (Jersy-neese? Jersy-o?), so I figured why not? Anyway, the dad is so rich he practically made the beach (but that will be brought up later).
      Thanks! Check back tomorrow for the next segment. 🙂
      — Lemons


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