Friday, January 27, 2006

How Evil Are You?

It's Friday night, and since I'm still up, I've decided to add a new post. You lucky (or unlucky, however you view it) folks who have subscriptions will be receiving this update.

I was browsing the internet and I found this cute test entitled "How Evil Are You?". I took it, and the result on the "Evil-O-Meter" said that I am "Twisted." You guys can click on this link to give it a go: Good luck with the results! And hit my comment button and let me know what your results are.


**seconds pass**

I should be doing something.

I should be editing my book.

I should be sleeping while Isom is sleeping.

I should be debt-free.

I should have had my eyebrows waxed.

I should have made better use of my evening.

I should get a life.

BUT, in the end...

Flippin', should have, could have, would have, BUT DIDN''T.

Please take notice: Those of you who signed up for subscriptions, if you already haven't done so, need to check your email for the confirmation letter. I checked my subscription report, and some of you hadn't confirmed. Just wanted to remind ya'!


**seconds pass**

It's 10:25 PM here in Connecticut. My dad just left to pickup some calzone from Wilson's Pizza, and Mom hasn't long returned from her Budget Meeting at the church. Isom is asleep, and my brother is in D.C. with Thembi. Me, I think I'm going to devote FIVE minutes to editing my book. And then? Then I'm heading to bed.

The life of a party girl! Whoopy!

For added kicks:

I was browsing through some of my old files and I found the sopa opera I'd started for my last website (you guys remember it that?). So for anyone who's bored, I'm gonna post it here. It will be in its original form. I'm not gonna read through it or edit it. I named it after a dear friend of mine (lots of the characters names were from family members or friends).

Ciao and happy reading!

Here goes:

Tunisia Crest Lane

Episode 1

Scene 1

Preston Du’Vant turned onto Tunisia Crest Lane’s winding road. He’d been taking this same route to Tunisia’s every since he was sixteen and had gotten his driver’s license. No matter how many times he'd turned that corner, he felt proud to be friends with the only girl he knew of with a street named after her.

Over the years, Tunisia’s father had proudly recounted the story to him. Mr. Lane said that after he’d made a generous donation to aid in the building of the towns new high school, the town council granted his request that he be able to name the undeveloped street where he’d planned to build his dream home. He decided to name it after his then youngest daughter, Tunisia Crest Lane. Soon after, Preston’s father, Mr. Preston William Du’Vant II--whom everyone called William--began the work on the Lane’s home. At the time, Preston and Tunisia were both going to the same private school and were only ten years of age. This was Mr. Du’Vant’s first estate development, and by the end of the project, 10 gorgeous estate dwellings occupied Tunisia Crest Lane.

Tunisia had gotten her name from her mother, Mrs. Candy Crest Lane. Mrs. Lane wanted all of her children to have something of hers; so, when she married, she dropped her middle name, kept her maiden name, and then took her husband's last name. Each one of her children was given Crest as a part of their names: Terron Herbert Crest Lane, Torrance Elizabeth Crest Lane, and Tunisia Crest Lane--Tunisia was the only child who wasn’t given a middle name.

As Preston pulled into the long brick driveway at 1 Tunisia Crest Lane, he marveled at how well Mrs. Lane had maintained the exterior and landscaping of the estate. The sun was blazing hot. Out front, hidden behind the iron gate and crab apple trees, sat Torrance, the Lane’s sixteen-year-old daughter. She was clad in an outfit designed by her older sister--a two-piece gingham patterned bikini and a wide-brimmed straw hat with a gingham patterned ribbon wrapped around it.

When Torrance spotted Preston’s BMW pulling into the driveway, she flung off her hat and sunglasses, hopped out of her lounging chair, and ran towards the car with open arms.

“Preston!” she squealed as she jumped up and down. “What are you doing home?”

Preston got out of the car, took Torrance into his arms, and spun her tiny body around. He kissed her on her cinnamon cheek and then looked her up and down. He shook his head. “No, the question is, what are you doing outside half naked?”

She folded her hands behind her back and batted her eyes. “You know the Barclay’s?” she asked.

“The family that owns Barclay’s Furniture? They live a few houses down, right?”

“Yup, those are the ones. Their son, Tony, is home from boarding school for the summer.” She clasped her hand over her heart. “Preston, he is the hottest creature that God has ever created.” She sighed. “Everyday, right about this time, he drives by here.”

"And you're expecting him to catch a glimpse of you?"


“You do know that it’s hard to see through that iron gate?”

“Not a problem.” She picked up her lounging chair from up under the tree and then thrust her miniature table and glass of lemonade into Preston's hands. She walked towards the end of the long driveway. “See, right when I think he’s about to come, I move my chair to the bottom of the driveway, and I sit at the opening of the gate.”

“Does your father know you’re doing this?”

“Yeah, right. When is he ever home.”

Preston put the table down and placed the lemonade on top. He ruffled her long relaxed hair. “Good luck, kiddo. If this outfit doesn’t grab his attention, then nothing will. Where’s your sister?”

“Inside, sitting in front of that stupid sewing machine.”

As was customary, Preston let himself into the house and greeted Pedra, the housekeeper, who was in the kitchen washing dishes.

“Hello, Senora Pedra.”

Pedra gasped for breath and smoothed out her maid’s uniform. When she patted down her hair, Preston laughed. “Pedra, you look beautiful. You haven’t aged a day.”

“Aye, Mr. Du’Vant, you lie.”

They embraced and Pedra planted a kiss on each one of Preston’s cheeks.

“We’ve missed you. And you-know-who has missed you too,” Pedra said as she pointed upstairs. “How was Europe?”

“A bore,” he said with his best British accent. “I couldn’t take another minute of it. And when I called and heard the panic in Tunisia’s voice, I longed for home. There wasn’t anyway I was going to miss this.”

“Si. She’s very stressed. She doesn’t eat or sleep.”

Pedra held up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“That’s her favorite,” Preston said.

“I know. I tried to get her to eat but she refused.” Pedra pushed Preston in the direction of the long stone stairwell. “Go upstairs and see about her. I’ll bring tea in a minute. Peppermint, right?”

Preston kissed her on the cheek. “Pedra, you remember everything. It’s good to be back.”

He walked up to the door of Tunisia’s sewing room and found her bent over the machine. He watched from the back as she hit the machine and shouted obscenities at it.

“Oh! I swear I’ll throw you out of this window.”

Preston cleared his throat.

Tunisia didn’t turn around to look, and waived him off. “Pedra, I said I don’t want anything to eat.”

“Well, maybe you’d like to see a dear old friend?”

Tunisia stopped in her tracks when she heard the base of Preston’s voice. Her heart pounded as she turned and locked eyes with him. She ran over to him and gave him a long hug.

“I guess you’re not happy to see me,” he said jokingly.

He pulled Tunisia away to get a good look at her face.

“Why are you crying? Am I that ugly?”

She tried to hold back her laugh but she couldn’t. “No. It’s just that I’m so stressed. Preston, I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, what made me think that I could do this. This isn’t what I went to school for. And sure as hell isn’t what my father invested all of his money into my education for.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and gently shook her. “Okay. Stop. Now breathe.”

Tunisia took a deep breath.

“You have been designing clothes and sewing since we were little. This is what you’re meant to do.” He took her hand and walked her over to the sewing machine. “This piece looks great. I love this bright-red shimmery material--”

“Preston, that color is wine and that material is satin.”

“Whatever. Look! You’re work has come a long way, and I am not going to let you give up now.”

“But Kimberly's cabaret is six hours away, and I need to finish this piece and get over to the cafe for her fitting.”

Preston pulled out the chair and forced Tunisia into it. “I’m going to have to practice some tough love. You will sit here, and you will finish this piece. I'm giving you two hours."

Tunisia's eyes spread wide open.

Preston put his fingers up. "Two hours. Then we’ll get you showered and dressed, because frankly, your breath stinks and you look a horrid mess. And after you’re dressed we’ll head out to the cafe. Are we clear?”

Tunisia pouted. “Yes.”


She looked over her shoulder and took Preston’s hand into her own. “Thanks. You’re a true friend.”

Scene 2

Crystal Bash opened the door to find her brother standing outside. “Raj, what do you want?”

He pushed passed his sister and made his way into her tiny apartment.

“I see we’ve got new furniture,” he said and plopped himself down on her new chaise lounge. “Very comfy. This had to cost a pretty penny.”

“It’s none of our business what I paid for it,” she said and pushed him off the lounger.

“Jeez, calm down,” he laughed. “But I must warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Trying to keep up with our dear cousin is going to send you further into the poor house.”

Crystal sucked her teeth and made her way to her bedroom. She turned around to see her brother on her heels. “Raj, why don’t you go back home?” She held her index finger in the air. “Hmmm. Oh, I forgot. You have no home. You’re still living with Mom.”

“At least I’m not living beyond my means. I know I’m broke, and living at home is rent-free. Even Tunisia is living back at home with Uncle Paul.”

“I don’t care what that spoiled bitch does. And for your information, I am not broke.” She grabbed her bottle of expensive lotion from Raj, who had made his way into her room, and was liberally applying it to his hands.

Raj threw himself onto her down comforter and placed his hands behind his head. “So,” he said, “are you going tonight?”

“To that stupid cabaret? No!”

“Come on, sis. You’re not going to give Tunisia a chance to get her hands on Mr. Du’Vant, are you?”

Now he’d piqued her attention. “What are you talking about?”

He hopped up from the bed and snatched the lotion out of her hands. He opened the top and squirted a long line on the length of his arm. "Wow, this is really nice," he said as he rubbed it in.

She popped him on the head. "Will you stop fooling around!"

“Alright, woman!" Raj rubbed his head. "My source tells me that Du'Vant is in town, and that he’ll be at the cabaret tonight.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am not.”

Crystal folded her arms. “Who’s your source?”

“A Miss Torrance Elizabeth Crest Lane.”

Her mouth fell wide open. “So it’s true.” She paced the floor and wrung her hands. “What am I going to wear?”

“But, dear sister, I thought you weren’t going to attend?” he said in a mockingly snobbish accent.

“Nonsense. What gave you that idea? I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.” She grabbed him by the arm and walked him to the front door. “Now, get out. I have an engagement to prepare for.”

“And with that face you’ll need lots of prep time,” he mocked as Crystal thrust him out the front door.

After she slammed the door in his face, her usual scowl turned into a wicked smile. She threw her head back and laughed. “And now the fun begins,” she thought to herself.