September 14, 2011


Folks, I don’t know what to tell you.  I moved all the way from Chicago to the Upper Northwest, Washington state to be exact, thinking I’d be rid of her once and for all, but look what happened now.  I heard a familiar laugh, turned around a few minutes ago, and there’s Hotclue, perched on top of the brown desk that holds all of my important papers, all of which I’ve been ignoring ever since I got here. And what is she wearing this time?  Black leather bustier and black leather Daisy Mae shorts, for God’s sake. With black leather high-heel boots all the way up to there.

Me: Hots. My God. Black leather?

Hots: Well, Count Bobbalallapaloozo bought the whole outfit for me in France last week. (Preens a bit.)  Don’t you like it?  He did!

Me: Well, it does fit, I’ll give you that. Don’t you think the thigh-high boots are a bit much, though?

Hots: Beats what you’re wearing. Look at you! What happened to your fashion sense? I thought I taught you something, at least, but I pop in and what are you wearing? Orange scrubs. SCRUBS yet! White low-cut socks. Beige t-shirt at least two sizes too big. Good lord, woman, let you out of Chicago for a month and you lose every  fashion trick I ever taught you. But–the good news is, that’s why I’m here. We’re going shopping.

Me: Uh…well, it’s been awfully hot here, and…uh…

Hots (Fanning herself): Don’t ‘uh’ me, lady. You didn’t even do your hair today. You’ve forgotten everything I taught you about good grooming, I can see that.

Me: But…but…I’ve been writing. All those blogs for that 14 author blog tour…

Hots: You call that writing?  In that outfit?  I wouldn’t be caught dead in that mess.

Me: Well, it’s comfortable…

Hots: Comfort? You want comfort? You can be comfortable when they wrap you up in a body bag and carry you out. You’re in a terrible rut. I KNEW I should have come back before now. (Hops down, does a pretty fancy soft-shoe ramble, doesn’t miss a step.) See? I’m comfortable too, and I can even dance in this outfit. Let’s see you do this! (Executes a fast Michael Jackson slide across the room, not easy considering she’s doing it over thick carpeting.)

Me: Just out of curiosity, how the heck do you do that in four-inch heels?

Hots: Imagination, my dear. I have a wild imagination. Anything I imagine comes true. You just need a complete leather outfit like this.  Only…(Pauses for a second to think)…I think yours would need more pizazz. Anything would help. How about some feather tassles on the jacket, right about…

Me (Screaming): Noooo, no feathers!  I already did that, don’t you remember? At that party, years and years ago, all those black feathers, and the kid who lived there found some of the feathers and asked her parents the next day what the heck kind of a party did they have in their attic last night? That one?

Hots:  Oh, I remember, alright. Wasn’t that the one where our husband and his buddy had to carry you home and put you to bed? That one? The night you don’t even remember how you got home?

Me (Averting my eyes, trying to fluff my hair, which won’t fluff, and trying for an innocent tone): I don’t recall anything like that.

Hots: Oh, yes you do. I was the one embarrassed that night, I can tell you. That poor woman’s kitchen sink–

Me: Stop! Stop!

Hots (Relentless, now that she’s got me): You had plenty of black on that night. Untill they got you home and–

Me: Okay, okay, keep the black leathers. At least you’re not loaded down with jewelry this time.

Hots (Patting her hair) Only because my jewelry is being cleaned at the moment. At the jewelry cleaners in France. But YOU–look at yourself! I can’t believe it! Not even one single diamond on you. I’m SO embarrassed!

Me: Hots. These are my writing clothes. Some of them.

Hots: And the others? I bet there’s not a jewel or feather on them, either! What happened to you?

Me: I mostly wear…well, jeans, when I’m writing. And, I guess, T-shirts. Or sweats.

Hots (Smirking): Do your fans know that?

Me: Uh…no…probably not…at least I never came right out and said so.

Hots: So. You need a new image. One you can talk about. Are we going shopping?

Me: Uh…well…where?

Hots: Beth, Beth, Beth. We’re going to Paris, of course. Count Bobbalallapaloozo has kindly offered his jet, it’s waiting at the airport in Seattle.

Me: Seattle’s quite a ways from here, Hots.

Hots: I’m always prepared for anything where you’re concerned. We’re taking the Count’s helicopter, it’s waiting out in the yard. You ready for some couture originals?

Me: But…but…wait a minute, why do I need couture originals to write murder mysteries?

Hots: Oh. My. God. Don’t tell me you’re still writing those things. How about a hot romance?

Me: I don’t do hot romances. On purpose anyway. I do murder. Which I feel like doing right now.

Hots: Piffle. Did you EVER finish the one about Jack and Raven? The one in Alaska? Or are you still diddling around with Chapter One?

Me (Huffily): I finished it and it’s published and people are loving it, so there!

Hots (Stopping in mid-pirouette): It’s actually a BOOK now? With actual pages?

Me: It is. It’s an e-book too. And I’m getting ready to start a new one. Any day now.

Hots: But another murder mystery? In the same town? In Alaska? My God, didn’t you kill off enough people in that poor town in the last book?  What’d you finally call that thing, anyhow? Last I heard you had three or four separate titles for it.

Me: My publisher decided to call it RAVEN TALKS BACK, and well, I didn’t kill off EVERYONE there.

Hots: Why not?

Me: Well, actually, some of them are in prison.

Hots: So, you almost wipe out a whole town in Alaska and now you’re going back to finish off the rest of the population? Is that it?

Me (Grinning): Something like that.

Hots: You have a strange mind, you know that? Sometimes you frighten me.

Me: Not as much as that outfit you’ve got on frightens me, that’s for sure.

Hots: Forget my outfit. Just stand up now, come on. Get your shoes on, and for God’s sake, not your tennis shoes. We’re going to Paris.

Me (Sinking): Well…okay, but I have a favor to ask you.

Hots: Anything, I’ll do ANYTHING to get you away from that computer and out of those things you call clothes.

Me: Uh…could we make a quick stop in Alaska? Like a month or so? I need to do a little more research.

::::From Paris:::: Hey, folks, I’ll be back to my computer in a few days. Stop by again soon, I’ll leave the porch light on for you. I love y’all, you KNOW I do!  Gotta go now, Hots is trying to talk her hairdresser into coloring my hair in tiger stripes. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me…
XOXO, Beth, who is determined to stay blonde.
Oh, and PS, Sarge back in Washington still hugging her new Birkenstocks says Hey!

Hotclue v/s Beth | Add A Comment  


3 Responses | | Comments Feed

  1. Hey Hots, it’s great to see you back. And I don’t care what Beth says, that outfit is hot! Leather is always good. 😉

    Good luck in staying blonde, Beth. I’m determined to stay a redhead, especially now that I’ve uncovered a few grays.:)

  2. SCREECH! Don’t even SAY gray! Cover it up, QUICK!

    Glad you like Hotclue. She’s been gone too long. XOXO

  3. HOTS!!!! I’ve missed you!!! Love your fashion sense and could sure use your help in getting me out of this old green bathrobe. You hang in there and give Beth a good what for.:) Please leave her hair blonde. It’s beautiful and so is she.

    Beth, buck up kid. Hots is going to have her way. You know and she knows it. But you’ll sure love the ride.:)







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