Page 5 of Wicked

I cross my arms and think about my half-completed manuscript. It is all about life. Phah!

Life! What do I know?

I pour another wine and try to work out how to maneuver my way through the universe. I’m usually bouncy and positive, but now, I don’t know what to do. Giving up on men is high on the list, as is changing my career.

The next day,I polish the flat travel writing other writers have done. It’s been a long hard year, and craving to be a novelist does not help. I almost find flow in the afternoon when my CEO boss yells down the hall.

After walking into my stressed-out boss’s office, I turn on my best I-give-a-F look.

“Door!” she seethes.

I close the door, pen and pad in hand. The woman paces as I sit and wait for her oncoming rant. The marketing head and CEO rubs her temple, and I notice her large travel bags packed near the door. At least she is off again, and soon.

“Okay! I got it,” she snaps, and I turn on my I’m-here-to-help look. “I’m supposed to be in Italy next week to create an article. The board, however, wants me in Chicago! I have to rebuild themagazine’s revenue model to chase more advertising dollars, but that’s too much detail for you. Therefore, with all the changes… you need to go.”

I feel sick. “I’m sorry. Like… Go? Like leave the company?”

Our Overlord raises a brow. “To Italy.”

I’ve never been to Europe.I’ve never been overseas.

“Now, listen!” she says, crossing her arms and pacing. “I need a story on Italy, five to seven hundred words. I also want nonprofessional feeling photos to match said words. I need a story to make Italy seem… stuffy, old, stale, and boring.”

I write the keywords and start to feel uncomfortable.Make a nation look bad?

Shut up and do not question, I tell myself.

My boss tosses an envelope onto my lap, and she moves fast. “Ticket and per diems are inside, plus enough Euro dollars for ten days at decent hotels. A car has been rented already. A fancy car. Do. Not. Crash. It!”

I stay focused, my heart pumping. The brute then gives me a ‘why are you still here?’ look with her hands on her hips. As she claps her hands, she herds me out like a dog. “Go go go, the flight leaves in a few hours!”

At home,I move fast, and I have three hours before I fly. After dragging my hardly used travel bags out, I toss things in them. Five minutes later, I’m almost finished when the door slams.

“Babe!” I yell before Parker leans in, her scruffy hair now trimmed. “Hair looks great but get this. Overlord wants a story on how boring Italy is.”

Parker’s eyes pop as she sees my bags. “Kind of weird, but great! And maybe what you need to pop that cherry!”

“Screw the cherry!” I say, sexually frustrated.

“Take your half-written novel!”

“Great idea!” I huff, enthused.

I can likely write the short travel article quickly, then find time to write the end of my novel. Time on the road will also be healthy, and a good way out of the dating hell.

I slip my printed work-in-progress novel draft, plus a book, into my day pack, and they sit next to my laptop. The dog-eared yellow book has a large sun on the cover, and the author was my mother.

She’d given me the signed copy when I was ten. A year before…

She passed.

Her writing and my dream of writing is a connection I imagine we have. Keeping her book near me is like keeping her near me. The book is like a lasting umbilical cord in the cosmos. Don’t ask.

I arrive in Rome excited,but after the free spirits and movies in business class, I’m slightly hungover. I get the pre-booked, red Italian sports car and beam. It may be cramped inside, but it’s awesome.

The only problem is my big travel bag will only fit on the roof. After securing travel cables, I strap it on and race off.

I learn fast the Italians drive wildly, and they use hand signals a lot. Many seem to be F you, WTF, and out of my way. Intense… Colorful…

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