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Authors: Deneice Tarbox
Finding Love for a Cynic
Finding Love for a Cynic
By
Deneice Tarbox
Finding Love for a Cynic
Copyright: Deneice Tarbox
Published July 1, 2012
© 2012 by Deneice Tarbox to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between the characters and real persons are purely coincidental. Music and places mentioned are in no way an attempt to profit by the author. All credit is given to the artist. This book contains adult situations and language that is not appropriate for children.
Acknowledgements
To Dawn and Betsy — Thanks again for being my test subjects and my biggest supporters.
To my husband — Thanks for all your help and support.
Edited by: Devin Govaere
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my son, The Boy. Know that I will always be proud of the man that you’ve become, the man who chose to serve. May these words of advice guide you on your journey out into the big world. Like migratory birds, we are all imprinted by those we come in contact with throughout our brief existence. Embrace those who willingly accept you as you are, for through them you will find love; endure and give a polite nod to those who are different, keeping in mind that they just may only be tolerating you; and for those that come at you with malice, determined to knock you in the dirt, always rise back up, dust yourself off, put on a brave face, and turn away from them. Don’t forget to toss a middle finger over each shoulder as you leisurely strut away. Most of all, always remember your way home and that you are never alone.
With all my love,
The Mother
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Teeth
! That’s all she could think of when she looked at him. Teeth! The man was as gorgeous as gorgeous gets with his dark laid-back hair style, which probably cost him a small fortune to maintain, and his swimming blue eyes. Even in a room full of California beach beauts, he stood head and shoulders above the rest. But all she could focus her messed-up mind on were all those bright white choppers that he kept eagerly flashing in her direction. Any normal woman would have swooned at the attention he was giving her.
Delona Raes, however, was no normal woman. At least not normal in the minds of most L.A. sophisticated socialites. Her abnormal status hadn’t been so much of an issue when she lived back East with her parents in their large but homey three-bedroom colonial in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. It hadn’t been an issue while she worked on her BA in English, or her
MFA in creative writing
at the University of Southern Maine. There… she had blended. Mainers didn’t bat an eye at those who chose to dress comfortably, embracing their blue jeans, large sweaters, and array of L.L. Bean attire. In Maine, comfortable footwear and sneakers were considered sensible, as were the people. For the most part, many Mainers chose to keep their bodies under wraps. She was proud to say she was one of them.
Los Angelins, as her brother affectionately referred to them, didn’t appear to be as forgiving. Upon arriving in L.A., she had immediately noticed that the people proudly paraded their surgically-enhanced bodies around like art, whether they were going to the work place or stepping out for a night on the town. The names of fashion designers she couldn’t pronounce often adorned the clothing they wore, and the pieces held price tags she would rather snowshoe naked in the dead of winter than pay. But pay they did. Even her roommate, who she considered to be somewhat normal, would put on makeup and designer sweats just to check the mailbox on Saturday mornings. And that phony smile they all managed to keep on their Botoxed and manicured faces when interacting with each other was downright frightening.
Although the climate in L.A. was usually warm, the few people she had encountered were not, that is, those outside of the ones she worked with. It wasn’t that Mainers were exceptionally warm and friendly, but they did tend to keep their opinions to themselves for the most part. She missed that.
Getting around in Maine had been easy, when weather permitted. She had learned to drive early on in life, as the vast distances between friends’ houses had dictated she do so. L.A. was a different story. People seemed to drive everywhere, even when their destination was within walking distance. She didn’t even want to get started on the L.A. traffic, which she flat-out refused to drive in. She’d rather risk her life venturing out on the snow covered roads of Maine than wield a vehicle amongst these rage infested freeways. What was the purpose of honking at the vehicle in front of you when common sense should tell you nothing would come of it? Not to mention, the honkers more than likely could have hoofed it to their destination in less time, and with less stress. She just didn’t get it.
At the age of twenty-six, Delona’s parents and brother, Myron, had finally convinced her to step outside her boundaries of comfort. The consequence of such nonsense was her ending up in a town she knew nothing about, working as senior editor and a writer for her brother and his husband’s aspiring publishing company. She was very proud of the two of them. Soul of the Matter was one of the few multicultural publishing firms in the country. They also published an array of technological books for a variety of computer and engineering companies. The couple had started it three years ago after tiring of life and careers in the New York Stock Exchange. Business was doing well.
Delona had two very successful romance novels and one children’s book under her belt, but the majority of her time was now spent scrutinizing the work of others. She didn’t mind the job or the lucrative pay, for that matter. But to say it was a pace above her norm was a colossal understatement. Before moving here, she had written at leisure while simultaneously working at the local library. Again, attire had never been an issue back home.
Now she sat in a corner of her brother’s monstrous living room wondering why Mr. Teeth wouldn’t just stop smiling so broadly and staring at her as though he had nothing better to do with his life. It obviously didn’t occur to him that a woman sitting in a corner, alone in a room full of people, probably didn’t want to be bothered with. She was becoming weary of having to attend all the high society parties her brother and his spouse, Danny, kept throwing. She had never considered herself to be antisocial, but she was beginning to think that by L.A. standards she just might be.
“There you are,” a familiar feminine voice called out.
Delona turned to see her roommate and fellow senior editor, Cara, gliding toward her. Viewing her from afar, she couldn’t help but wonder why the woman spent her time behind a desk when she could have easily been modeling for a living. Cara was a couple of years older than Delona, but Cara had those younger models beat without a question. She had an air of sophistication unmatched by any other woman Delona had met in L.A., or anywhere else for that matter. The presence of the five-foot-ten, raven-haired Latina beauty was a welcome distraction.
“Yes… here I am,” she said, not in the mood to hide her aggravation or the number of mojitos she had haphazardly consumed.
Cara grinned as she looked at her. Amusement danced in her eyes as the blue orbs scanned her. Delona knew that look. It immediately brought to mind the discussion they’d had about her choice of attire before leaving the house. She couldn’t understand why Cara was always harping on her choice of clothing. Tonight Cara had proclaimed the pink chiffon dress Delona wore was inappropriate for the party. Delona didn’t care that it was a tad too big. She had gotten it at a bargain. Half price with an additional twenty percent for coupon holders. Who’d be dumb enough to pass that up?
“What’s got you so worked up?” Cara asked.
“Him,” Delona stage-whispered, pointing an inconspicuous finger in the beaming man’s direction. She was relieved at Cara’s choice of topic.
“Ooh, he’s cute!” Cara murmured, her gaze scanning the striking gentleman appreciatively.
“Cute and wicked creepy. Check out all those teeth!” Both women chanced another glance in the man’s direction just in time to see the smile fade from his face. He cast them a scathing scowl and swiftly walked away.
“Uh-oh, that can’t be good,” Cara stated flatly. Concern etched the corners of the fake L.A. smile she was usually so good at keeping in place.
“He didn’t hear us! How the heck could he? I wasn’t talking loudly, not to mention all the other background noise in this room.” Delona grasped her mid-section with one hand, attempting to cut off the somersaults her tummy was suddenly performing.
“Maybe it was the face you made,” Cara volunteered, allowing her carefree smile to give way to a look of sincerity.
Delona groaned. “Did I make ‘the face’ again?”
“Yeah… I think you did,” Cara said, confirming Delona’s worst nightmare. Cara put a friendly arm around Delona, who in turn rested her head on Cara’s shoulder.
Delona was worried. She had been told numerous times by her brother and Danny to be more mindful of displaying her thoughts so easily. She had the tendency to express her true feelings a little too bluntly by use of her facial features alone. She had been in L.A. for only six months, but “the face” had gotten her in hot water three times already.
The first time was when a local reporter interviewing her about her new position at Soul of the Matter asked her how she liked L.A. The jerk used the two second gesture she made, not her words, to paint a not-too-pleasant picture of her in his weekly column. Myron and Danny decided to combat the article by introducing her at a party held in her honor. This time, another reporter was able to snap a picture of her making “the face” just as the man she was shaking hands with had invited her to one of his topless clubs for a complementary lap dance. That time she made the local evening news, making her none-too-popular in these here parts.
The third time had been at the office when their long-time public relations person, Margaret, suggested she get a makeover to include a new wardrobe. She had offered to take Delona to some of the same places where she shopped. Apparently Delona didn’t like her choice of dress. Instead of laughing it off or taking it lightly, Margaret became enraged when “the face” made a not-so-polite appearance. She cussed Delona up one side and down the other before storming out of the building, never to return. Two months later, they had yet to replace her. Margaret was nice enough to spread word that the folks at Soul of the Matter were difficult to work with. Seems no one would represent the company after that.
Delona moved away from her roommate, allowing a loud sigh to escape as she did so. “Darn it!” she exclaimed, punching the air in frustration. “Well, at least we know that big teeth aren’t necessarily associated with supersonic hearing.” They both giggled.