Thank you to Renee Swindle for letting CLP share this excerpt from Shake Down the Stars. Please visit her tour page at CLP Blog Tours for more information and a giveaway!
I change into a pair of short sweats and an old Cal T-shirt and take another look out the
window. The sky is still storm gray, but the wind has died down. Margot stands on the lawn,
talking to the manager of the club while staff members adjust the flowers laced around the
gazebo. The gardener and his assistant work on trimming the bushes. Margot: 1; Gentleman’s
club: 0
The football player sits in the last row of chairs doing his best to . . . teeeext aaaaa
meeeeessssssage, his massive fingers pounding Frankenstein-like against the tiny keyboard. The
width of his back and small, peanut-sized head give him the shape of a walrus. Ask him a
question about the meaning of life and the exchange goes something like the following:
Me: So, tell me, Curtis, what’s the meaning of life?
Curtis: I don’t know about any of that. I just try to stay focused on the game and my team.
I’m a Christian, though, if that’s what you mean.Me: Do you fear global warming will destroy life as we know it?
Curtis: I don’t know about any of that. I just try to stay focused on the game and my team. I
believe in God, though, if that’s what you mean.
Curtis is the Oakland Raiders’ star quarterback and is slated to help them win the Super
Bowl. If that’s not enough, he made a chart-topping R and B album last year and earned a recent
book contract; plus there are the countless endorsements coming out of his football player’s ass.
It’s been a recurring dream that I can somehow get ahold of a mere quarter of his earnings and
give it to the fledging school district where I teach.
I hear a cautious knock at the door, and assuming it’s the troll, tell him to come in. When he
sees me in my shorts and T-shirt, he gawks as though I’m wearing a negligee. “You look
amazing.”
“Could you do us both a favor and drop the gigolo act?”
“Who’s acting? You look good, girl.” He claps his hands together and steps farther inside.
“Nice digs. I likes.”
He wears a patterned silk robe and brown slippers; his calf muscles bulge beneath the black
trim of his robe as he struts around. “I try to work out at least four times a week,” he announces
before disrobing. He flexes his muscles. He’s naked except for the slippers and a pair of black
silk boxers. “May I?” he asks, eyeing the various bottles of booze on top of the antique bar.
“Help yourself.”
He pours a shot of bourbon and downs it with a quick shake of the head and smack of the
lips. He then flicks off his shoes and leaps kiddie-style onto the bed, giving the empty space
beside him a few pats. “We don’t have much time, baby. I want you to experience what many
have said is the best love they’ve ever had.”
I take a sip of my own drink, and then another. “I’m sure I’m about to experience
something.”I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling as he kisses me. He’s a surprisingly good kisser, but I
realize I’m not drunk enough to do what we’re about to do, and all too soon his tongue feels more
like a wet mass of wiggling flesh, and my own tongue, horrified, begins to retreat.
“What’s wrong, baby? You seem a little tense.”
“I think I need another drink.”
“You don’t need another drink; you need to relax. Why don’t you smile for me? If I see that
kilowatt smile of yours, I’ll be able to turn on the magic and you’ll feel good in no time.” He
snaps his fingers to a beat only he can hear. “You wanna have a good time, don’t you?” he says,
going into his James Brown. “I say, ‘You wanna have a good time?’” When he juts his elbows
out and starts bobbing his head, I smile. He actually has a sweet face. Nice long eyelashes. Big
brown eyes. Soft lips.
“There’s that smile.” He grins. He stares down at me and touches my chin with his finger.
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