Emmy And Me

I haven't had the time to write that I needed to get this next chapter done properly, and, well, it's kind of important. I'm about 2/3 done with my first draft, so hopefully I can get it polished up and ready for a Wednesday posting.

I hate to do this right now, but it's just what I'm up against, and I don't want to screw this one up. I need to get this chapter to a point I'm satisfied by it, and it isn't there yet.

See you soon.

Gen

To get around the minimum word count limit, here's an excerpt from an earlier time:

I kept my jeans, but threw on a white shirt and black blazer. I figured that was dressy enough for a jazz club, anyway. Emmy didn’t bother to change out of her black miniskirt and ankle boots, just layered a mesh tank over her spaghetti strap top, finishing it off with one of those little matador jackets that she loved so much.

I thought Emmy looked hot, and told her as much.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I have one complaint about your outfit tonight, though.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, checking to make sure everything looked O.K.

“Your butt looks so amazing in those jeans, but with that jacket on I cannot see it!” she complained, giving an exaggerated pout.

Laughing, I led her downstairs to wait for Luisa, who wasn’t far behind. Luisa was wearing a classic V neck little black dress, which is never a wrong choice- especially when you have a figure like hers.

Wally arrived about the same time, so we didn’t really have any waiting around. In the car we talked briefly about how the wine cataloguing was going, then the conversation turned to the club.

“I’ve never been,” admitted Luisa. “I have to admit I know nothing about jazz, and it’s an expensive way to spend the evening if you don’t know who’s worth seeing, or even know anything about the music.”

“I’m clueless, too,” I admitted.

Wally pulled up to the curb in front of the club, which had a surprisingly long line waiting outside. Once we stepped out of the limo, the doorman took one look at us and waved us over, indicating we should go right in.

“You made a reservation?” Luisa asked, surprised that we didn’t have to wait in line.

“No, I did not. Why do you ask?” Emmy replied.

“Seriously? Life is really different for celebrities, I guess,” Luisa said as we followed the hostess to a tiny little table right up next to the stage, crammed in tight amongst way too many other little tables. It wasn’t clear to me how the waiters could navigate the place, there was so little room between patrons.

“O.K., and we get just about the best seats in the house, too,” Luisa said, rolling her eyes. “Life just isn’t fair.”

“Maybe not, but you’re benefiting from it right now, and you did last night, too,” I reminded her.

“God, that dinner…” she said, a dreamy look in her eyes.