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from Part One, Chapter One:
There was something missing in her life.
By most standards, Bobbie Lamont had a good life, one that should make her happy and fulfill her. She was the author of two best-selling memoirs, a successful free-lance journalist with reviews and articles regularly published in magazines and newspapers across the country, and the mother of a rebellious twelve year old daughter.
In the most important area, her love life, she was a failure. When she got married five months before her twenty-ninth birthday, she believed that they would be together for the rest of her life.
She was wrong. Twelve years later, while on a book tour for her second memoir, she was served with divorce papers. Her husband was leaving her for another woman. That was the previous June.
She was sitting on a bed while smoking a cigarette in a cheap motel outside of New Orleans. She was relieved to find when she woke up that she was alone. She had to go to her twenty year college reunion later on that day.
She looked around the room with her cigarette dangling from her mouth. She had stayed in enough motel rooms over the years, whether it was because she was investigating a story or because she was on a book tour, to have noticed how all cheap motel rooms look the same.
She put her cigarette out, sighing as she realized that she needed to take a shower because she reeked of sweat, vodka, and loneliness. She pulled the covers back and stood up, stretching her arms out.
There was something missing in her life.
By most standards, Bobbie Lamont had a good life, one that should make her happy and fulfill her. She was the author of two best-selling memoirs, a successful free-lance journalist with reviews and articles regularly published in magazines and newspapers across the country, and the mother of a rebellious twelve year old daughter.
In the most important area, her love life, she was a failure. When she got married five months before her twenty-ninth birthday, she believed that they would be together for the rest of her life.
She was wrong. Twelve years later, while on a book tour for her second memoir, she was served with divorce papers. Her husband was leaving her for another woman. That was the previous June.
She was sitting on a bed while smoking a cigarette in a cheap motel outside of New Orleans. She was relieved to find when she woke up that she was alone. She had to go to her twenty year college reunion later on that day.
She looked around the room with her cigarette dangling from her mouth. She had stayed in enough motel rooms over the years, whether it was because she was investigating a story or because she was on a book tour, to have noticed how all cheap motel rooms look the same.
She put her cigarette out, sighing as she realized that she needed to take a shower because she reeked of sweat, vodka, and loneliness. She pulled the covers back and stood up, stretching her arms out.
