Articles liés à Gingersnaps: A Novel
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Book by WelchTyson Delorys
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Extrait :
"And the nominees are . . ."
Aletha leaned back and slowly rotated her head, feigning a stiff neck, at
the same time sliding her eyes--heavily lashed for the
occasion--discreetly about the huge auditorium. It was a controlled and
practiced act of self-conscious discretion, as she did not want to appear
so wide-eyed and childishly starstruck, especially after all these years.
Famous and infamous faces were everywhere!
Elegantly and not-so-elegantly clad in other famous people's haute
couture, these show business folks were trying to mask their quite natural
and inborn lust for public accolades with bogus airs of insouciance.
"It's all pretty political, you know . . . doesn't mean a thing," most of
them had said at one time or another . . . usually after having lost,
Aletha thought, smirking to herself.
Aletha returned her gaze to the stage. She looked up at the podium with
rapt attention, her large, black eyes swiftly frisking the two
celebrities. One of them was about to announce her name, along with the
others on the list of the very best of the season. The long, dark, tall
one--a veteran of the industry--with what looked like silver dust
elegantly sprinkled around his temples, clad in a fabulous-looking Brioni
tuxedo, used to star in her teenage erotic fantasies. Now there he was in
person, about to acknowledge her--from those full, plum-colored, juicy
lips, acknowledge her as one of the contenders. The female copresenter, a
dowager queen of a daytime soap opera, was wearing an inadequate little
frock. It looked like something that Bill Blass might have sketched during
his off-hours. The recent face-lift was a bit too obvious as
well--girlfriend was looking a little Chinese tonight, Aletha mused,
giggling.
"What are you laughing about, Aletha?" her escort asked, lightly touching
the hand which had been resting on her lap.
"Shhh . . . Reggie," she snapped, placing the index finger of one hand
over her lips and slapping his hand away with the other.
Even though she was one of the famous ones too, she still found herself on
those occasions pinching the tight flesh of her forearm from time to time
in order to confirm the reality of her situation.
". . . The Veronica Stone Show, Bob Dennison and Kathy Myerson, producers
. . ."
A large wad of mucous had knotted up in Aletha's throat. She wanted to
cough but had to seize control; only hours ago she had slithered into a
too-tight Azzadine Alaia number, and she had no intention of bursting out
of it for all of America to witness. The gossip columnists would have a
field day . . . but then, they probably already were. They always managed
to come up with something . . . even in a vacuum. She had to remind
herself, though, that those same vultures were the very people who had
helped make her who she was--rich, famous, powerful, and a more familiar
presence in most homes than Lemon Fresh Joy.
" . . . The Dabney Wilkin's Show . . . Maxine Tyler, producer," Ms.
Dowager Queen continued.
Reggie, her friend and lover for over five years, reached over and
reassuringly held her hand. Aletha gently removed her hand from his,
placed it on his cheek, and adoringly stroked the smooth, tan flesh. He
jerked his head away from her in response.
Aletha's brow furrowed for a moment, and she pursed her lips as she was
about to register her displeasure with Reggie. She was hurt and annoyed
that he had pulled his body away from her, but she had a much more
important issue to think about at that moment.
". . . and The Aletha Brown Show . . . Veronica McPherson, producer . .
." Juicy Plum Lips added. Finally!
Aletha glanced quickly around the auditorium to see who was looking at
her--with envy, she was sure--then her eyes locked with Geraldo's.
He winked.
She looked away from him, her chin raised to a point just below smug, and
she
relished the fact that he was not among the list of nominees for the first
time in who knew how many years, and she was. Of course, he had won the
damned thing zillions of times and she had yet to get the award, despite
being nominated five damned times in a row. She had no doubts that this
year would be the year of The Aletha Brown Show. She looked over at her
producer, Veronica, sitting next to her escort, Derrick, whose arm was
supportively draped around her shoulders.
Aletha grabbed Reggie's arm, then awkwardly and comically ducked her head
beneath it and placed it around her shoulders.
It was a far cry better than cheek rubbing.
Aletha slipped her stockinged feet back into her Charles Jordan pumps as
she positioned herself to get up to accept her award--the acceptance
speech was readying itself in her brain.
"The envelope, please."
At that instant, something Aletha couldn't see caused the Soap Star to
stumble to the floor. The envelope then flew from her hand and landed
across the stage. Juicy Plum Lips went over to help the actress up, and
then he had to walk a mile and a half--or so it seemed to Aletha--to
recover the envelope.
"Damn! What's wrong with the old broad anyway? What's she got? Some kind
of joint disease in the old knees or something? Some people just don't
know when to step down! She should just retire. Look at her!"
"Aletha, calm down!" Reggie commanded.
"And the winner is . . . " Juicy Plum Lips began as Aletha leaned the heel
of her hand into Reggie's thigh as a support to get up, negotiating as
elegantly as she could around her constricting gown.
"Ouch! Aletha, be careful! What are you doing?" Reggie whispered, grabbing
her hand and trying to ease her back into her seat.
". . . The Victoria Stone Show!!!"
Thunderous applause and Aletha's own anger exploded in her head. That
nitwit hussy Victoria Stone, with all those fist-fighting guests, had won
the statue, Aletha raged to herself.
Tears threatened to leap from her eyes.
She glanced over at Reggie, who had a look of alarm on his face as he
noticed that hers was now fixed in a contorted portrait of outraged
disbelief.
"Are you okay, Aletha?" he whispered, taking her hand in his and raising
it to his lips to kiss it.
She snatched her hand away.
Silence.
She couldn't believe it! Her fifth loss in five years. She didn't care how
many people said that it was all purely political.
It didn't matter that she was as rich as milk chocolate, or that she had a
gorgeous man who loved her--Althea Brown wanted that statue!
"The Victoria Brown Show my ass," Aletha hissed, loud enough for her
producer and a couple of others to hear. " Who in the hell is she sleeping
with?"
"Shhh! Aletha, look . . . You know you are fabulous. You're still in prime
time, baby!" Reggie soothed. If he couldn't massage her damaged ego by the
end of the ceremony he knew he'd have one big, high-drama, angst-filled
evening--perhaps week--even month--ahead of him. "Look, your show has a
lot more integrity than that Victoria Stone's, honey," Reggie lied, trying
to pacify her.
"You've got that right, Reg."
She looked around and caught Geraldo's eye.
He winked, again.
She turned away, sucked her teeth, and crossed her legs. Her right foot
hit the seat in front of her, breaking the heel of her expensive Charles
Jordans.
"Damn! Look what you've made me do, Reggie!" she hissed, needing at that
moment to blame the person closest to her for anything and everything.
Reggie knew it was going to be a long night.
His eyes fell on her beautiful breasts, which were swelling with
indignation. At that instant he smiled to himself, thinking that just
maybe when they got back to her place he'd tear that tantalizingly tight
gown from her body and mollify her with some ardent and libidinous
gymnastics.
Months passed.
The windows of Aletha's spacious New York City bedroom were frosted with
ice. On the fireplace mantel was the gaping space and the naked elegant
pedestal where the statue had been intended to reside. She had every
intention of leaving that space there, a ready and welcoming shrine
prepared for the day that her statue finally found its way home.
Staring over at the empty space, tangled in her musk-scented linen sheets,
she focused her attention again on her lover's most recent grievance.
"What do you mean, I'm too manipulative and pushy? What are you trying to
say, Reggie baby?" Aletha had started to get angry, but as usual, his
reassuring touch melted her into that same cozy, blithe submission that
only he was gifted enough to induce. Sometimes his harsh criticisms hurt
her, but she reminded herself that he was the only man she had ever known
who knew exactly how to calm her impetuous spirit. She knew that he said
those things because he simply wanted her to become a better person.
Aletha surrendered to his sumptuous oral embrace.
A faint moan rose from the depths of her chest as she lightly rested her
strong, dark legs on his smooth, muscular, golden brown shoulders,
pointing her toes toward the ceiling.
"Ohh, Reg . . . I . . . love . . . you . . . " gasped Aletha, her hips
rocking gently beneath him, expressing a familiar all-consuming yearning.
Her gorgeous lover looked up at her, his greenish hazel eyes merging with
her deep brown ones, and responded with a fervent sincerity, "You know I
love you, too, Aletha." He let his full, moist lips linger on her thigh.
A dulcet cadence of soft, s...
Revue de presse :
Aletha leaned back and slowly rotated her head, feigning a stiff neck, at
the same time sliding her eyes--heavily lashed for the
occasion--discreetly about the huge auditorium. It was a controlled and
practiced act of self-conscious discretion, as she did not want to appear
so wide-eyed and childishly starstruck, especially after all these years.
Famous and infamous faces were everywhere!
Elegantly and not-so-elegantly clad in other famous people's haute
couture, these show business folks were trying to mask their quite natural
and inborn lust for public accolades with bogus airs of insouciance.
"It's all pretty political, you know . . . doesn't mean a thing," most of
them had said at one time or another . . . usually after having lost,
Aletha thought, smirking to herself.
Aletha returned her gaze to the stage. She looked up at the podium with
rapt attention, her large, black eyes swiftly frisking the two
celebrities. One of them was about to announce her name, along with the
others on the list of the very best of the season. The long, dark, tall
one--a veteran of the industry--with what looked like silver dust
elegantly sprinkled around his temples, clad in a fabulous-looking Brioni
tuxedo, used to star in her teenage erotic fantasies. Now there he was in
person, about to acknowledge her--from those full, plum-colored, juicy
lips, acknowledge her as one of the contenders. The female copresenter, a
dowager queen of a daytime soap opera, was wearing an inadequate little
frock. It looked like something that Bill Blass might have sketched during
his off-hours. The recent face-lift was a bit too obvious as
well--girlfriend was looking a little Chinese tonight, Aletha mused,
giggling.
"What are you laughing about, Aletha?" her escort asked, lightly touching
the hand which had been resting on her lap.
"Shhh . . . Reggie," she snapped, placing the index finger of one hand
over her lips and slapping his hand away with the other.
Even though she was one of the famous ones too, she still found herself on
those occasions pinching the tight flesh of her forearm from time to time
in order to confirm the reality of her situation.
". . . The Veronica Stone Show, Bob Dennison and Kathy Myerson, producers
. . ."
A large wad of mucous had knotted up in Aletha's throat. She wanted to
cough but had to seize control; only hours ago she had slithered into a
too-tight Azzadine Alaia number, and she had no intention of bursting out
of it for all of America to witness. The gossip columnists would have a
field day . . . but then, they probably already were. They always managed
to come up with something . . . even in a vacuum. She had to remind
herself, though, that those same vultures were the very people who had
helped make her who she was--rich, famous, powerful, and a more familiar
presence in most homes than Lemon Fresh Joy.
" . . . The Dabney Wilkin's Show . . . Maxine Tyler, producer," Ms.
Dowager Queen continued.
Reggie, her friend and lover for over five years, reached over and
reassuringly held her hand. Aletha gently removed her hand from his,
placed it on his cheek, and adoringly stroked the smooth, tan flesh. He
jerked his head away from her in response.
Aletha's brow furrowed for a moment, and she pursed her lips as she was
about to register her displeasure with Reggie. She was hurt and annoyed
that he had pulled his body away from her, but she had a much more
important issue to think about at that moment.
". . . and The Aletha Brown Show . . . Veronica McPherson, producer . .
." Juicy Plum Lips added. Finally!
Aletha glanced quickly around the auditorium to see who was looking at
her--with envy, she was sure--then her eyes locked with Geraldo's.
He winked.
She looked away from him, her chin raised to a point just below smug, and
she
relished the fact that he was not among the list of nominees for the first
time in who knew how many years, and she was. Of course, he had won the
damned thing zillions of times and she had yet to get the award, despite
being nominated five damned times in a row. She had no doubts that this
year would be the year of The Aletha Brown Show. She looked over at her
producer, Veronica, sitting next to her escort, Derrick, whose arm was
supportively draped around her shoulders.
Aletha grabbed Reggie's arm, then awkwardly and comically ducked her head
beneath it and placed it around her shoulders.
It was a far cry better than cheek rubbing.
Aletha slipped her stockinged feet back into her Charles Jordan pumps as
she positioned herself to get up to accept her award--the acceptance
speech was readying itself in her brain.
"The envelope, please."
At that instant, something Aletha couldn't see caused the Soap Star to
stumble to the floor. The envelope then flew from her hand and landed
across the stage. Juicy Plum Lips went over to help the actress up, and
then he had to walk a mile and a half--or so it seemed to Aletha--to
recover the envelope.
"Damn! What's wrong with the old broad anyway? What's she got? Some kind
of joint disease in the old knees or something? Some people just don't
know when to step down! She should just retire. Look at her!"
"Aletha, calm down!" Reggie commanded.
"And the winner is . . . " Juicy Plum Lips began as Aletha leaned the heel
of her hand into Reggie's thigh as a support to get up, negotiating as
elegantly as she could around her constricting gown.
"Ouch! Aletha, be careful! What are you doing?" Reggie whispered, grabbing
her hand and trying to ease her back into her seat.
". . . The Victoria Stone Show!!!"
Thunderous applause and Aletha's own anger exploded in her head. That
nitwit hussy Victoria Stone, with all those fist-fighting guests, had won
the statue, Aletha raged to herself.
Tears threatened to leap from her eyes.
She glanced over at Reggie, who had a look of alarm on his face as he
noticed that hers was now fixed in a contorted portrait of outraged
disbelief.
"Are you okay, Aletha?" he whispered, taking her hand in his and raising
it to his lips to kiss it.
She snatched her hand away.
Silence.
She couldn't believe it! Her fifth loss in five years. She didn't care how
many people said that it was all purely political.
It didn't matter that she was as rich as milk chocolate, or that she had a
gorgeous man who loved her--Althea Brown wanted that statue!
"The Victoria Brown Show my ass," Aletha hissed, loud enough for her
producer and a couple of others to hear. " Who in the hell is she sleeping
with?"
"Shhh! Aletha, look . . . You know you are fabulous. You're still in prime
time, baby!" Reggie soothed. If he couldn't massage her damaged ego by the
end of the ceremony he knew he'd have one big, high-drama, angst-filled
evening--perhaps week--even month--ahead of him. "Look, your show has a
lot more integrity than that Victoria Stone's, honey," Reggie lied, trying
to pacify her.
"You've got that right, Reg."
She looked around and caught Geraldo's eye.
He winked, again.
She turned away, sucked her teeth, and crossed her legs. Her right foot
hit the seat in front of her, breaking the heel of her expensive Charles
Jordans.
"Damn! Look what you've made me do, Reggie!" she hissed, needing at that
moment to blame the person closest to her for anything and everything.
Reggie knew it was going to be a long night.
His eyes fell on her beautiful breasts, which were swelling with
indignation. At that instant he smiled to himself, thinking that just
maybe when they got back to her place he'd tear that tantalizingly tight
gown from her body and mollify her with some ardent and libidinous
gymnastics.
Months passed.
The windows of Aletha's spacious New York City bedroom were frosted with
ice. On the fireplace mantel was the gaping space and the naked elegant
pedestal where the statue had been intended to reside. She had every
intention of leaving that space there, a ready and welcoming shrine
prepared for the day that her statue finally found its way home.
Staring over at the empty space, tangled in her musk-scented linen sheets,
she focused her attention again on her lover's most recent grievance.
"What do you mean, I'm too manipulative and pushy? What are you trying to
say, Reggie baby?" Aletha had started to get angry, but as usual, his
reassuring touch melted her into that same cozy, blithe submission that
only he was gifted enough to induce. Sometimes his harsh criticisms hurt
her, but she reminded herself that he was the only man she had ever known
who knew exactly how to calm her impetuous spirit. She knew that he said
those things because he simply wanted her to become a better person.
Aletha surrendered to his sumptuous oral embrace.
A faint moan rose from the depths of her chest as she lightly rested her
strong, dark legs on his smooth, muscular, golden brown shoulders,
pointing her toes toward the ceiling.
"Ohh, Reg . . . I . . . love . . . you . . . " gasped Aletha, her hips
rocking gently beneath him, expressing a familiar all-consuming yearning.
Her gorgeous lover looked up at her, his greenish hazel eyes merging with
her deep brown ones, and responded with a fervent sincerity, "You know I
love you, too, Aletha." He let his full, moist lips linger on her thigh.
A dulcet cadence of soft, s...
"Two snaps for Gingersnaps! . . . Extremely hilarious . . . Irresistible."
--CHARLENE A. BERRY
Author of Love's Deceptions
"All of the women . . . engage and interact in a world filled with jealousy, ambition, love, and hate, yet each possesses that inner strength to overcome adversity and rebound with style."
--Booklist
"Delorys Welch-Tyson makes a dramatic debut. Gingersnaps draws readers into the world of highly successful black women who seemingly 'have it all.' But behind the facade of fame and fortune, amid the peaks and valleys of passion and success, she peels away the layers to reveal real women--resilient, funny, dynamite."
--ROBIN ALLEN
Author of Hidden Memories and Breeze
--CHARLENE A. BERRY
Author of Love's Deceptions
"All of the women . . . engage and interact in a world filled with jealousy, ambition, love, and hate, yet each possesses that inner strength to overcome adversity and rebound with style."
--Booklist
"Delorys Welch-Tyson makes a dramatic debut. Gingersnaps draws readers into the world of highly successful black women who seemingly 'have it all.' But behind the facade of fame and fortune, amid the peaks and valleys of passion and success, she peels away the layers to reveal real women--resilient, funny, dynamite."
--ROBIN ALLEN
Author of Hidden Memories and Breeze
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
- ÉditeuriUniverse Publishing
- Date d'édition2011
- ISBN 10 1462056040
- ISBN 13 9781462056040
- ReliureBroché
- Nombre de pages336
- Evaluation vendeur
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