Interview with Ladimer, of Renhala
Yes, come on in! (in my best sing-song voice, trying to cover my ever-increasing anxiety
in hopes I don’t vomit all over him).
A young boy
enters—on a skateboard—and not who I expected. He looks about eight years old
and is dressed in extremely baggy, torn jeans and a plain black t-shirt. “Hey.”
Hey? I look behind him, waiting for any others. Um, are you with
Ladimer?
“Yeah.” He
flicks his shaggy blond hair to the side and steps on his board, flicking it up
into his hands. He takes a seat in the special hot seat: the one with the extra
special, squishy, butt-warming pillow cushion—the one for SPECIAL guests.
How ‘bout I give you another chair.
This one is for our main attraction. I
grab a folding chair and he doesn’t look so enthused as I offer it to him, but
he still sits in it, with a loud “humph.” Is Ladimer here, yet?
“Yeah.”
Well all right then. Let me just go
over my notes while you wait quietly. Thanks. I look down at my notepad and begin drawing swirlies and hearts around
my interview questions as the clock
ticks loudly. As I fumble with my papers, looking at the clock, I cut myself
with not just one, but two pieces of paper, simultaneously. Damn!
“Here, let
me help you with that.” But this voice is not skaterboy’s. It’s adult, and SEXY.
It’s HIM.
I look up, and my jaw
drops as he lays one hand over, then onto, my cut. How? Ladimer? He has transformed
into a gorgeous man with short silky
blond hair and a flawlessly perfect face. His perfect chest conforms to the
tight shirt. A warming sensation that starts at my cut slowly travels elsewhere
to unmentionable places on my body. I look into his big brown eyes and giggle
to myself, then snort. I immediately cover my mouth and my cheeks redden like
cherries.
“Shhhh.”
He lifts his hand and
my skin is totally healed, leaving behind no trace of a cut whatsoever.
“Just imagine what two hands could do.” He
sits back in his chair and simply stares at me. “I suppose you have questions
for me? I haven’t much time.”
Uh, yes. Yeah, right here. I suddenly drop all my papers to the floor. I’m
such a clutz. Sorry. I pick them up and
notice he has moved his chair closer to me. OMG. Yes, first question for
you: Where were you born and how old are you?
*laughing*
“Well, I was born in my family’s castle on our family’s island, in Renhala, and
let’s just say I’m old enough to know how you’re feeling around me right now.”
He smiles, mischievously.
I swallow hard,
gathering the courage to continue on with my interview questions, but only end
up sweating profusely. He’s staring at me, still smiling. I quickly glance at
my questions and suddenly I know I have to hit a sore spot to divert my
anxiety. Okay, question two: “What’s up with
you and Kailey?”
Suddenly his
left eyebrow rises and I see a small shift in his smirk. “I make you that nervous?”
Yes. Now answer my question, please.
“Fine.” His
whole demeanor changes as he begins talking. “Kailey and I . . . have a special
thing.” He looks out the window, in an almost forlorn manner. “Our relationship
is complicated, but it doesn’t mean I love her any less.” He breathes in
deeply, then suddenly looks me straight in the eyes and says, in almost a
whisper, “I love her like an ocean loves the sunrise; never touching, but
appearing as so, and respecting that I am beautiful only because of her
reflection.” His eyes are locked on mine.
Holy shit. OOPS, sorry! I just said
that out loud, right? That’s . . . beautiful, Ladimer.
He sits up
straight. “It’s the truth. I recognize beauty when I see it.” Before I can even
move, and as he reaches toward me with those godforsaken hands, I shiver. His
hand lands on my shoulder and suddenly I notice that my hair falling down from
my shoulders is an entirely different color—my natural color, and the one I
haven’t worn in years, because I was too afraid to see my whole head this
color.
How on Earth? I look at my reflection in a mirror on the wall. Oooh.
He gets up
and walks toward the door. “Even a weed needs sunshine once in awhile.”
I’m still enthralled
with the new me and can’t take my eyes off the mirror. Wow, my hair . . . Hey?!? Wait! A weed?!? I hear a skateboard ride down the sidewalk. Guess the interview is
over. I’m keeping the hair.
Born in Chicago, Illinois, a few days prior to watching her
first movie, at a drive-in theater. Yes, drive-in theater. And yes, her mother
believed she was possessed by the devil after said first movie.
Grew up in the Chicagoland area and graduated from the
University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana, where she simply became a number, but
decided it was a good number.
Loves cooking (mostly candy-cooking), gardening (putting holes
in the ground for perennials, DONE!), designing and constructing jewelry (everything
from silversmithing to lampworking), and living with her wonderful husband, two
children, black Labrador, and frog—and maybe even the chipmunk family that
likes to destroy her aforementioned perennials.
Also hopes that you enjoy her writings, and won’t criticize her
for her aversion of eating things in multiples of three.
Renhala is an adult book. All ebook entries should be atleast 17 years or older...
Renhala is an adult book. All ebook entries should be atleast 17 years or older...
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