Entry 11

I worked in the garden all day and then dressed and headed for work.

Granny stopped me on the way out and gave me an earful about Cary but I kissed her cheek and said “I owe, I owe, it’s off to work I go!”

And it’s the truth - I wasn’t kidding about having a gambling addiction. In New York, we’d head out for a girls night out at the racetracks or over to Atlantic City. It just got worse when I moved to Las Vegas and there was gaming everywhere! Even at the frickin’ grocery store!

So I went into serious debt and made a few bad loans with some really shady characters. Most of them knew that I had a little psychic twinkle and I would use my gift for getting them numbers and racehorse results and sports predictions. I could pull the winning lottery number for some Guido, but I couldn’t even win on a damn scratch off for myself. Still, I got rid of the more troublesome debts and the rest I put on my credit cards - which is why my credit sucks and I have to make deals with suspicious pixies for a reliable automobile.

When I finally got into work, I was lower than a whale’s belly button. I hated Cary and the havoc he was wreaking on my girly bits. And then I’d start thinking about the whole him cheating, me taking off, gambling, la la la and then I’d be depressed for days. What I needed was a distraction - maybe a vacation? But between work and watching over Granny Todd and my money problems, it didn’t look like I was going to get one for a while.

Saturday night at <BAR NAME> was hoppin’. Conventioneers were at the end of their weekend away from being civic and were all lickered up and ready for trouble. The bouncers had to kick more than one group out for being too rowdy. Turns out there was also a tech convention in town and the bar was full of nerds too. The only thing that would make this evening busier would be if there were a SciFi convention going on. Nerds, middle aged jerks, and folks dressed up as fairies, and Klingons, and shit make for an interesting evening.

One bright moment in the evening was when my dear friend Lady Ursula made an appearance. Ursula and I have been friends since grade school. I wouldn’t say she’s my best friend but then I couldn’t name my best friend either. But what we had was a mutual appreciation for the eccentric and for the unusual. Tonight, Ursula was both.

She is nearly 6 feet tall without heels and tonight she was wearing at least 6 inch platforms. Her naturally long hair was swept up in a elegant twist. She wore a simple white silk blouse with the lace of a bra peeking out and a black leather skirt that was just bootylicious. In one elegant, manicured hand, she held the end of a leash that was attached to a man that was both blindfolded and gagged. He knelt beside her on the floor at her feet. He wore little - just a pair of shorts and flip flops.

From time to time, she would pull off the blindfold, stare into the man’s eyes, and say something. He would blink, look around, and then sheepishly look at the ground. After a few moments, she would put the blind fold back on. If I knew Ursula, I knew that she was being paid to be there and paid well. I wandered over.

“Working hard?” I asked.

“Oh yes. Ronald is such a bad boy and I have to constantly remind him that he is nothing to me,” she said. “Ronald, attention.”

The man leapt to his feet.

“Go get me a tonic water with a twist of lime in a champagne glass,” she ordered. She dropped the reins, he bowed slightly, and then took off at a sprint.

“CEO?” I asked.

“Yep” she replied. “He’s the head of a banking conglomerate and needs to serve in this way so that he can feel better about the way he treats his employees. He’s got “Daddy” issues too.”

“Sounds heavy.”

“Oh it is. But it’s interesting too. It’s so much more interesting to work with people’s psyche this way instead of clinically,” she said. Ursula is a licensed psychologist but she says the money is in S&M. “Whatever floats your boat” is my motto.

“I need some of your expertise. Think you can do a session for me tomorrow?” she asked.

“Sure, I think I will have time around 7 tomorrow evening. Will that work?” I asked.

“It will work very well,” she said as Ronald ran back, carefully, with the requested libation and sank to his knees to present it to her.

“I’ll text you in a bit to confirm our appointment,” I said as I leaned down. We kissed air and I went on my way.

Entry 10

I watched Granny give Cary instructions on using the concoctions she’d put together for his dog. She still liked him despite his horn dog ways. She’s been telling me since I came back home 2 years ago that he’s different than he was all that time ago. I want to trust her. I don’t trust him.

I went back to work. He stayed a few minutes more on the pretense of asking Granny about her garden but left when I ignored him.

But I wasn’t ignoring him. Every part of my body was on fire after falling into his arms. I could remember how he smelled and the warmth of his hands as they held and steadied me. There was no part of my anatomy that didn’t think that getting a little closer to Cary would be a bad idea. Certain tingly parts were reminding me that I hadn’t had a lover since before I moved back home.

And then there was the painting incident.

Cary is a successful contractor but he’s a witch too. Granny hired him to paint the carriage house interior where I live. It looks very nice. But he also cast a seduction spell in the bedroom so that every time I’d go to sleep, I’d have erotic dreams - usually about him.

Love spells are amazingly unpredictable and should never be used. People have done all kinds of crazy stuff under the influence of love spells and potions - everything from shaving their entire body because the object of their affection said that their hair needed a trim to robbing banks to make their dream lover notice them to murder-suicide. Turns out that love makes you stupid and unstable.

However, a good seduction spell will create enough of a good vibe that if there’s any attraction there,  it will just push you together. But it backfired on Cary. When Cary cast the spell in my bedroom, I got horny and pissed. Pissed that he violate my grandmother’s trust; pissed that I felt violated; just pissed. Unfortunately for him, I have a pretty bad temper and, Rule of Three be damned, I cursed Cary Ellis.

The spell that I cast on him made all the hair on his head – including his eyebrows, eyelashes, beard - fall out and then grow werewolf-like on his chest, arms, legs, knuckles, and the best part, his groin. I heard that the morning after I cast it, his pubic hair had grown so thick that he couldn’t zip up a single pair of jeans. It was a short-term spell so eventually the hair on his head started growing back, but I think he still has to trim his chest and pubic hair daily.

In return, he got the last laugh when I ended up in the hospital to have hemorrhoid surgery. I suppose there are more embarrassing ways to spend time in a hospital but having your ass up in the air for everyone to come ogle is right at the top of my list.

Yeah, Karma can be a real bitch.

Entry 9

Breaking from my thoughts, I smiled back at the woman who raised me. There were kids in this world who were alive because of her croup remedies. Women alive who might have died during childbirth. Men burned severely but healed by the gentle touch of my grandmother. And there were hearts, so many hearts that she had touched, provided answers and advice to, but most of all were honored and cherished by this dear servant of God.

“We were given our gift to serve, Brandywine” she said while reading my thoughts.

“I will never be as good as you. I will never touch people the way that you do,” I responded.

“You have a different path, my darlin’. I’ve known it since you kicked me through your mother’s belly three days before you were born. I knew that you would be more like my daughter than my granddaughter and that you would help and be helped by those you served.”

She patted my cheek.

“Now, enough of this melancholia. We’ve got beans to pick.”

Two hours later, my back was hurting. My legs were tighter than if I’d been through a 3 hour spin class. The woman was a tyrant, an out and out tyrant with a rototiller. For someone as round and old as she was, she could work circles around me.

I was bent over hand weeding parsnips, when I heard footsteps.

“Damn girl, that is a fine piece of ass.”

I straightened up and spun around, my back protesting as I did. I spun so fast and was so overcome by the quick stab of pain that I stumbled, right into my ex boyfriend, Cary Ellis.

Holding me close to his body, he whispered, “For a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Now I see that I am very much alive, and heaven has fallen on top of me.”

“Gag me with a spoon. Get your creepy hands off of me!” I shoved him away. “What the Hell do you want?” I demanded.

“I’m here to see Granny Todd. My dog has arthritis pretty bad and she said she’d whip up something to help,” he explained.

“It’s right here, mister,” my grandmother said as she walked out of her shed. “And I appreciate you keeping Brandy from falling on her face - even if she didn’t appreciate it,” she gave me a side glance.

She’s always really liked Cary and has on more than one occasion told me that I will marry him. I threaten her with a nursing home when she says things like this.

I’ve known Carrington Ellis since we were children. His mother is an herbalist and she and Granny get together to compare notes and trade plants on occasion. She would bring him and his two younger brothers with her when we were all little. He also sat next to me in Sunday school and would regularly tie my braids to the chair without my knowledge. He was my first kiss, my first love, and my first lover. And he was my first broken heart when he cheated on me with the Homecoming Queen.

I left town and headed to New York when I found out. After a few years on the chorus lines, I moved to Vegas, where I enjoyed a steady paycheck and a gambling addiction. I came back 18 years later when Granny Todd was seriously ill with pneumonia.

Almost as soon as I came back into town, Cary started sniffing around. My heart says that it’s time to let bygones be bygones. My head says to run over him with my new Cadillac.

Entry 8

Saturday morning was fresh and beautiful. I got up, made some coffee, went through my morning rituals and routines and then put on my gardening clothes.

I set out to join my grandmother in the yard.

I wandered out into the yard, munching a piece of cheese toast and sipping a cup of strong coffee. I didn’t see Granny anywhere.

“It’s about time you got up! Good heavens it’s 8AM! Best time of the day is already gone,” a voice said with a bit of humor.

I turned and saw my grandmother.

Elizabeth Hope Todd stood about 5’4” and was about as round as she was tall. She wore a large floppy bonnet that covered the back of her neck and most of her long steel gray hair that she kept pinned up. She didn’t look a day over 50 but I knew that she was proud of every one of her 89 years. Granny attributed her youthful looks to “good humors and bathing daily in water steeped in moonlight”.

Yes, my grandmother is a witch. A very powerful one too. She knew how to pull a focused intent to her. She knew how to make potions that would cure things that doctors didn’t. She grew most of her own vegetables and traded out with others for meat and butter. Her little goats provided all the milk and cheese she needed and her chickens were good for meat and eggs. She knew how to live off the land but she also knew how to dress up in a fancy cocktail dress and go to one of the many functions held by the many nonprofits that she supported and volunteered for.

My grandfather really didn’t know what he was getting into when he married Granny. He was a rich boy and had known her all his life. When he came back from college with a pharmacy degree, he asked Granny to marry him and they made a very successful business together. She worked the front of the drug store together and sold band-aids and rubbing alcohol and “Evening in Paris” perfume gift sets to mill workers and factory laborers and housewives. My grandmother would rack up the sales of that nasty perfume at Christmas time and Valentine’s Day and when my grandfather complained about how bad it stunk up the shop, my grandmother would laugh and say “It’s smells like money to me!”

Meanwhile the folks that came in would visit my grandfather for whatever medical care they could. It’s not like it is now where you go to the doctor if you sneeze. Then, folks only went to the doctor if they really needed a doctor. For colds, rashes, and stuff like that you’d ask the pharmacist what to do and he’d either direct you to a ready made solution or in some cases would compound something to help. If he couldn’t help, he’d would either suggest that the person visit a doctor or would suggest they talk to my grandmother about “something” she might know about that particular ailment.

Sometimes, a tired woman, with multiple kids pulling at her skirts would come directly to my grandmother and you’d see them with heads bent, whispering. My grandmother would tell her to come to the back door in 2 hours. There, my grandmother would hand over a mimeographed sheet and a packet of herbs that would end a pregnancy. She would always end the consult with a gentle hug and a pat of the cheek.

This was long before Planned Parenthood or Roe vs Wade. But as long as there have been mama’s with too many kids, there have been abortions.

My grandmother would say that none of her patients would end up in a back room with a butcher.

Part 7

Next few days were like any other: dancers to coax, horny patrons to manage, and by Friday, I had almost forgotten the bad dreams until I walked back stage and saw Destinee crying as though her heart would break.

There were always tears backstage. Someone would have a fight with their boyfriend - or girlfriend as the case might be - or broke a nail or was PMSing and just needed to vent through the rage.

One part of being Show Manager is that you have to be a little bit of a cross between a Mother Hen and MacGuyver. This time, I figured Mother Hen would be more useful so I walked over to Destinee and she gasped “My boyfriend is cheating on me and I want to kill him!”

“No, you don’t want to kill him,” I cajoled. “You are upset and disappointed but killing someone is bad Karma.”

She gripped my hands and peered into my face.

“One of the girls said that you are a witch and that you could do all kinds of stuff,” she whispered.

I looked around. My status was known by a few - mostly people who had asked for help and I had accommodated with my little bit of magic had helped people through some jams.

That’s what magic is for though. It’s to help out your fellow human being and since you can do very few things for yourself supernaturally it evens out the playing field. Like I said, magic I can do, mundane things like cook or balance my checkbook? Not so much.

It’s not that I’m stupid. My Granny says that witches don’t think linearly like non-magical folks do and that math was designed and developed by people who can’t imagine their way out of a box. I could summon someone to do it but it would cause a lot of problems and is a real bitch to fix later. I know this from personal experience.

“Honey,” I said as I sat down. “I can’t help you kill someone. If you do that, you will pay for it three times. It never ends well. Trust me on this.”

I paused.

“I know, you move out of his house and I’ll give you a talisman that you can hide there that will make his peter limper than spaghetti that’s been cooked too long. Since it’s not permanent or dangerous, it won’t be too bad on your Karma.”

“What do you mean, Karma?” she said quietly.

“Karma means that whatever you send out into the universe good or bad, will come back to you. So if you send out hate and murder, hate and murder will come back on you. It’s like when the kids said ‘I’m rubber and you’re glue and whatever you say bounces off of me and onto you!’ to explain it. You’re a sweet girl and you are a beautiful dancer and I think I just decided not to hate you.” She looked at me strangely. I smiled.

“Come on, let Brandy make you a talisman and you move out of the pecker’s house tonight!”

I finally got her calmed down and then retreated to my office to make the talisman.

I keep a few things on hand for situations like this. My grandmother would be saying that for full effect I would need moonlight and holy water and a tablespoon of the offending man’s urine but I had found that just a simple binding spell worked pretty well on jerks like this.

I gave the trinket to Destinee and told her to hide it in his home while she packed. She had already arranged to go stay with one of the other dancers while I made the talisman. I was glad, I really didn’t want to take her home with me.

Part 6

The rest of the evening was pretty much a blur. Nothing really spectacular. A couple of rowdy middle aged guys got kicked out; they obviously were conventioneers and not used to partying like they’re kids anymore.

When the overnight Show Manager showed up, I left and went home.

It was a warm night and I rolled down the windows to let my hair blow and to get the smell of hair spray and sweat out of my nose.

Once home, I pulled up and went into my tiny apartment. My grandmother had left me some meatloaf and cornbread and butter beans on the counter. The smell of lavender filled the air. I know a lot of old ladies smell like lavender but my grandmother grows the stuff and always smells like she’s just gotten out of the garden, which isn’t too far from the truth.

I live in the carriage house of my grandmother’s property. She and my grandfather bought this property and the house on it a million years ago when it was still almost completely pasture land. Now, there were McMansions everywhere and my grandmother’s modest little home on 8 acres of in-town property. They used to have 20 acres but bits and pieces had been sold over the years. A big chunk was sold to pay for my mother’s defense.

When I was 9 years old, I came home from school to a burning house. I was told that my father was killed and that my mother was going away for a while. Later, I found out that my mother had set the house on fire while my father slept. She had supposedly found out that he had been cheating on her and had accidentally knocked over a kerosene heater on her way out of the house. The fire was so intense that there was nothing left of his body which family members had talked about - when I was out of earshot they thought - and come to the conclusion that the fire was magical in nature instead of mundane. Only a magical fire could do that kind of damage and my mother was a gifted witch. I guessed she still was but I didn’t know how much of the Craft she could do while incarcerated for 40 years to life.

I was a little girl and loved my daddy more than anyone or anything else in the World and I was angry at mother for taking him away from me and for leaving me too. I haven’t visited my mother since I found out she killed daddy.

My grandmother took me in, healed my heart, and treated me like her own child. Some thought she was too old but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. She did what she could for her daughter in prison and, in loving me like her own flesh, helped heal her own heart.

I ate the cold dinner and then snuggled into bed and was plagued by dreams of school girls with bloody hands all night.

It was a bad night.

Story pt 5

Backstage was fairly quiet as the day shift was still in effect. Evening would bring a full schedule and every dressing table would be full. I grabbed the schedule and started working with the make-up artist and costumer to be sure they had what they needed. Hey, just because they dance nude doesn’t mean they don’t need make up and pretty outfits. The patrons get bored if girls just go out naked.

A bouncer came backstage at 5 with a young girl. She couldn’t have been more than 21 and had a bright, fresh face. She was dressed pretty demurely in jeans and a t-shirt and carried a bag over her shoulder.

“Are you Destinee?” I asked.

She nodded shyly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Heavens. Don’t call me ma’am. My grandmother gets called ma’am. Not me.”

She still looked unsure.

“Ok Destinee. Did you get all your paperwork filled out with Barbara?” I asked as I walked towards the dressing area.

“Yes, ma… um, yes,” she stammered.

“It’s ok. My name is Brandywine but you can call me Brandy. I am your Show Manager tonight. Have you danced before?” I said. This girl seemed to be completely lost. Oh no. Not a green horn. Ugh, you have to practically teach them how to bump and grind. If this girl is a complete newb I am so cursing Sonny.

“Oh yes! I’ve been dancing at the Pink Taco for the last 6 months. I got tired of having to drive so far and my friend Wendy said there was an opening here,” she gushed.

Wendy is one of the waitresses and I was thankful that I wasn’t going to have to completely train this girl. But the “Pink Taco”? I worked there for two nights when I moved back to town before I bailed. Ugh that place was disgusting and the patrons were grabby and it was run by an dreadful woman who I definitely knew to be part ogre. Ogres just aren’t fun people to be around.

I directed Destinee to a dressing room and took her music selection to the DJ. When I came back, I saw Destinee in her costume.

A schoolgirl costume. How typical. But then again, she was very fresh faced and I couldn’t decide whether I thought it would work for her or if I just hated her. I decided I’d wait and see.

The other girls started showing up and I went straight to work. I usually don’t watch the show. The floor manager usually does whatever needs to be done out front and will give critiques to those who need them. I keep a radio and ear piece in my ear and the floor manager and I can coordinate anything that way.

I heard the announcement for Destinee’s debut and I decided to step out and see what this girl was made of.

She was really good. She had a great figure and played the innocent thing to the hilt. She was doing kind of a cross between Britney Spears and Gypsy Rose act. She kept her clothes on for most of the number but worked the crowd - which was fairly busy for a Tuesday night. She made sure they could see down her shirt and up her skirt rather than just getting naked. Yep, this girl knew a thing or two about the allusion of sex on stage. I was quite impressed.

I still think I might hate her though.

Entry 4

“Hey beautiful! Who’s sweet ride is that?” Sonny exclaimed.

“That would be my new sweet ride. Isn’t she a beaut?” I said with pride.

“You didn’t get screwed over in the deal, did you? My girls deserve the best of service” he suddenly said.

Puzzled and wondering what he knew, I replied, “No, Jacko gave me pretty good deal.”

“I’ve never trusted that little prick,” Sonny grumbled. “But if you think it’s ok…”

I laid my hand on his arm. “Sonny, it’s ok.”

“My husband is thinking of opening his own dealership, Brandywine” drawled a seductive voice nearby.

I turned and beheld one Kim Wright - stage name: Dixie Normas. She stands about 5’2” and had long blond extensions down to her knees. Today, it was braided with numerous flowers and ribbons that would look ridiculous on anyone else but seemed fitting and was thrown over one shoulder like a pornographic Rapunzel.

Today was Topless Tuesday when all the servers and Floor Managers went topless. I have known Dixie for about 20 years now - so I knew her during her my show girl days. She was a show girl, but was in a specialty show where, among other things, she rode in on a gigantic stallion completely naked as Lady Godiva. Oh and she has 34 FFF boobs. There is literally a full gallon of silicone in those babies. They are bigger than my head.

“Hey Dixie - Kurt is looking for more investments?” I asked.

Dixie was recently married to one Kurt Wright, who was the star running back for the local football team and richer than the Queen. He was always looking for investments. He kept trying to talk Dixie into giving up her job but over 20 years in the business and two failed marriages had taught her to have her own thing going but always get a good pre-nup. She was currently being prospected for a reality series and was a shrewd business woman.

“Well the damn race horse he bought broke it’s foreleg in that race last week so that’s just money down the tube. I told Kurt that putting money into something that would only live 20 years was a waste of energy.”

“It had to be a big tube to have 10 million dollars going down it” I mumbled.

“It’s an expression, dumbass,” she said.

“I’m messing with you, darlin’. What’s business supposed to be tonight? Big Mike said there was a St Pete’s Convention in town. Weird that it’s starting on a Tuesday isn’t it?” I asked.

Sonny spoke up. “This is just the executive board. The rest of the attendees will be in later this week,” he offered as he twisted his own St Pete ring on his finger.

“We’ve got a new girl tonight. Since Connie started showing, I had to get someone for her spot. The new girl’s name is Destinee or something like that.”

I left them at the bar and went backstage.

Entry 3

I got to work just in time to see the bouncer, Big Mike. Big Mike really likes me. Likes me a lot. And would like to like me in the biblical sense but I can’t go there. He’s like seven feet tall and at least 400 pounds but that’s not the issue. The issue is that he looks like an ogre but doesn’t smell like one. He’s cute in his own little ugly way but not cute enough to bump uglies with. And then he’s only 24 and I made it a rule never to hook up with someone younger. Younger men never know how to treat a lady. Although to be honest, I think Big Mike might treat me very well but I shudder just thinking about it.

“Hey there, Miss Phillips” he rumbled as he opened my car door. “That’s a good looking car you’re in this morning,” he beamed at me. I’ve been trying to get Big Mike to call me “Brandy” for 3 years now. He refuses.

“I know, right?” I said as I slid out of the car. “Jacko gave me a pretty good deal on it.”

“I think we’re going to have a busy night tonight, Miss Phillips. There’s a St Peter’s convention in town” he said.

I shifted my skirt down my hips where it slid up while I drove. “St Peter’s eh? Last time they were in town, most of the girls were sick on Monday from partyin’ all weekend.”

He smiled down at me and looked like he wanted to speak but didn’t.

“See ya later, Big Mike” I smiled up at him.

I stepped into the dark of the club from the bright sun and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Strip clubs and casinos and grocery stores all have the same thing in common: no visible clocks. Owners don’t want you to realize how long you’ve been there. Also, there’s always music no matter what time of the night or day. Another way that you’re tricked into staying longer than you mean and spending more than you should. Still <BAR NAME> is nice. I’ve been in plenty of dives over the years and this is one of the cleanest and best run titty bars. Even better is that it’s in a nice neighborhood near the ritzy side of town. From the outside, the only thing that tells you it’s a titty bar is the name - <BAR NAME>. There’s no naked silhouettes or anything like that. The cars in the parking lot are all average cars except for a few limos and Hummers on the weekends. The patrons during the week are mostly regulars. On the weekends, it’s mostly bachelor parties, 21st birthdays and conventioneers with the occasional sports star wandering in.

Inside, I saw the owner, Santino Puchinello - Sonny for short. Sonny is a good guy. He looks like the stereotypical Italian guy and his family is definitely tied somehow to the Mob, but he’s always respectful, always wants to make sure that “his girls” are taken care of. He won’t allow the patrons to get too grabby and isn’t grabby either. On top of that, his wife Barbara is the house accountant and looks every bit as good as any of the girls. I also happen to know that he worships the ground she walks on.

Additionally, I think Sonny’s not all human. He’s got a little red twinkle in his eyes. My spidy senses have never picked up exactly what he is - although I suspect he might be a lesser demon - and like I said, he’s a nice guy who’s just running a business. From the way he dresses, you’d think he was a funeral director, not a Strip Club owner.

Entry 2

I sighed. "Carey was supposed to paint my house, not cast a seduction spell in my bedroom. Every time I walked in there, I was hornier than a two-dicked billy goat. And then he'd just happen by hoping to catch a little of that action. That son of a bitch got what he deserved, Lisa."

I finished the paperwork and had Jacko add the caveat that the favor he needed would be fulfilled during the life of the car. I really didn’t need to add the addition since the way that these sorts of things worked was if the promise was broken, the parties involved no longer had to fulfill any promises made. But I wanted to be sure. I also thought that maybe this car would last a little longer just so that he could string me a long for a while.

I drove away and fell in love with my new car.

I'm not like other people. I don’t need a fancy car to feel good about myself and I certainly don’t need anything to make up for the size of my pecker. But there's something about driving a Cadillac that makes you feel good.

This new car was a Cadillac De Ville with all the bells and whistles. Well all the bells and whistles you could get in a nine year old vehicle. I gunned the V8 and listened to the engine roar. It sounded good anyway.

I may be a witch and I may have been around for a while but I didn’t know squat about the workings of an engine. I could give your boyfriend a pecker hard as Chinese algebra or make your boobs look bigger but I didn’t know how to work a damn can opener. And for all my expertise in making potions and brews, I can't cook either. So between those two things, I was very thankful for pop-top cans. Otherwise, I'd starve.

Not that I couldn’t stand to lose a couple pounds. Oh my years of dancing, first as a Vegas showgirl and later in exotic dance clubs had toned my butt so much you bounce a quarter off it but my thighs could use some help. My height - I'm 5'8" - helps in hiding just how flabby those thighs were. Even fat legs look great when they are long legs.

Thank the Goddess I still had my great boobs though. I've never had to spell my own boobs because the good Lord gave me plenty to work with. I’d never had to stuff my bra or have surgery or any of that stuff. Of course, as I got closer to 40, I could see them start to droop.

Great boobs paired with a slender waist and long legs had made me a very successful showgirl. And that little extra spark that I used to convince Jacko was why I was successful at other things.

I headed for work. I'm the Lead Show Manager at <INSERT TITTY BAR NAME>. It's a classy place - much classier than some places I've danced. I've pretty much hung up my eff-me pumps - I've got bad plantar fasciitis and those shoes are murder on your feet.

I commonly refer to myself as the Lead Titty Wrangler because that’s what I seem to do all the time. Get the girls dressed. Get the girls on stage. Get the girls to stop bitchin’ and gripin’. It’s about as easy as herding cats.

Entry 1

This is the beginning of my story, Tales of a Redneck Witch that I am writing as part of Camp NANOWRIMO.  NANOWRIMO held in November, and Camp NANOWRIMO held in June and August assists folks in writing one 50,000 word novel in 30 days.   After the first few posts, it may be easier for you to go to "From the beginning..." and read from there.  You can also click on the RSS feed to the right to have posts sent to you daily. 
While I’m writing from 1600 to 2000 words each day, each post here will be about 500-600 words.  This is a comfortable length for most folks to read on their phone or while at work.  There is no real editing since this is a first draft.  Where I don’t know a name or title, I’ll be entering it in <BRACKETS>.
Thanks for playing along with me!

His gold tooth gleamed at me.

"Baby, this car is da bomb. Think about it," he smirked, "you would be fo shizzle."

"Seriously? Snoop Dogg you ain't." I replied.
"Jacko, if this car is a lemon, I will take it out of your hide. Seriously, don't screw with me. I will curse you so bad you won't walk straight."

"Now baby that ain't no way to act! Have I ever lied to you?" The blue tattoos that covered his face nearly blended in with his dark skin but at that moment, I saw a symbol in the designs that reminded me of something. It reminded me that Jacko had never led me astray despite his race.

Jacko was a Pixie. Pixies, or Picts as they are more correctly called, were known in the old days to lead weary travelers away from the path in an attempt to steal them away from this world and take them to the Underworld, which they called Annwn. In modern times, they were mostly benign but were still pranksters.

The symbol tattooed on Jacko's skin showed that he was a royal member of the Pixie Court and therefore I could use my wild card.
"Jacko," I proclaimed loudly. I now chose my words carefully because what I said next set the rules. "If the car I purchase from you is not in perfect working condition in one year, I will not only cast a curse on you whereupon you lose every tooth in your mouth, but I will also call upon the justice of the Pixie King."

He gasped. "Now witchie, you don't have to get like that."

I continued. "So mote it be."

A faint breeze rustled the trees and I knew that my plea had worked. What's more, Jacko knew he had trouble.

Gone was his down-home accent. "Brandywine Phillips, you drive a hard bargain. But I'll see it through."

He turned away. "Let me show you another vehicle more worthy of your regard."

I followed, confident that I had avoided disaster but now worried about the cost of something more worthy.

Jacko stopped at a large sedan. "In the name of our king and your alliance with him, I offer this carriage. I'm making a sacrifice in selling it to you but believe that we can work out a satisfactory arrangement. I would rather not allow the King to interfere in my business."

I haggled with Jacko over the next few minutes until we were both satisfied. In addition to a substantial sum of money, I also agreed to assist him in my own special way at the time of his choosing.

As I sat filling out the paperwork with his wife, Lisa, a few minutes later, she asked me what I happened. I told her. "Sheesh, I haven't seen him this pissed in a while. Threatening his teeth and sic'ing Aldryd on him? You know they don't get along."

I looked up from the paperwork. "Well I haven't called Aldryd yet. Just if this car stops running. Damn it Lisa, the last one he sold me had the wheels fall off! On Spaghetti Junction of all places! I have got to have a decent car and Jacko's the only one who will work with me considering my credit history."

"Huh" Lisa tutted. "It's more likely that he's the only one that will work with you considering what you did to Carey Ellis a while back."