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by | September 30, 2016 · 5:00 am

Blitz – Untouchable -Jessika Klide

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Untouchable -Jessika Klide cover
Steamy Romance
Date Published: May 2015

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When Army Helicopter pilot Aurelius Moore’s eyes fell on isolated Vegas celebrity, Siri Wright, he was stunned by her beauty and her dance. Filled with an undeniable passion for her that he thought he was incapable of, he is devastated when she vanishes before he can consummate the deal he has made. When he sees her again in his hometown in Alabama, he realizes the extraordinary opportunity that has fallen in his lap. She is on his turf. No rules. No security protecting her. He will have her on his terms. He hunts his prey and controls the game, knowing the game has changed. He wants all of her!

When Siri encounters a military man called Moore, she is caught off guard by her body’s immediate chemical response to this enigmatic and reserved young officer, who is gorgeous beyond what even she is accustomed to. Not being able to restrain her flirtatious side, the confident diva, oozing sex appeal, teases the handsome hunk, unwittingly putting her Rule #1: No Touching in serious danger.


Add in the danger she encounters when she is hoodwinked by TD, aka Touch Down, to attend a cocktail party with him, which turns out to be a cock and tail sex party of swingers, and her Rule #1: No Touching is entirely in jeopardy. She must use ALL her Vegas secrets to escape.


Can she remain UNTOUCHABLE? Will she want to?



Other Books in the Siri’s Saga, Sexy Romance Series:
 
  

For years, enigmatic and reserved military officer Aurelius Moore has managed to successfully hide who he is from everyone in his life, especially from his military family. They have no idea his Italian family is wealthy. Leading a dual lifestyle has been difficult, but he has managed to keep it a secret by imposing strict behavioral rules upon himself. Being a player, yet never playing, has earned him the nickname, Hard Core, which is a label that is truer than anyone knows. Controlling exactly who knows what about him, he protects his privacy, ensuring that a secret he considers too dark to share with anyone remains that way.


At the request from a Venture Capital partner, he makes a business trip to Vegas to check out a stripper known as Seary. When he sees her dance, lightning strikes his hard core heart, igniting in him a level of lust that is UNDENIABLE and something he thought himself incapable of feeling.


She shatters the rules he has placed upon himself. Risking everything he has so carefully protected, he is determined to make her his. Being a man who knows how to play the game, he sets his sights not only to have her, but to possess and own her.


But she has her own set of rules, her own secrets, and a team in place determined to enforce them, protecting her from men just like him. Will she be the one, the only one, he cannot have?


When Vegas Diva Siri Wright fell for Aurelius Moore, a flame of and wild desire burst within her and his commanding and demanding nature made her, his Wild Thang, his Every Thang.



Now, Siri and Aurei are free to explore all the possibilities that a real relationship offers. But a death threat is made, and Aurei whisks her off to Rome where he is in complete control. As he shares his secrets with her, revealing his Italian heritage and the Liotine Dynasty, the two lovers realize the enormity of blending their very different, very complicated lives. But they are determined to make their ‘Us’ work, and their undeniable love begins to be a beautiful thang.


Just when it seems they will have it all, Aurei reveals his darkest secret, and a devastated Siri questions whether or not she can accept what he has done.


Will Siri reject Aurelius, or will their love become UNSTOPPABLE?




When Vegas Diva Siri Wright fell for Aurelius Moore, a flame of wild desire burst within her and his commanding and demanding nature made her, his Wild Thang, his Every Thang and undeniable love has burned itself forever into their hearts. They are no longer untouchable, they are unstoppable.



The two lovers appear to have it all – explosive passion, honesty and intimacy with a world of possibilities before them. Then Siri’s picture is blasted all over the Italian news, and Aurei, fearing for her again, takes her to his family villa, The Compound. She should be excited to meet his family, but her gut tells her she is a lamb being led to the slaughter.


Bringing a professional woman like Siri, who is always stereotyped and labeled, into his family fold, forces Aurei to wrestle with the dynamics of family politics and they must fight for their ‘Us’. Amidst all the turmoil, Aurei continues to reveal even more dark and dangerous, but delicious secrets than even Siri, whose life has been built upon secrets could have guessed and they appear to be truly unstoppable. Just when it seems they are finding acceptance, Mia rears and threatens to make everything come UNDONE, forcing Siri to choose. Stay and destroy Aurei’s reputation and shame the Liotine Dynasty, or love Aurei enough to leave him behind?


Courageous is the keyword in this fourth book in Siri’s Saga. Will their bond survive the ultimate test of family and find acceptance, or will their love come UNDONE?
 



About the Author



 
Jessika Klide burst onto the romance scene in 2014 with her bestselling series, Siri’s Saga. It has steadily risen to the top of Amazon’s erotic romance list and has made her a favorite among fans who enjoy full length novels in a genre typically ridden with short one-handed reads. Her plots and characters are fully developed and deliciously dangerous.


Whether it’s Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines, military men make her swoon. Her alpha male hunks are heroes and they fall for her confident, smart, and oh, so sexy heroines. She believes in modern day fairy tales complete with virgins and soulmates. Where love and lust form perfect unions and the stars do align for true love. She also guarantees more than one happy ending.


She is fun and flirty like the heroines she writes.


“Jessika Klide is my pen name. I’m from LA … Lower Alabama. The Deep South. Since my mind is super slutty, it’s just better to use a pen name. Trust me on this! ;)”
 
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by | September 26, 2016 · 5:00 am

BLITZ- OUR FOREVER- ELENA MATTHEWS

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Our Forever

by Elena Matthews
Publication Date: September 27, 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Second Chance, Romance

Our Forever ebook

Purchase: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | iBooks

When you fall in love with your best friend, it’s the kind of love that’s supposed to last forever.

Jo Donovan was a true believer of happily ever afters—until her best friend, Christopher, was killed in Afghanistan, destroying her belief that fairy-tale endings existed.

Destroying her. Destroying her world.

Five years later…

Jo finds herself still stuck in the past, unable to find closure with Christopher’s death.

When she moves to Austin, Texas, with her son, Junior, she’s finally given the fresh start she’s been desperately seeking.

What she doesn’t know is that the fresh start comes in the form of her sexy neighbor, Drew Greyson.

Their friendship starts off rocky, but eventually, a spark between them ignites. It isn’t long before that spark turns explosive, and she finds herself falling for him.

Drew wants to be her everything, her forever, but will Jo’s pain from losing Christopher stop her from following her heart?

Warning: Recommended for ages 18+ due to explicit language and sexual situations.

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About Elena Matthews

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Receptionist by day, author by night, Elena Matthews is from Manchester, United Kingdom, the home of Manchester United, MediaCity and of course, Coronation Street. When Elena isn’t writing, she can be found with her nose in a book or watching guilty pleasures such as Grey’s Anatomy. And when she isn’t doing any of those things, you can often find her on Facebook, obsessing over Kellan Kyle, book boyfriend extraordinaire.

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by | September 7, 2016 · 5:00 am

Till The Rivers All Run Dry – Blitz

Coming of Age, Historical Fiction
 Date Published:  July 27, 2016

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In 1941, when thirteen-year-old Ricky Parker’s family is uprooted from their home in Arkansas and relocated to Venezuela, Ricky thinks his life is over. But what he finds in a rough and tumble oil camp on the banks of Lake Maracaibo is the adventure of a lifetime. An adventure filled with Nazi spies, treachery, betrayal, true love, and even murder.
While touching on issues that remain relevant today, such as racism and America’s reliance on foreign oil, this coming-of-age novel is a page turning, high-octane suspense tale of star-crossed young lovers set in exotic wartime Venezuela. 

 Excerpt

 

One Friday evening right before the Fourth of July in the summer of 1941, I answered the front door and my whole life changed.
Two men in suits stood on the porch. One of them was an older fellow, wearing a cheap brown suit and a high starched collar that was wilting from the summer heat. The band in his rumpled fedora was stained with sweat. He had a droopy mustache that was part black and part white and an Adam’s apple that looked about the size of a baseball.
The other man was younger and had on a nicer suit. He removed his hat and showed off a thick head of blond hair. His face was pasty white, and I knew right off that he’d never done a lick of farmwork in his life.
“Is Mr. Chester Parker at home? We’d like a word with him if it would be convenient.” The younger man sounded like Mr. Hunter who taught English over at El Dorado Junior High, where I had just finished the seventh grade. They both talked real educated and proper-like.
“I reckon he’s out back,” I said. “Y’all come on in and I’ll get him.” I looked past the two men on the porch and saw some angry-looking dark clouds gathering off to the east, promising a summer rain.
The two men stepped into the living room. The older man removed his hat and scratched his bald head.
Before I could fetch Daddy, Mama stepped into the living room from the kitchen. She was wearing her big red apron that was dusty with flour from making the biscuits for supper. She had a dot of flour on her nose. “Who is it, Ricky? Did you . . .” She pulled up short in the doorway and drew in a quick breath.
“Howdy, Dixie,” the older man said. “How you been?”
Mama eyed the man like a dead garden snake she’d found on the back porch. “Evening, Mr. Taggert. I reckon I’m fine.” Mama’s tone filled the living room with a chilling frost.
The older man ignored Mama’s coldness. “This here is Mr. George Quinn. He’s from Washington. We need to have a word with Mr. Ches if we might.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Washington? What on earth would some stranger from Washington, DC, want with my father?
Mama wiped her hands on her apron. “Ricky, run on out to the shed and fetch your daddy. Be quick now.”
I scampered back through the kitchen and out the screen door and sprinted across the yard to the shed. I found Daddy hunched over his worktable lost in thought, staring at the parts of a radio he had spread out in front of him.
Daddy could fix anything as long as it was mechanical. Big machines, little machines. It didn’t make any difference. My father could fix all of them.
His pipe was clinched tight in his teeth and the sticky sweet smell of his burning tobacco filled the tiny shed.
“There’s a pair of fellows in suits here to see you,” I said, a little breathless from the ru
n across the yard. “I don’t think they want you to fix anything. I think they just want to talk.”
 Daddy smiled and stood up from the worktable. “Then I guess we better go in the house and see what’s going on.”
My father was a tall man, skinny as a rail as the saying went. He had black hair slicked back with Brylcreem. Some folks said he looked Italian, but that was mainly because he’d spent so much time out in the sun that his skin was all brown and leathery looking. He always wore a blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows even in the summer.
Daddy had been a drilling supervisor at Murphy Oil and a real good one from what everybody said, but one day back in ’39 something happened out on one of the rigs and Daddy came home, put his lunch pail on the high shelf up in the pantry and announced that he’d never work for Murphy or any oil company again. And that was that.
My father didn’t do much but hang around the house for a few weeks. He’d sit at the kitchen table and take old radios apart and put them back together. Finally other folks started bringing him their busted radios and percolators and mix masters and stuff to fix and Daddy cleared out a space in the old shed out near the chicken coop and went into the small appliance repair business.
Daddy never hurried anywhere. Even after I told him about the two visitors, he ambled across the yard as if he were just heading up to the house for a drink of water.
Back in the living room, Mama had served ice tea to the two men, who were sitting on the blue sofa when Daddy and I came in. They stood up and shook hands all around. Mama brought Daddy a glass of tea. He drained half of it in one gulp.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Ches,” Taggert said.
Daddy nodded. “What can I do for you?” He sounded unfriendly and I could tell my father didn’t have much truck with the Taggert fellow.
The first plunks of the summer rain hit the roof. The smell of Daddy’s tobacco overpowered the living room.
Taggert and Quinn sat back down, balancing their hats in their laps. Mama leaned on the doorsill, wiping flour off her hands with her apron.
“Mr. Ches,” Taggert said. “We need to talk some business if you have a few minutes.” Daddy shrugged.
Taggert turned and looked at me. “Son, why don’t you run outside and play for a while. This won’t take long.”
“It’s raining,” I said, indicated the front window where the summer storm was pelting the glass.
Taggert gnawed on his lower lip.
“Come on, Ricky.” Mama came to Taggert’s rescue. “Let’s you and me run out to the henhouse and fix up those stalls like we been promising to do since school let out.”
 I didn’t want to leave the living room. Something was going on. Something big. You could just feel it in the air. You could see it on Daddy’s face, hear it in Mama’s voice. This was important. And I had to go out and fix up the stalls in the henhouse. I was not happy.
 But I went.
 By the time Mama and I hammered all the loose boards back into the chicken stalls, replaced the straw, swept out the walkway, and went back to the house, Taggert and Quinn were gone.
Daddy sat in the chair in the living room, staring out the window at the rain. The drops pounded the glass and ran down the panes in fast flowing rivulets.
It was getting dark, but Daddy hadn’t turned on any lights. He just sat there in the chair, smoking his pipe and staring out the window. He didn’t even turn around when Mama and I came back into the house. He just sat and stared and smoked. I’d never seen him look like that.
“Daddy? Are you all right?” I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fighting back that awful sense that something was bad wrong.
My father didn’t say anything. Blue smoke drifted out of his pipe and floated toward the ceiling. The room got darker and darker.
Two weeks later, he and Mama and I took a train down to New Orleans, got on a big ship, and headed for Venezuela.
 
About the Author
 

Jim Lester is the author of two previous coming of age novels-Fallout, which Booklist called ” a fast paced, clever coming of age story, Salingeresque in spirit and The Great Pretender, which received consistently excellent reviews on Amazon. He is also the author of the sports history book Hoop Crazy: College Basketball in the 1950s.
 
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by | September 2, 2016 · 5:00 am

A Powerful Voice Blitz

Contemporary Christian Romance/ Women’s Fiction
Date Published: Jun 10th (digital) / Aug. 9th (print/POD)
Publisher: Anaiah Romance
 
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Gloria Fielder is trying her best to live with sincere faith, but regret for a past decision makes it difficult to live with herself.
Justin Case knows first-hand the consequences of bad choices, but he doesn’t believe in burying past mistakes. He openly shares his testimony with the purpose of showing there is hope and freedom for those who come to Christ.
Justin is the new worship leader for the church service Gloria attends, and he also leads a new Bible study she knows will help her. To complicate matters, once Justin becomes aware of Gloria’s struggle, he seems intent on drawing her out of her self-imposed shell of guilt and regret. If she trusts him with her secret and her heart, will their friendship evolve into something more, or will it simply be her undoing?
 
 
Excerpt
 
© 2016 Penelope Powell
Chapter One
Time heals all wounds…unless you deserve to suffer.
When the thought from her internal mantra struck, Gloria Fielder froze mid-step. As if punctuating the accusation, an icy wind howled, the force of it wrenching the glass door from her grasp and slamming it against the stopper.
“A few more minutes and you would’ve missed us entirely.”
Gloria looked up into the unsmiling face of a rail-thin woman standing sentinel over a group of children. Gloria assumed she was the children’s director, as they were all dressed in the festive colors of Christmas, their bright reds and deep greens reminding her of the candlelight service in progress.
She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the plaster nativity figures less than ten feet away, the babe in particular so…lifelike. Would it be better to leave and apologize later for having missed the program?
“Could you shut the door please? It’s hard to keep everyone’s attention while a draft is blowing through, and it’s almost time for us to begin.” Seeming to barely hang on to her patience, the director’s smile was as tight as her collar.
Being late was bad enough, but being made to feel like she was an annoying interruption was well…worse. Gloria shifted to close the door.
After an inquisitive glance toward Gloria, a chubby boy with flushed cheeks pulled on the director’s sleeve. “Mrs. Parker, when do we get our candles?”
“Patience, Tommy. We need to wait for the lady to go inside the auditorium, don’t we?”
Glancing from the boy to Mrs. Parker, Gloria apologized.
“That’s all right. We’re happy to wait for you to get settled.” Mrs. Parker’s smile stretched.
Gloria glanced back toward the woman, wondering if she meant what she said. She’d grown up in a house where a smile often held duplicity. Committed to stay, she hurried toward the partition crammed with winter coats. She unfurled the red scarf from her neck, then squished it and her coat into the mix.
Hushed giggles drew her gaze back to the director, who was busy giving each child a candle with detailed instructions. Everything about them seemed to contrast her. Was it just last year she wore red, putting on a good front? She wasn’t interested in being that person anymore. The clingy dress and all it represented was exiled to the corner of her closet. Proof she was different.
The past few weeks had been particularly hard. When something like seeing the babe in the manger shook her confidence instead of giving her hope, she questioned her faith as a believer in Christ. The possibility of seeing someone at this service she’d rather avoid tightened her chest with further worry.
“Ma’am, they’re waiting for us to start.” Apparently losing her patience, Mrs. Parker nodded toward the doors going into the auditorium.
Gloria tamped down her misgivings, straightened her shoulders, and walked toward the sanctuary. As she edged around the children to reach for one of the doors, a little girl dressed in an evergreen velvet dress took a candle from a basket and offered it to her.
“Thank you.” Gloria smiled.
The girl’s pink lips curved in reply.
Suddenly, blinking back the unwelcome pressure of tears, she turned and eased through the doors. Assailed by the scent of melting wax and pine, she waited for her eyesight to adjust to the soft glow of dimmed lighting, giving her a chance to scan the room for empty seats.
Soon an usher stood next to her, his face brightening when he smiled. “Is anyone joining you?” His generous teeth gleamed in the darkness.
Just me. She shook her head.
He motioned for her to follow him, then pointed to some empty chairs. As she made a beeline for them, his parting greeting followed. “Merry Christmas.”
Gloria glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile. She wanted to be merry. Wanted to simply feel peace. Wanted a reprieve from the recording in her head. Some days, the indictment playing over and over—tightening the tendrils of regret—putting her back on the treadmill of if-only. Making forgetting impossible.
If time was linear, and the passing of it promised things would get easier, then why hadn’t the grip of shame and sorrow weakened?
She settled into a chair as the children from the lobby entered and dispersed down the center aisle, the sound of their voices rising as they moved toward the front, their song offering her a distraction from her turmoil. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to escape into the words.
Joy to the World. A feeling she had yet to muster.
After several carols and a reenactment of the birth of Christ, the pastor walked up on the stage.
Bobby Jordan had thinning gray hair, a solid middle-aged build, and the demeanor and voice of an authoritative grandfather. But that was her opinion now that she knew him. Their first meeting was at her office. His friendly and forthright manner reminded her of the old Southern gentlemen at home. He explained he was a pastor hoping to refer church members who were house hunting, said a friend had recommended her.
Her peace of mind wavered at the memory. Fortunately, the uncomfortable connection led to providential results. If she had not been going through such a rough time, and if Bobby had not sought her out, she might never have begun a relationship with Christ. If only she could find a way to reconcile how the two connected without all the bad stuff. She rubbed her forehead.
“Thank you children, you may join your parents,” Bobby said.
Gloria glanced up as Bobby laid a hand on the shoulder of a little boy after dismissing the others to finds their seats.
“This is Johnny, one of our shepherds in tonight’s program. He’s seven. I asked Johnny a question earlier, and I wanted you to hear his response.” Bobby crouched down. “Johnny, what’s Christmas all about?” He tilted a microphone toward Johnny.
“Pweth-sents.” The boy turned toward the audience and smiled, the gap in his front teeth sparking chuckles from the crowd.
“What’s so great about presents?”
“They’we fwee.”
Bobby ruffled Johnny’s hair and told him to join his parents. When the laughter trickling through the congregation died down, Bobby stood at the edge of the platform. “Each Christmas, we decorate our homes with nativity scenes and our Christmas trees with lights.”
Gloria swallowed, the nativity from the lobby edging back into her thoughts.
“We send cards, sing carols, and we exchange gifts.” Eyes down, Bobby paused. “I agree with Johnny. Big or small, presents are special, but are they truly free? Certainly, they’re free to the recipients, but to the giver there is always a cost.” Bobby raised his arms. “But to each one of us, grace was given according to the measure of Christ’s gift. Paul wrote this to the Ephesians. God’s gift of grace. Undeserved favor for us.”
Undeserved. That was certainly her. She’d never measured up to expectations, which was one of the reasons why she worked so hard at her job.
“As recipients, God’s gift of grace costs us nothing because Jesus paid for it. He gave his life, so we might receive forgiveness. Receive life. In this season of giving, in addition to the wrapped packages we place under our trees, let’s give grace to one another. Offer forgiveness when needed, even underserved.” Then Bobby prayed.
As before, the children assembled across the front. Once their candles were lit, they disbursed down each aisle, lighting the candles of people sitting on the end as they went. Music played in the background.
Eyes closed, Gloria focused on Bobby’s words. She prayed the message would wash over her. Because there was hope in knowing Christ had already forgiven her. And she could do the same.
“Excuse me.”
Startled from someone’s touch, Gloria slapped a hand to her chest.
A man barely visible, given the darkness and shadows cast by candlelight, leaned closer. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might want to light your candle.” Highlighting his explanation, he lifted his candle. For one brief moment, a striking, masculine face with eyes so dark they glittered like pools in moonlight stared back at her.
She swallowed, her heart still pounding from having been disturbed. “Sorry.” She fumbled for the candle amongst her things. Finding it, she held it toward him and tilted her wick toward his flame. A cool, woodsy scent wafted toward her, reminiscent of an autumn breeze. She inhaled the refreshing smell and relaxed a bit.
When her candle was lit, the flare illuminated his face once more. He looked up and caught her staring. Embarrassed, she turned away. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When the lights came up, she hit the aisle, determined to get through the lobby then home. The last thing she wanted to do was linger. Not that she didn’t enjoy talking with people afterward, but tonight she felt fragile.
 
 
About the Author

Though her roots are buried deep in the hills of Middle Tennessee, she now lives in Indiana with her family and serves in her local church. She loves to entertain, give life to old things, antiquing, reading and of course writing.
Like the things we experience, I believe good Christian fiction can inspire and change someone’s perspective, and hopefully point them to Christ.
 
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by | August 31, 2016 · 5:00 am

Remembrance of Blue Roses Blitz

Literary Fiction
Date Published: April 2016

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Remembrance of Blue Roses follows a man and a married couple in New York City, whose intricate relationship oscillates among friendship, love, love-triangle, and even obsession. Its romantic ambience is interwoven with classical music, opera, art, family legend, and international affairs, illuminating the lives of international civil servants at the United Nations and the UN peacekeeping mission in Sarajevo, and those with direct experience of the Israel-Palestinian conflict and the Holocaust.
Mark, the narrator and an American, works for the United Nations in New York as a personnel officer; his friend, Hans, German, also works for the UN as an economist; and Yukari, Japanese and Hans’s wife, is a professional violinist. One day Mark encounters Hans and Yukari in a museum. As Hans enjoys opera singing and Mark is into painting, the three foster their friendship through classical music, opera, and art. Mark resists feeling drawn to his friend’s wife. One evening over dinner, they discover that their families were acquainted generations ago. This bonds them together. During the summer, inspired by the beauty of Yukari in her light blue dress at the UN garden, Hans and Mark secretly plant blue roses there for Yukari. The blue roses later blossom sumptuously. The three enjoy their blue roses, the symbol of their friendship and bond.
The story becomes complicated by the involvement of two other women: Mark’s ex-wife, Francine, a Swiss, who is remarried to another of Mark’s friends in the UN, Shem Tov, an Israeli; and Mark’s high school sweetheart, Jane, to whom he was briefly engaged. Francine encourages Mark to be happy with Yukari, while Jane now wants to marry Mark. Yukari becomes pregnant with Hans’s child and happily settles into her role as expectant mother. Mark, Hans, and Yukari celebrate New Year’s Eve at the height of their friendship and happiness. … Then a series of tragedies shatters their joy and alters their future forever.
… Then a series of tragedies shatters their joy and alters their future forever.
Praise for Remembrance of Blue Roses:
“A skillful tale that explores relationship nuances and redemption.” — Kirkus Reviews
“Yorker Keith’s Remembrance of Blue Roses is a slow-burning, passionate literary novel that speaks to the romantic in all of us. … A precisely-written, well-crafted literary work that illuminates the many facets of love, obsession and, ultimately, redemption.” — Chanticleer Book Reviews
“A deftly crafted, multi-layered, compelling read from beginning to end, Remembrance of Blue Roses establishes novelist Yorker Keith as an extraordinarily gifted storyteller.” — Midwest Book Review
“Readers who enjoy a sophisticated and well-written book about the complexity of human relationship will definitely enjoy Remembrance of Blue Roses.” — Readers’ Favorite
 
Excerpt

 

I have heard a wise man say that love is a form of friendship, and friendship a form of love; the line between the two is misty. I happen to know that this holds true because I have roamed that misty line. Time has passed since then, but I cherish the memory of the blue roses in grace and perpetuity — our blue roses. It all began with a fortuitous encounter.
* * *
On a fine day in early April 1999, I was sketching in the sculpture court at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I felt hesitant working in such a public space, but this was a homework assignment for the art class I was taking. The object of my sketch was a sculpture of an adorable young woman, a nude, reclining on a moss-covered rock surrounded by an abundance of flowers. The smooth texture of the white marble sensually expressed her lively body, which shone with bright sunlight beneath the glass ceiling of the court.
My drawing materials were simple, just a number 2 pencil, an eraser, and a sheet of heavy white drawing paper. The assignment was to capture the skin of a figure in as much detail as possible. I had almost completed sketching the woman’s body and was working on the rock and flowers. I was not doing badly, I thought, for a small crowd of museum visitors had gathered around me, showing approving faces and nods.
“Ah, this is excellent!” one man exclaimed.
I recognized the voice and turned to see Hans Schmidt, standing amid the crowd wearing a big grin.
“What a surprise!” he continued. “I didn’t know you had such an artistic talent, Mark. How are you?” He came forward and firmly shook my hand.
I greeted him, then pointed to my drawing. “I’ve been working on this for a while. I wasn’t sure how it would come out. But it’s coming along all right, I guess.”
“I don’t know much about drawing, but this looks great.” He gestured enthusiastically to a young woman next to him. “What do you think?”
“It’s pretty.” Her voice sounded like a bell.
“This is Yukari, my wife.” He guided her toward me, his hand lingering at the small of her back.
I swallowed. I knew Hans was married, but this was my first time to meet his wife. Hans’s wife is Japanese? How lovely she is. Hans, you devil, you’re a lucky man!
“Pleased to meet you.” I gently shook her small refined hand. “I’m Mark Sanders. Hans and I are good friends.”
Hans’s wife appeared to be in her late thirties, or late twenties? I could hardly tell, because Japanese women often looked much younger than their age. She was willowy, of medium height, with a fine complexion, dark eyes, straight nose, and shiny dark brown hair that hung to her shoulders. For a Japanese woman, she had a touch of a Western woman’s body, the round breasts and a curvy waist. Despite her conservative dress, she reminded me of the nude I was sketching — though I quickly banished the thought.
She gazed directly into my eyes with keen curiosity. “Do you come here often to sketch? It’s really nice.”
“Well, yes,” I answered, “I visit this museum often. But to sketch? No, this is the first time. You know what? It’s so embarrassing.”
I dabbed some sweat from my forehead. We three burst out laughing.
“Hans, I’m almost done. Can you come back in ten minutes or so?” I said. “Then we could go to the terrace for a cup of coffee.”
“Sounds terrific,” said Hans. “We’ll be walking around the sculpture court. When you’re done, just join us.”
Hans took Yukari’s arm and started moving leisurely toward other sculptures. She smiled at me and went along with him. Hans tried to hold her closely at her waist, but she discretely slipped away. I didn’t understand what it meant. I presumed that as a Japanese woman she was timid to show open affection.
I hastily added finishing touches to the figure, rock, and flowers. Since the figure had been almost completed, the rest went quickly and easily — or so I felt after having seen Hans and Yukari.
* * *
            I had known Hans for some time because both he and I worked at the United Nations New York Headquarters as international civil servants. He was German, aged forty-two, tall and slim, with blond hair, high forehead, and grey eyes. He had a Ph.D. in economics from the University of California at Berkeley, and worked as an Economic Affairs Officer in the Department of Economic and Social Affairs of the Secretariat, which was the administrative body of the UN. His job there was to maintain and operate a global econometric modeling system, called EGlobe.
            We had originally met in a French language class. Being at the UN, we were required to be proficient in at least two of its six official languages: Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian, and Spanish. In my case, I added French to my native English. My French was hardly adequate, though, so I was working my way through the seven-level French program.
            In level six I met Hans, who had just started the program from that level. We ate lunch often together in the cafeteria and practiced our French. His grasp of the language was much better than mine. Also, since he used computers heavily for his work, and since I had a good friend, Shem Tov Lancry, an Israeli, in the Information Technology Services Division of the Department of Management, I introduced them, so Hans was able to receive technical advice from Shem Tov.
            I packed up my drawing materials, and we three went to the balcony above the Great Hall of the museum, where drinks and desserts were served while musicians played chamber music. We each ordered a glass of red wine.



About the Author
Yorker Keith lives in Manhattan, New York City. He loves literature, theatre, classical music, opera, and art. He holds an MFA in creative writing from The New School. His literary works have been recognized four times in the William Faulkner – William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition as a finalist or a semifinalist.
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