June 16, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides
From now until the April 17, 2009 release date of A Royale Pain: A Draven Atreides, Teenage FBI novel , I will post the unedited version of this book. Every month will be a different chapter, but since the chapters are so long–and unedited–I will post a few pages every week. Keep in mind that what you’ll be reading is the first draft of Book One, pre-editor and pre-spell check. It’s extremely raw, so there will be spelling errors. Comments and opinions are appreciated and may be taken into consideration during the current revision process. If you would like to order this book at a discount, be sure to get on the DA Book One Pre-Order Notification List at the end of this post.
It had been the first day of my new life, figuratively and literally, and it had required a quick trip to the bathroom. There, I had found Poe trying to wake up. Or so I had thought. Until Ricky had rushed in and forced Poe to drink something that looked like a science project gone horribly wrong. Or so I’d thought. At that point, I realized Poe wasn’t trying to wake up, but sober up. I’ve seen a falling-down-drunk adult before, but never someone my own age. Ricky had been practically beside himself, not knowing what to do.
“This isn’t like the last time. Someone might come in. She could get expelled. Should I call 911 or get the principal?”
But I had known what to do: slap a homemade Out of Order sign on the door, keep it locked, and direct traffic elsewhere. I’d been late to my first class that day, but it had been worth it. Poe and Ricky had waited two days before approaching me. They’d treated me to lunch at CoolBeans Café and we’ve been friends ever since.
“So, what’s the big Blast-O-Rama weekend you wanted to tell me about?” I ask.
“Mmmm,” Poe gurgles, hurriedly swallowing the sip of soda. She pulls her voluminous purse onto her lap and rifles through it, finally whipping out an envelope and handing it to me.
“Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, yadda, yadda, yadda,” she says with barely contained glee.
I flip it over in my hands, feeling the weight. “It looks like an invitation,” I say.
“You’re not getting married, are you?” Ricky asks in a low, horrified tone.
Poe’s jaw drops open in shock. “Are you loco?” she hisses, practically lunging over my lap. “This is Phoenix, Arizona not Little House on the frickin’ Prairie. Of course I’m not getting married. Would you stop pussy-footin’ around and just open the stupid thing?”
Ricky scoots closer and leans in. “Yeah, open the stupid thing,” he urges.
I turn the envelope over in my hands again and tear the flap.
“Wow, check out that gold lining,” Ricky gushes.
“It looks expensive,” I comment, pulling out the card inside and reading it aloud. “You and a guest are cordially invited to be treated like royalty at The Royalty Treatment Day Spa, Saturday November twelfth at ten a.m. Please RSVP by October twelfth.”
“Oh, Dios Mio,” Ricky says in a low tone.
I think the same thing, but in English. Along with maybe a couple of unprintable words behind it. This invitation in my hand is not possible. Not by legal means, anyway. Impossible because it’s the Grand Re-Opening of a spa owned by Taffy Royale’s Aunt, Alana Royale. Impossible because only the social elite get into this place–not that there are many in Arizona. Impossible because two years ago this place was featured on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” and the Travel Channel. Impossible because people like Madonna, Nicole Kidman and J.Lo frequent this place a couple of times a year. Impossible because these same celebrities—not to mention the select few elite folks in Arizona—probably received this very same invitation.
“I take it you already RSVP’d for us,” I say in a wry tone, looking at my friend over the top of my glasses.
Poe’s smile practically stretches off her face. “Yep. The two of us are in like Flynn starting tomorrow morning.”
“Well, where’s my invitation because I’m hitchin’ a ride wit ya’ll,” Ricky says, snatching the card from my hands and fingering the raised lettering.
Poe puts her hand up as if to stop traffic and makes a buzzing sound.
“Sorry, wrong answer, thank you for playing, chico,” she teases. “You’re working, remember? Besides, you don’t do spas. It’s too girly or something.”
“But I’m more feminine than the both of you,” Ricky declares. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
I smack him on the arm. “How dare you,” I scoff.
Poe snorts. “First of all, you’re male, chico. Second, you may be gay but you didn’t fling yourself out of the closet until later in life. You’ve got a Roger Dingle and Dray and I have got Curly Sue’s—”
“Poe,” I protest, then crack up laughing.
“—therefore, we will always be more feminine than you,” she finishes with a smug grin.
Ricky’s practically falling out of his chair. Straightening up, he sniffs and carefully wipes the undersides of his eyes.
“Damn. I should’ve worn the waterproof today,” he murmurs. “Either way, girl, metrosexuals, homosexuals, whatever, we still like to be pampered. What’s the big deal, anyway?”
Before Poe can respond, I interrupt. “Where did you get this?”
“Rune.”
“Who made—”
“Rune.”
“How much—”
“Free.”
I open my mouth, hoping to get in a full sentence this time, but Ricky beats me to it.
“Free? Rune did this for free?” he asks, staring intently at Poe. “Rune doesn’t do anything for free.”
Point One: Rune can get you anything you want. For a price. It’s not a hefty price, like an arm, a leg, or your firstborn, but it’s expensive all the same.
“Yeah, well, he, uh, owed me a favor,” Poe announces breezily, waving a hand in the air.
Point Two: Rune never owes anyone. You always owe him.
Ricky narrows his eyes on Poe’s face. Well, more like the side of her face, because she was looking everywhere but at him.
“Really? So what exactly did you do to make him owe you?”
Poe shifts in her seat, then begins to twirl the Rogue-like blond strand of hair at her temple around her index finger. Watching Ricky stare at Poe makes me want to fidget, too, and I’m not even on the hot seat. He gets a look on his face and a tone of voice that can scold a child at fifty paces. It’s his Serious Mode and he pulls it out whenever he knows his friends are hiding something. We try to hold out as long as we can, but we eventually break down. At least, Poe always does, and today was no different.
“Okay, okay. So I had to get him a case of stuff, but it wasn’t difficult. I know people. Anyway, it was worth it. We’re going to have a slammin’ Saturday,” Poe says as she rubs her hands together with glee.
Ricky and I share a quick skeptical glance. We want to ask about the case of “stuff”, but let it go. We both have yet to meet the mysterious Rune-Of-The-No-Last-Name. Every time we ask for an intro, Poe gives us the same excuse: “He’s a real private person and doesn’t trust many people. He likes to keep on the down low, y’know?” We know, of course, we just don’t understand why.
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Technorati Tags: A Royale Pain, A Draven Atreides, Teenage FBI novel, Phoenix, Arizona, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Travel Channel, Madonna, Nicole Kidman, J.Lo
just a girl says:
Ooh, a trip to an elite day spa, an illegal inviation and a mysterious “get-all” guy. Intriguing! And amusing.
Just one thing; I don’t think the repeat of “Or so I’d thought,” in the first paragraph is necessary.
x
JAG