My denial

The top step of the front porch where I sat was hot from the morning sun. As the sun's rays beamed down on my head, sweat started trickling from my armpits. I wondered whether it was just from the sun. Lightheadedness and nausea enveloped me, but I resolved to stay put.

Beside the porch stairs stood a small child clutching the leg of a woman who looked disgusted. Next to them was a tall man, his arm protectively around the woman, as if daring me to make a move. He also looked disgusted. I felt ashamed and helpless, wishing for someone to rescue me.

The man removed his arm from the woman, took out his cell phone, and dialed a number. As I closed my eyes, ready to surrender to the darkness, I heard sirens in the distance. Imagining two sheriff cars racing up the dusty driveway, I willed my eyes open.

Two deputy sheriffs, JJ and Big Bob, approached the porch. Both had harassed me when I first came to Hollow Junction. JJ glared at me, hand on his gun, while Big Bob, tall and skinny, took notes near the woman and man, who seemed distressed. The scenario felt like an animated cartoon scene.

Placed in an orphanage at twelve, I had aged out at seventeen with nowhere to go. Despite my impressive writing portfolio, it was hard to find a job in a town where no one believed in my dreams. So I left for Hollow Junction, working at a local watering hole called "The Joint!" I made friends but never lost sight of my dream of becoming a best-selling author.

After my shifts, I would go home and write until dawn. I entered and won writing competitions, receiving feedback that convinced me of my potential as a writer. Although I faced rejection from publishers, I remained determined.

One clear Friday evening in mid-August, at the end of my shift, I felt restless and dreaded going back to my hot one-room apartment. Sarah, a regular at the joint must have felt my anxiety.

"Hey gurl, what da matta?" she said in her southern drawl.

"Nothing, what do you mean?"

"You ansucas about sumptin?" I laughed, trying to decipher her words. I confided in her.

"Sarah, I am not sure how much longer I can stay here. I think I got the bug, the wanderlust bug!" I looked at the confused look on her face and tried not to laugh.

"You got what kindna bug? Gurl whatcha need is sum fun!" I begging off by saying, 

"No. I think I want to just go home and microwave a dinner and watch senseless tv." she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Some of us are going out to that house, excuse me that mansion that some rich guy built back in the woods, just off the county line!" she said with enthusiasm.

"Heard he got a pool and evrythang. That's whatcha need, to get your feet wet and let loose! Cum on now, Docta Sarah's orders, and I won't take no fo an answer. Meet yu out back in an half howur!"

I changed into a pair of cutoff jeans and a crop top. Applied a little make-up, and swept my long black curly hair into a high-top ponytail.

When I came out, Sarah and a few of her rowdy friends were waiting for me. I could tell they were already drinking and smoking weed. Reluctantly, I climbed into the open-top jeep and we sped off out of town headed towards the party.

As we drove up the long winding driveway I heard the music and felt the thumping of the familiar beat. When we reached the front of the house, excuse me the mansion I was in awe, and it took me a moment to catch my breath. Stone regal lions on either side of the white-washed steps with iron-wrought intricate railings that lead to the enormous wrap-around porch. Trimmed lawns with flowering bushes lining the walkway. Floor-to-ceiling windows that were heavily draped. Tripping over my feet, and feeling so out of place, I followed Sarah and her friends around the corner where the music was coming from. Someone, a very handsome someone handed me a glass of champagne.

"Here lovely lady, my name is Randolph, but you can call me Randy or Maurice."

"Well why don't I just call you, no name or whose name?" He bent over laughing to my embarrassment. I didn't think it was that funny.

"Come on, let me show your around." and he did. He was attentive to my every need. It was all overwhelming to me, but I was having a great time. 

I had never seen anything like this before, not in Small Gates, where I am from, and certainly not in this backwood town called "Hollow Junction!" 

Champagne flowed from a fountain, Ice sculptures surrounded by delicious-looking food and carving stations with all types of meats. 

It was hours later and several glasses of champagne when "no name" led me to the winding stairs leading to the second floor. We stumbled along, laughing and singing feeling damn good! He playfully knocked on an enormous door, then yelled,  

"Anybody home?" We fell over each other with laughter and fell into a lavish earth-tone bedroom with a fireplace that cast shadows on the wall. It was beautiful. He took my hand and looked into my eyes. I was mesmerized, by those hooded light brown eyes and his full lips. Lips that distracted my attention away from him the moment I saw him. Wondering how it would feel them on mine. He was thinking what I was thinking because he cautiously and ever so gently kissed me lightly. Then waiting for approval, kissed me hard, and the next thing I knew clothes were flying off arms and legs were intertwined. I felt the softness of the covet beneath me. Once again, he looked into my eyes for approval and I said yes. 

That night changed my life forever! Everything I ever wanted was at my fingertips. No name, my nickname for him asked me to move in and I did. We were inseparable. 

One evening when we were sitting by the pool, enjoying a glass of wine, Nick, his real name revealed to me he was a Hollywood screenwriter. This house here at Hollow Junction was his house away from Hollywood. He chose to build it here because of the privacy and the name. I thought he had peeped into my past, checked me out, and was kidding me. Did he find my short stories, my manuscripts? We never talked about what he did, he certainly knew what I did. It was just never a discussion between us. 

Although it was a warm night, goosebumps popped up on my arms. I hugged myself, and silently said a prayer asking the holy spirit, "is this my destiny, is this why I am here and not in Hollywood?"

"Darling, I found your stories and manuscripts. I found them amazing, you're a fantastic writer. I hope your not upset with me, but I took them to a director who is looking for new talent and he immediately loved your work! He wants to speak with you and perhaps offer you a position to help write a script for an upcoming  production!"

He reached over and slowly slid his hand up and down my arm. The goosebumps disappeared. I was in a whirlwind of emotions. Blissfulness, exotic, and somewhat confused. I never shared my writing with anyone. Why did he snoop and find the one thing that meant most to me without asking to share it with someone else? Speechless, I took a large gulp of wine and toasted him, to us, to the future.

A few days later, Nick came rushing into the small closed-in porch off the kitchen that led into the massive manicured rose garden. It is my favorite place to be. When I want to be alone to write, to read, to sulk, it's my sanctuary. I sat on a setee reading and sipping cold ginger lemon green tea to settle my stomach. It seemed nothing I ate or drank stayed down. Maybe a bug I caught from somewhere, who knows about these things?

"Guess where I've been?" he said excitedly. Not wanting to play the game. I said 

"where?"

"With Cid Promaganto, the director who directed and produced "Your Time is My Time! He won an Academy Award for best director." 

"Great Nick, why were you there?" I asked

"Remember I told you I took your work to one of the directors? Well baby, they are hooked! They love your work. I am meeting with producers, a team of screen writers for an upcoming project!"

Nick was excited and flushed all at the same time. I was happy for him, but something in the pit of my stomach didn't sit right with this on top of the stomach flu.

A week passed and I still couldn't shake the flu, so I decided to see my doctor. My worst fear and jubilant was true, I was pregnant!

I rushed home and made Nick's favorite meal; caviar and smoked salmon for appetizers. Steamed Lobster tails, cold dill cucumber salad, and crisp string beans with hollandaise sauce. For dessert tarmaisu!

Nick was expected at 7 he didn't show up until 9 pm. The dinner was ruined. He was drunk. I let him know how disappointed I was. Well, that didn't go over very well. He lashed out, threw the dinner against the wall, and shouted at me,

"I hate you, why are you here! I thought you could help me, but no they found out!" Surprised and in a state of shock I was able to find my voice, I asked,

"Found what out?" He cowards down, hands across his face. He helplessly in a small voice said,

"It wasn't me, they knew it wasn't me. For months I couldn't come up with a script worthy enough, and they threathen me. They said they would release me from the studio. That's why I stole your work. But they knew it wasn't me because you had previously sent your writing to them. I am ruined and will never work in Hollywood again!" He collapsed sobbing on the floor among the scraps of food.

I went to him and cuddled him in my arms. 

"Babe, its ok, we'll be ok. We have more to worry about than getting an approved script. I am pregnant! Isn't it wonderful, we can get married and start a family!"

"Are you fucking kidding me. I don't want a family, and I don't want you!" That was a blow to the heart and stomach.

For weeks after I hardly saw Nick or heard from him. I lived in that huge house all alone. In total denial, I loved him regardless of what he did. I was going to have his child and we will live happily ever after, isn't that what they say? 

A few months after that ordeal, a couple with a cute little boy knocked on the door. They explained they bought the house and didn't understand why I was still here. I looked passed them and saw a U-haul truck. Panicking, I slammed the door and refused them access to the house. Eventually, I walked out and sat on the porch. 

It was a standoff. 

Two hours later, Nick shows up and convinces me to leave the property. Never telling me he sold the place, I was a squatter. 

What was I supposed to do?

For months I was angry and sought legal advice. I won back the rights to my writing and took them to another studio. They employed me as their lead screenwriter. 

In the spring of 2009, the movie, "Never trust brown eyes!" became the blockbuster of the year, and the following year, I was nominated for screenwriter of the year. 

Mine and Nick's child, is living in the house he was conceived in, and Nick is unfortunately nowhere to be found!