counter.
"There's never a fairy godmother around when you need one,"
I muttered as I headed back into the living room to find Mama
batting her eyelashes at the cops.
"I HAVE WORK To do," I told Mama after Fogarty and Harley left.
"I'll be in my studio."
"What about this mess?"
"It's not going anywhere"
"Really, Anastasia. I brought you up better than that."
"Mama, I have work to do. Work that can't wait. This can." I
glanced at the foyer and the ambrosia glop staining my hardwood
floors a garish shade of Halloween orange. "Although it would be
great if you could clean up that," I said. "You'll find the Murphy's
Oil Soap, a bucket, and a sponge in the basement"
She didn't look thrilled, but she didn't argue with me as I
grabbed my bags of supplies and headed for the back door.
Now more than ever, I couldn't afford to lose my job, but the
last thing in the world I wanted to do at that moment was work on
crafts projects. Especially bridal crafts, considering the recent lessthan-happily-ever-after ending of my own trip down the aisle. Someone should definitely update all those male-penned fairy
tales.
The modern version had better warn Cinderella that Prince
Charming might have a secret, serious gambling addiction that
could leave her and the little princelings up a moat without a paddle. Forget about the ball. Maybe instead of turning a pumpkin
into a coach, her fairy godmother should change the huge veggie
into a trust fund that the prince can't get his hands on. Just in case
happily ever after isn't.
Which it certainly wasn't for me. Thanks to Karl, I now had to
find some way to earn more money. Even if Batswin and Robbins
were successful in nabbing Ricardo, I still needed to pay off all that
credit card debt, the past-due bills, and the home equity loan.
And then there was college for the boys.
I unlocked the studio door, dumped my bags of newly purchased materials on the counter, and pulled out a pad of paper
and a pencil. The bridal crafts could wait. Starring as the celebrity
whiner of my own pity party wasn't going to get me out of the
mess Karl had plunged me into. Short of winning the lottery-not
that I had an extra George Washington to waste on such a longshot solution-I needed to come up with a creative way out of my
financial quagmire.
I began jotting down a list of possible moonlighting jobs that
would pay more than minimum wage and didn't require me to
paste on a phony, perky smile and ask, "Do you want fries with
that?"
Within a few minutes, I had listed several possibilities. I knew
people who knew people. I could call in a few favors and maybe
get hired as a crafts expert on one of the local morning programs. I doubted Trimedia would object. Publicity whores that they were,
they'd love the exposure-especially if it didn't cost them anything.
I could put together a proposal for a series of crafts books. The
advance would knock a story or two off the Leaning Tower of
Debt, and the royalties would help with college tuitions.
I scowled at the next item on my list. If neither the TV nor
book deals panned out, I could always teach in the evenings and
on the weekends. Bernadette McPhearson served on the board of
the Methodist Home, and one of my other neighbors managed the
local A.C. Moore. Both women were constantly after me to teach
classes.
Been there, done that. After ten years of captivity in a junior
high school art room, I had sworn I would never teach again. But
that was before Karl's clandestine affair with Lady Un-Lucky.
Teaching was definitely preferable to the only other idea on my
list.
I glanced down at the remaining item on the page and wrinkled my nose. If I really got desperate, I could mass produce my
own crafts and sell them to gift shops and at bazaars and fairs. The
thought literally made me queasy. I enjoyed designing projects and
making them once, not the mindlessness of assembly line crafting.
Which was probably why I was
"There's never a fairy godmother around when you need one,"
I muttered as I headed back into the living room to find Mama
batting her eyelashes at the cops.
"I HAVE WORK To do," I told Mama after Fogarty and Harley left.
"I'll be in my studio."
"What about this mess?"
"It's not going anywhere"
"Really, Anastasia. I brought you up better than that."
"Mama, I have work to do. Work that can't wait. This can." I
glanced at the foyer and the ambrosia glop staining my hardwood
floors a garish shade of Halloween orange. "Although it would be
great if you could clean up that," I said. "You'll find the Murphy's
Oil Soap, a bucket, and a sponge in the basement"
She didn't look thrilled, but she didn't argue with me as I
grabbed my bags of supplies and headed for the back door.
Now more than ever, I couldn't afford to lose my job, but the
last thing in the world I wanted to do at that moment was work on
crafts projects. Especially bridal crafts, considering the recent lessthan-happily-ever-after ending of my own trip down the aisle. Someone should definitely update all those male-penned fairy
tales.
The modern version had better warn Cinderella that Prince
Charming might have a secret, serious gambling addiction that
could leave her and the little princelings up a moat without a paddle. Forget about the ball. Maybe instead of turning a pumpkin
into a coach, her fairy godmother should change the huge veggie
into a trust fund that the prince can't get his hands on. Just in case
happily ever after isn't.
Which it certainly wasn't for me. Thanks to Karl, I now had to
find some way to earn more money. Even if Batswin and Robbins
were successful in nabbing Ricardo, I still needed to pay off all that
credit card debt, the past-due bills, and the home equity loan.
And then there was college for the boys.
I unlocked the studio door, dumped my bags of newly purchased materials on the counter, and pulled out a pad of paper
and a pencil. The bridal crafts could wait. Starring as the celebrity
whiner of my own pity party wasn't going to get me out of the
mess Karl had plunged me into. Short of winning the lottery-not
that I had an extra George Washington to waste on such a longshot solution-I needed to come up with a creative way out of my
financial quagmire.
I began jotting down a list of possible moonlighting jobs that
would pay more than minimum wage and didn't require me to
paste on a phony, perky smile and ask, "Do you want fries with
that?"
Within a few minutes, I had listed several possibilities. I knew
people who knew people. I could call in a few favors and maybe
get hired as a crafts expert on one of the local morning programs. I doubted Trimedia would object. Publicity whores that they were,
they'd love the exposure-especially if it didn't cost them anything.
I could put together a proposal for a series of crafts books. The
advance would knock a story or two off the Leaning Tower of
Debt, and the royalties would help with college tuitions.
I scowled at the next item on my list. If neither the TV nor
book deals panned out, I could always teach in the evenings and
on the weekends. Bernadette McPhearson served on the board of
the Methodist Home, and one of my other neighbors managed the
local A.C. Moore. Both women were constantly after me to teach
classes.
Been there, done that. After ten years of captivity in a junior
high school art room, I had sworn I would never teach again. But
that was before Karl's clandestine affair with Lady Un-Lucky.
Teaching was definitely preferable to the only other idea on my
list.
I glanced down at the remaining item on the page and wrinkled my nose. If I really got desperate, I could mass produce my
own crafts and sell them to gift shops and at bazaars and fairs. The
thought literally made me queasy. I enjoyed designing projects and
making them once, not the mindlessness of assembly line crafting.
Which was probably why I was
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