Read an Excerpt
Scratch Pad
By Ramona Sapphire AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 Ramona Sapphire
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5246-4133-7
CHAPTER 1
"Ah!" screamed Virginia to high heaven when she spotted her svelte, faux-fur-trimmed poncho-wearing sister. It'd been years since they'd hung out. She eyed her admiringly and said, "Looking jazzy as usual, sis."
"Thanks, sis. You look mavalous yourself."
Virginia popped from her seat in the baggage claim area when she saw Georgia approaching. They shared a tight hug and bevy of "Ah!", "Hey girl!", and "I'm so happy to see you!"
Virginia was a rather bubbly attractive young woman sporting fashionable jeans, a snug sweater, hip-length jacket, and pointy toed shoes. She lunged for Georgia's luggage who said, "Oh, no, that's heavy, I'll take it."
"No, I got this, sis. You're my guest and I wanna be a good hostess."
"Oh-kaaay! I'mma let you do your thing, girl." And the two strolled through the exit to the parking lot.
Meanwhile, cradled in the seat was the little scratch pad Virginia had been compiling notes in for weeks. In her excitement she'd forgotten about it.
Two weeks ago, Virginia decided she needed to mastermind a winner this time or risk truly being a washout. She perceived her friends clowning her behind her back.
"I told you she sucked. All that wasted effort and money she sank into those piddly stories trying to be a wannabe writer. What a shame."
Virginia set out to prove them wrong and hence devised a plot — one so absurd that no one would believe she came up with it. She spent umpteen nights burning the midnight oil, guzzling pots of coffee, and carefully devising the outline — the beginning, middle, and end.
Virginia had already created a name and proceeded to match her storyline to it. She judged her ideas to be farfetched. Regardless, she'd employ them anyway and fine-tune them as she proceeded or stuff evolved in her head.
Everything needed to be cohesive and flow. She'd set a deadline for completion. And then everything got screwed up after leaving the little scratch pad on the seat at the LaGuardia airport in New York.
Dammit to hell!
CHAPTER 2
"This is a neat little scratch pad," muttered Winston, lifting it from the seat in the luggage claim section of New York's LaGuardia Airport. "Hmm, somebody seemed to be scribbling some juicy stuff in here."
Winston, somewhat effeminate, slender, and sharply dressed, stared at the notes in the little scratch pad and quipped, hmm, what a neat idea, and stuffed it in his back pocket. The little scratch pad contained several pages with less than a quarter of it completed.
Winston seized his bag, headed for the exit, and flagged a cab. Traveling along, he scribbled a few notes in the little scratch pad attempting to complete some of the thoughts therein.
It was a balmy evening. The cab driver experienced a bit of frustration attempting to weave through the thick traffic. Pedestrians flooded the streets and walkways like ants reminiscent of Grand Central Station.
The cab finally arrived at its destination and Winston tipped the cab driver who sighed in relief. The driver headed to the back to fetch the luggage from his trunk as Winston was returning the change from his fare to his wallet. He lunged for the door and the little scratch pad tumbled out his back pocket unwittingly. He retrieved his luggage from the driver, tipped his head, and headed into his apartment.
The cab driver tarried along and retrieved another passenger. He placed the luggage in the trunk and held the door open for his passenger, closed it afterwards, and dove into the driver's seat.
This time it was a middle-aged woman, who was rather petite. Keeping trim and fit was her personal philosophy on youthfulness. She appeared disheveled about something as the driver observed her boo-hooing in the back seat even before he pulled off.
As compassionately as possible the driver whispered, "Where to ma'am?"
"I don't know; anywhere."
"I'm sorry you're upset ma'am, but I have to take you somewhere, otherwise you'll simply be paying for us to sit here with the meter running."
The woman abruptly balled into her hanky and the driver sympathized and decided to shut off the meter. Besides, the previous rider had awarded him with a rather fat tip.
"Okay, I'm ready," said the passenger, blowing her nose and releasing her last whimper and sniffle. "Take me to the airport. I'm off to the UK. Someone awaits me there I should've married in the first damn place!"
"Alrighty then," said the driver not wishing to pry or get involved for that matter. "I'm off."
The passenger whose name was Charlotte, noticed the little scratch pad wedged between the door and the back seat. She eyed it curiously and cracked it open.
Charlotte read the contents of the little scratch pad with a bit of excitement in her eyes. She decided to join the bandwagon and jot in it herself.
"What ch'ou got there?" asked the driver. "You seem ecstatic by the expression on your face," he said, eyeing her in the rear-view mirror.
"A little scratch pad someone left behind with some interesting notes inside."
"Oh, the passenger before you must've dropped it. You can hand it to me and I can ..."
"Not on your life, buster!" said Charlotte. "Finders--keepers, losers--weepers. It's mine now. Besides I need it to draft a letter I want to send to my no-good husband. He's going to be shocked to find me gone when he returns home from work!" she snickered.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, and I don't usually like to pry, won't he be worried sick?"
"And?"
"Gotcha," said the driver. And he backed off and focused more intensely on the road and his destination.
Benny, the cabby, eyed the skyline and the cityscape admiringly. It was dusk and the sky was a breathtaking turquoise-orange-blue. There was a subtle breeze flowing through his slightly cracked window. He was relieved he no longer needed the air conditioning that'd earlier siphoned much of his gas.
Benny arrived at the airport and pulled up to the curbside for the airline departing to London. Charlotte tipped the driver and awaited her luggage from the trunk.
Charlotte rolled her suitcase to the ticket counter whereupon she was requested to present her passport. She released the handle of her suitcase and set it on the scale.
Charlotte was carting a shoulder bag and she opened it to retrieve her passport. However, it didn't seem apparent on sight.
Charlotte worried some, certain she'd retrieved it from the dresser. She dumped her purse and riffled through her things until she eyed it.
"Whew! That was close!" she muttered to the desk attendant. And she proceeded to return everything to her purse. Somehow in the process the little scratch pad made a beeline for the floor unbeknownst to her. And after her bags were checked and whisked away, she proceeded to the security baggage check and her flight gate.
CHAPTER 3
Chandler stood behind Charlotte at the ticket counter and nearly kicked the little scratch pad as it was his turn. He bent over and retrieved it.
"What's this?" he muttered to himself, and shoved it in his jacket pocket.
Chandler, a rather short chunky fella with a noticeable gut, in his mid-forties, and in a business suit, completed his transaction and headed to the security baggage check area. While standing in the line all the way to the wazoo, he remembered the little scratch pad tucked away in his pocket with a couple of pens.
He pulled out his pens and the little scratch pad and began skimming it. Hmm, interesting little stuff in here, I must say, he quipped. I'mma jot some stuff down in it too. Let's see here ...
Chandler shortly stepped up to the line, removed his shoes, and placed everything into containers, including the little scratch pad and pens. After being probed and scanned and tagged all clear, he retrieved his containers from the conveyer belt and proceeded to don his shoes.
Chandler headed to his flight gate unaware he'd left one more basket behind with the little scratch pad and pens he'd had in his pocket. He continued on his merry way none the wiser.
"You left a basket behind, sir!" yelled the security attendant. Chandler was long gone down the escalator out of earshot.
The attendant, Alford, a rather chunky, graying, apple-shaped, middle-aged man, examined the contents of the basket and muttered, "This just looks like some junk except.... what have we here?"
Alford lifted the little scratch pad from the basket and proceeded to peer inside. He gapped his eyes upon peeping the contents and covertly stuffed it in his back pocket.
"This is some good stuff in here," Alford said later, reading it during his coffee break. "Hmm, it looks like several penmanship styles in here. I think I'mma join the bandwagon too," he muttered.
Alford became so engrossed in his writing the time escaped him. His supervisor, Madison, rushed over and said gruffly, "You were supposed to relieve me ten minutes ago!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Alford. And he jetted, seizing his cell phone, glasses, and newspaper, inadvertently leaving the little scratch pad on the table. It'd slid out his newspaper when he'd stuffed it in there attempting to hide it from his boss.
Madison, a tall, middle-aged man of girth, with a mustache, sat in Alford's seat and opened the little scratch pad. He was caught up momentarily and scribbled something in it. Next, he headed over to a coffee vendor and ordered a fresh cup of coffee. He momentarily laid the little scratch pad on the counter to reach for his wallet.
Madison paid for the coffee and returned to his table. He was about to pull the scratch pad out and realized he'd left it on the counter. He scurried back to the vendor but the little scratch pad was gone!
"Oh, snap!" he muttered to himself.
CHAPTER 4
An Asian woman named Lola, frail and petite, but rather stylish, was next in line for her coffee. She scoped the little scratch pad lying on the counter. She glanced around for the patron who was in front of her and didn't spot him. She ordered a bottle of green tea and stashed it and the little scratch pad in her large over-stuffed shopping bag and headed for her boarding gate.
Lola selected a seat and made herself comfy. After about ten minutes, she managed to pull out the little scratch pad and began reading. She was awestruck by the contents. She experienced a gamut of emotions as she read, from snickering, to whimpering, to balking, and silence. It was the most intriguing little scratch pad to her.
Lola too noticed the varied penmanship styles inside and decided to take a stab at writing in the little scratch pad. She began to scribble memoirs of her days in Korea during and after the war.
Buckets of tears streamed from Lola's eyes as she finished scribbling. Her gate was called and she hurried and gathered her things and boarding ticket and stuffed the little scratch pad in her bag.
Lola arrived in her seat and made herself comfy. It would be a long flight to Korea. During her flight, she acquired some shut-eye, gazed at movies, enjoyed meals, and cocktails.
Lola finally reached her destination and unboarded her flight. She was anxious to see loved ones she'd left behind during her stent in America.
Lola headed for the luggage claim section to retrieve her bags. Her Aunt was waiting for her who approached her and hugged her tightly. They began conversing in their native tongue. During the process, somehow the little scratch pad escaped from Lola's over-stuffed bag. Her uncle, who'd just arrived from parking, hugged her and seized her luggage. They all headed for the parking lot.
CHAPTER 5
The little scratch pad was inadvertently kicked across the floor. It landed against the heel of Alec, a tall, handsome, thirtyish, athletic-looking man in khaki shorts and a Dashiki. He reached down and snagged it and muttered, "What's this?" with a thick African accent, and shoved it into his Dashiki pocket.
Alec's destination was South Africa. He'd just wrapped up a conference and was heading toward the ticket counter and then onto security baggage check. He'd made a pit stop over the weekend before the conference.
After being cleared, Alec scurried to his gate and boarded a flight to South Africa. The flight was relatively unremarkable and he unboarded and headed to baggage claim.
When Alec arrived, the carousel was empty of luggage and the area filled with antsy passengers. Miraculously, he found a seat and sat with his head tilted back and his eyelids were heavy as lead. He nodded off a bit and his head rocked backward and jerked forward. This startled him and he suddenly remembered the little scratch pad in his Dashiki pocket.
Alec opened the little scratch pad and his eyes popped. He was amazed at the contents. He too underwent a gamut of emotions and elected to add to it. He scribbled something briefly and just like that, the luggage began shuffling through the portal and onto the carousel.
Alec recognized his luggage instantly attributed to Sapphire with Passion's dazzling luggage jewels, exited the airport, and hailed a cab. He was homeward bound wherein his wife was waiting anxiously to hear the details of his journey.
The sky was a spectacular orange-red-golden-turquoise-purple backdrop traveling the coastal roads of Cape Town. Witnessed were the amazing vistas, incredible mountains and boulders, and the spectacular Atlantic Ocean.
The cab driver hopped out the cab and retrieved his passenger's luggage from the trunk. Alec accepted the luggage and tipped the driver. As he was fumbling with his wallet, the little scratch pad fell out his pocket.
The cabby, Gulliver, waived farewell to his passenger and was about to close the back passenger door when the little scratch pad became wedged therein. He reached down to fetch the little scratch pad and tried to hail Alec who was long gone and disappeared into his magnificent villa.
"Oh well," muttered Gulliver to himself. "It's just a little ole scratch pad." And he tossed it in the glove compartment.
Gulliver returned his cab to the cab garage late that night and it was off to home and bed he went. He'd entirely forgotten about the little scratch pad.
CHAPTER 6
Fran selected her cab from the cab garage and headed to Durbanville to retrieve her American passenger to take him to the airport. He was headed for the UK then onto America.
Fran threw his bag into the trunk and held the door open for him. That is one fine hunk of a man, she quipped.
Throughout the entire drive to the airport she peeped him through the rearview mirror. The last time he threw her for a loop when he caught her red-handed and stared back.
Abruptly the passenger informed Fran he needed to stop at a toilet before he arrived at the airport. The traffic was too thick and he knew he couldn't contain himself until then.
Fran smiled at him and said, "You're not about to ditch me are you?"
"Oh no, my luggage is here--remember? I really have to pee now. I'll be right back."
The passenger, whose name was Magellan, was a dark-complexioned man, thirty something, quite handsome, cut, and a wannabe-thug, hip-hop artist with dreads. He hopped out the vehicle and fled to the restroom. Fran waited for about thirty seconds before she remembered she'd opened the glove compartment earlier to stash her today's mail into it for perusal later. And there was the little scratch pad seemingly awaiting patiently for new eyes to open it.
"What's this?" muttered Fran. And she opened it and gasped in surprise. She actually hoped Magellan would take a little while longer to enable her to read the amazing contents. Besides, the meter was running and big dollars were about to flow her way.
Fran took the time to scribble some stuff in the little scratch pad and kept waiting for her passenger to return. She wasn't worried; only ten minutes had passed. And just as she got to the juiciest parts, Magellan abruptly arrived, knocking on the window smiling, exposing pearly even teeth.
Fran unlocked the door for him and permitted him entry. "I'm not holding you up, am I?" questioned Magellan.
"No sweat," Fran responded. Really? she quipped. The meter had been running the entire time Magellan was gone unbeknownst to him. Ka-ching!
They arrived at the airport and Fran showed Magellan the little scratch pad. "Is this yours?" she asked flirtatiously. "I found it in the cab," she fibbed.
After perusing a few pages, Magellan responded half-heartedly, "Yes, that's mine. Thank you for finding it for me."
Fran chuckled at his deception and headed to the back of the cab and pulled her passenger's luggage from the trunk. Magellan stared at the meter and gasped. He pulled out his wallet and paid Fran as she rolled up with his luggage.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Scratch Pad by Ramona Sapphire. Copyright © 2016 Ramona Sapphire. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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