08
Jul
08

Posting the First Chapter

Posting the First Chapter

Simply visit the SLS eMagazine and post the first chapter excerpt from your book. You will have to login with the email you are using now. You will be sent an invitation from me. Make sure that you include the title of the book, ISBN, distributors, and your contact information at the top of the post. People from all over the world will have an opportunity to read your work!

Post here: http://banemagazine.blogspot.com


1 Response to “Posting the First Chapter”


  1. 1 Lord'Williams
    July 9, 2008 at 2:05 am

    Shadows of the Heart (avail. Aug 1,2008)
    By: Lord’Williams

    Published by: Lord’Williams Publishing Groups

    ISBN 10: 0-9818938-0-5
    ISBN 13: 978-0-9818938-0-8

    Chapter 1

    He finished the final touches on the track he’d just sung, his own rendition of “One Less Bell,” originally performed by The Fifth Dimension, back in the early seventies. The tracks from his tears dried moments after he stepped out of the sound booth. He did this remake for no one in particular but himself, and his lonesome heart. He thought it would make great background music for his pity party, but the tears and sorrowful heart have left him thoughtless. Before his mind went voided, he thought about a lot of things—like in the last few weeks, after Yvonne, his wife, made her departure from their residence.

    She took little with her that night. She was too choked-up and upset to stay under the same roof with him any longer than she had to. Quiet as it was kept, she had thought about leaving him so many times, for a long time, but the timing was never right. She had not planned on leaving the way she did, not on his terms, but he put all the cards on the table. She should have remembered he was a skillful player, and he always played to win, but since that night, he regretted showing his hand at all. He never dreamed his marriage would come to a division.

    He never wanted to live his life without her. She was his world; even when he’d whored around and gave himself so easily to others, he always thought she would be there. He never understood how a couple could live together for ten, twenty, thirty, or more years and separate for some stupid, bullshit indifferences like adultery. He’d always thought love could overcome
    anything and everything, but his home became a house for damn near two years. She grew cold and distant, and started working late and later, till it seemed as if she just wasn’t there.

    The track was completed; he sat and stared at the console. The project gave him something to do; his usual routine had changed. When she left him, she took away her small talk, her constructive criticism, and her nightly needs, which he reluctantly became accustomed to providing them for her. Those needy chores of hers, wrapping her hair before she went to bed, or after waking up from a nap, yikes. Chores like demanding she pick out her clothes for the next day so he could iron them along with her uniform, or like taking her eyeglasses off her face while she slept, get up to when she got up in the mornings to brush out and style the hair he wrapped the night before, and to be near to hear her silently scream in her sleep during her nightmares.

    William peeped into his oldest daughter’s room, as he had done for twenty-two years. She was out again, and the room was a mess, as usual. Clothes laid in all corners, on the desk, on the dresser. Maybe if she spent a little more time at home, she would have some control, or concern. He would wonder just where the hell he went wrong. He closed the door and walked a few steps to the next room. His two youngest daughters were asleep. They had separate beds of their own, but they chose to sleep together, his two darling little angels. Over to his son’s room—where he found the television on, the computer on, the Play Station on—he looked over at his son where he laid in bed asleep with his clothes on. William stepped into the room and thought, this kid. I should wake him up and make him do this. Instead, he began his usual task of shutting everything off.

    He headed for the stairs, switching off the hall lights as he started his descent, then the phone rang. He hurried down the stairs to the phone on the end table in the living room. His heart quickened. He thought could it be her? Oh God, let it be her.

    “Hello?” William inquired.

    “Yo, Will. Still up, I see.” It was Friday, twelve thirty-six in the night, and Jake, his best friend, was looking for a place to hang out. “Want some company? Shit, I got nothing to do. I’m tired of this damn house and the damn woman getting on my nerves. I need to escape, shit.”

    “Yeah sure, that’s cool, nothing happening over here. How long?” asked William, knowing it would take Jake at least forty minutes to reach him.

    “Fifteen, twenty minutes,” Jake replied.

    “Twenty minutes?”

    “Yeah, actually, I’m halfway there,” Jake confessed.

    “Then why call? Hey, just drop by, walk in, and make yourself at home. Have a sandwich or something,” William said sarcastically.

    “Thanks, I was planning to do just that.” Jake welcomed the invitation even though all of which was his norm.

    “Yeah cool. See you in a bit.” William placed the cordless phone back into its cradle. He headed toward the back of the house to his study. He stopped when he’d stepped in and stared at the canvas painting of his wife and him, standing sideway, embracing each other, kissing. She was on her toes reaching up to him, his arms wrapped around her. Their nude bodies looked as if they were painted with the finest, silky smooth dark chocolate with butterscotch for their muscular tone.

    He’d updated his day planner earlier before he’d checked on the children. Next week was going to be just as busy as this one was. He was tired; it had been a long day, and a quiet evening. He turned the computer and the lights off, and headed for the basement-slash-business.

    He entered his basement, walked pass the lounge area and over to one of the three desks, and seated himself. The lounge area was actually two and a half rooms before he took down the partitions. He used the entire basement for his business. It consisted of a professional studio, with two sound rooms—both were medium orchestra size with three individual booths for vocalists; a high-end, high-tech, state-of-the-art mixing console; and the heart of it all, his computer network and file system. The lounging area consisted of a full bar, a mini-kitchen, two full-length white leather sofas, and two matching love seats centered around a large thick squared jewel, a gold leaf coffee table with the top made of onyx. On the coffee table sat all the usual black publications—Black Enterprise, Essence, Ebony, Source, Vibe, and others—to entertain his guests, followed by the small work area, with the three desks, and computer terminals.

    At one of the computer terminal, he searched for an album, just one of thousands stored on the system. He selected The Best of Sade. The volume was preset at a low and moderate level. The music played through the eight pairs of slim line speakers placed in various locations throughout the oversized room.

    He walked behind the bar and began to prepare his drink—Chivas Regal and Coke on the rocks—in his favorite crystal rocker glass. After a long sip, he walked back to the computer and selected the track, “The Sweetest Taboo.”

    It’s been over three weeks since his wife left him. She told the children she would be staying with Aunt Vanessa. She needed time to get away and to think things over, sort out the details and weigh her options. Her plane landed five days ago. The Bahamas was her destination. She left no phone number other than her cell phone, no hotel name, nothing. Well, not with him anyway. She refused to speak with him; she’d only conversed with the kids. Shit, she really didn’t give a damn whether he wanted to speak with her or not. The bastard had the nerves to have done what he did, and she really wasn’t feeling him. Was putting his cards on the table actually come from the act of some stupid shit he did and got caught? Hell no, he was too good to get caught at the shit he did; his game was mad tight. Yet, she left her home, her domain, her position of absolute authority.

    William was a woman’s dream—tall, dark, and trained. He possessed the ability to do all domestic house chores, all the handyman chores, all the major electrical and mechanical chores; and besides being able to sew, make patterns, crochet, and garden, he loved pleasing a woman. So what were his faults? Well, he was highly intelligent, he was very secretive, he dreamed too damn big, and he was too damn pleasing to women.

    He sat at the desk and sipped from the glass. A sense of loneliness washed over him, making him feel empty. He looked into the glass, ice, and brown liquid—not enough to get him drunk, or fill the emptiness. He had not been sleeping well the last three weeks since she left. He missed her, deeply. Hell, he had it so bad he had yet to change her pillowcases. The scent reminded him of her—she felt closer—and provided him with hope of her return. His cell phone rang, he lifted it from out it’s poach.

    “Hello?”

    “Hi, Poppy,” said a young woman.

    “Hi, baby girl.”

    He only called one person by that name, and that was because she would not have it any other way. It was his oldest daughter, Jasmine, and only she solely retained that title. She just turned twenty-two years old and began to explore her sexuality. She stood five- foot-nine; she was almost as tall as her father was. She liked to keep her hair and nails long, and she had the lightest skin tone in the family. She would be best described as a smart, sassy, big-boned, big-assed young woman, who has nothing but love for her father.

    “Where are you tonight?” he asked.

    “I’m out with Jess and Helen. I’ll be spending the night with Helen, unless you need me to come home.” She prayed he’d say no.

    “No. No reason for you to come home, I’m okay.”

    “Sure, Poppy?”

    “Yeah, baby girl. I’m all right. Coming home tomorrow?”

    “I don’t know. I might be in late, there is something I wanna to watch at nine. So I’ll be home before then. Okay, Poppy?” She prayed he had nothing for her to do.

    “Yeah, cool,” William responded.

    “Has Ma called you yet?”

    “No,” He replied.

    “How’re the kids?”

    “They’re okay. Everyone’s asleep. Jake will be by in a little bit. So we’ll just sit here and get drunk together, play some music, and talk shit for the rest of the night.”

    She chuckled. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

    “Good night, baby.”

    “Good night, Daddy.” She knew he had everything under control.

    They disconnected the call. He sled down in the love seat and took a couple of sips. He spied into his glass, and it was three quarters empty. “Hum. Down. Now that’s a no-no.”

    He stood and headed back to the bar. As he reached for the Chivas, the doorbell rang. His heart pounded for a second at the thought—could it be her?—but quickly he realized it should be Jake. He placed the bottle on the counter and headed upstairs. He opened the door. No surprise, it was Jake. They embraced and headed back downstairs.

    Jake took off his Yankees baseball cap, tossed it over to the far-end sofa, and said, “Hey, drink time.”

    “Oh yeah. Pour your own. And bring the bottles over to the table.” William smiled to himself. Finally, he had some company, it had been months since he and his longtime buddy, Jake had shared any time together.

    Jake knew where everything was. And why not? It truly was his second home. He had been a part of William’s life for over fourteen years. They worked the same job for more than seven years. They started about the same time. Jake watched William climb his way up from a company delivery driver to the company’s operation manager. All was going well for William until he stepped in to save Jake from getting fired and from possible imprisonment. Back then, keeping Jake out of trouble was something William had done many times before this last great sacrifice.

    William took the blame and confessed to stealing over nineteen thousand dollars of produce. He was fired and was lucky not to have served time. He was sentenced to serve three years probation. To Jake, William was a success story, because he turned his life around. William went back to college, graduated with a masters degree in electrical engineering from NYU, started his own company, made lots of money, bought a modern mansion, and rubbed elbows with the stars, so he thought. Actually, William hosted or leased out the studio to a few of the music industry’s celebrities. But he primarily corrected, sampled, or created sound recording; produced masters for some of the top recording labels, companies, and soundmen from around the world. Occasionally he would provide his services to government and local law enforcement agencies.

    Oh, and the Pentagon. William had a patent on an invention called “the Filtrex,” a five-year project, which paid off big time. The Filtrex was a box, which could filter out the sound of a roaring disco to hear an ink pin drop and bounce off the floor. The Filtrex had the ability to filter out and focus in on whatever sound one chooses to hear from a recording, tape, disc, or live. William was hoping to make lots of money by selling thousands, millions, but instead he’d only sold twenty.

    The Pentagon dropped the ball, and William’s patent was granted before they realize what the plans actually yield. They stopped the manufacturing for the Filtrex, and for two years, there were threats, court battles, and bullshit harassment techniques used against William. They went as far as labeling William and Yvonne as major drug dealers. They said William murdered three reviled dealers up in the Bronx for their drugs. They couldn’t provide any evidence to lay to their claim, so when that didn’t work, they threaten to have William and his family erased. William informed them that several people had copies of the Filtrex plans and would publish them on the Internet if anything were to happen to his family or to him. They came to an agreement. William could only market the Filtrex in a scaled-down version, and he had to retail that version for an unreasonable one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. And last, a contract and a five-million dollar – a – year grant to perfect the Filtrex where it would be able to pick up sound from great distances in real time, like from a spy plane, or from a satellite out in orbit. William was more than your average man was, he was into more than smarts, a career, and money. Unknown to family and friends, he was in bed, sleeping with Uncle Sam. William R. Green was connected and protected.

    “Hey? Where is that fine Latino chick Maria?” Jake asked as he placed the bottles and his glass on the large coffee table.

    “Gone. Got her check and split,” William said from his seat on the far-end sofa as Jake took a seat on the sofa opposite him.

    “Damn. That girl looks good. Let me ask you . . . is that why Yvonne left?” He poured the Absolute Vodka into the glass he held.

    “No. She didn’t say she was the problem. Although there was a time she did accuse me of fucking her,” William admitted.

    “Have you?” Jake poured in the orange juice.

    “No. She’s my housemaid, my babies’ nanny. I don’t fuck people who work for me. They expect more and do less. Thinking they got something over you.” Jake chuckled. “Actually, I’m not screwing anyone. I told you this crap before. I’m out the game. I don’t have time for all that. I have enough on my plate. No time to be chasing ass,” William confessed.

    “Think she’s coming back?” Jake asked.

    “Don’t know. Don’t know much of what she does anymore.” William finished his drink, looked into the empty glass and felt his life running in parallel—empty and uncertain. He never fathomed the thought of living without his wife, or her ever having the courage to leave him.

    “Maybe that’s why. You weren’t spending any time, you bastard. You’re all wrapped up in this shit you do.”

    “Naw. I was always available for her and the kids. My time is my own. No, she stopped coming home, she stopped having conversations, she stopped everything . . .”

    “Yeah, because she caught your ass fucking somebody. I know. Yvonne loves you, and the only thing that would make her leave you is another bitch. A woman has got to be out of her fucking mind leaving all this shit behind.”

    “I’m telling you man, no. I’m cool now. Nothing’s happening outside or inside of this house.” William started to fix another glass.

    “William, let me say this. You’re a nice guy, but you’re also a real bastard. Confess, you’ve done something? What about those panties?” Jake downed the remaining half glass and joined William in the preparation of another glass for himself.

    “That was damn near two years ago,” William stated.

    “Yeah, like women forget shit. They love making us guys pay for shit years later in life. They get off on that trick.”

    “I don’t know, man.” William leaned back.

    “And you still don’t know whose panties they were?” Jake leaned back.

    “No idea. That sport jacket sat on that hook over there”—he pointed behind him, at a wall with seven hooks—“for like three, four days, and people were all in and out of here. Don’t know who she is—”

    “Or he,” Jake added.

    “Oh shit. Don’t destroy the fantasy.” William paused. “No clue, man. She never revealed herself.” He sipped. “Man, back then, at that time I don’t even know if I would have, but these days, I’m getting backed up.”

    “Backed up? You really haven’t been doing anything?” Jake sipped. Knowing the history of William’s whorish ways and past behavior, he was surprise. He would have bet money his friend was operating under the radar.

    “No. I’ve been good for a while. I’m talkin’ years. There have been lots of changes in my life. A lot of shorties pushin’ up on me, but I’m tired of all that crap.”

    “Yeah, your ass is getting old, that’s all, or finally growing up. Now me, I need the exercises.”

    “What, Tam’s not taking care of you?” William asked.

    “Man, I’m chasing Tam off me. Shit, you know she’s still asking me to do that.”

    “Do what? The booty?” William chuckled.

    “Yeah, man.”

    “What’s up with that?”

    “No.” Jake waved his hand at William.

    “Yo. You better take care of your girl. She’s calling. You better hit that before someone else does.”

    “Yeah, like you, you bastard.”

    “Your girl looks good, but no. That’s okay. I like you, you dumb fuck.”

    “I don’t know how you can do that shit. It’s nasty. Putting my dick in someone’s ass. That shit is sick.” Jake declared.

    “How the hell would you know, if you never done it?”

    “I did it before, and seeing shit all over my dick wasn’t pleasing, or a rewarding sight, let me tell you.”

    “You did it wrong. You got caught in the moment and got nasty. Now if you’re going to do that, you have to prepare.”

    “Prepare?” Jake reached for the bottle again. “How the fuck you do that?”

    “I told her how. She’s ready for you. She’s going to get tired of that dildo.”

    “Yeah, you and your conversations. Ever since that night, she has been getting on my damn nerves.”

    “Jake, not for nothing, that’s your lady; take care of her needs and dreams, and she’ll be with you for life.”

    “Bullshit. Where’s yours? And I know you took good care of her.”

    “Now that’s low, you bitch.” He leaned forward toward the table to mix another drink. Jake’s statement was why William disliked telling people his business; they always threw it in your face at some point and time. “But you’re right. I did everything I thought I should be doing. I’ve tried to give her all of her desires and still it wasn’t enough.”

    “Did you try giving her you?”

    “Look who’s talking? Won’t fuck his wife in the ass and you ask me that shit? She always had me. I was always here. Even when I whored around, she came first. I love her Jake. She’s my girl, my friend, my boo. Hell, I like her more than I like you.”

    “Something pissed her off. Man, maybe it was that shit on your back.”

    William wondered. Could that be the reason for her behavior? No. She couldn’t have a clue to its legion, what it really symbolized. No one knew. He caught a chill. The same cold chill he received when he was looking in the mirror while shaving a week ago. Oh God, was it true? He saw it in the mirror. Could he have been mistaken? Silence reined for a moment, and it wasn’t from the possibility of Yvonne having a clue to the tattoo on his back.


    Author Lord’Williams
    http://lordwilliams.net


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