The September Contest was a tough one, for the judges at least! They deliberated long and hard and came up with the following First, Second, Third, and Honorable Mention winners. Each of these stories will appear in the annual Fiction in Five Anthology, scheduled for publication in August, 2011. Congratulations to all the winners!
First prize is a $25 VISA gift card, one free enrollment in a live 20/10 Webinar of the winner’s choice, publication with bio and photo on our blog with links from the I4IE Center for Writing Excellence Website for a minimum of one year. PLUS: publication in the annual Fiction in Five Anthology and a FREE e-copy of the Anthology at the end of the contest year! (First annual Fiction in Five Anthology due out August, 2011)
First Place winner: Widow Worthington’s Party with the Plebeians by Bruce Grogan, who has been an attorney for 12 years and currently works as a confidential law clerk for a judge in New York. He started writing creatively about a year ago, saying,”Although my job involves writing for several hours a day, legal writing is based in fact and I was looking for a hobby that would allow me to use my imagination.” Bruce lives in Clarence Center, New York with his wife Julie, daughter Haley, and two high-strung but very lovable Westies, Abby and Bailey. Here is his winning story:
Widow Worthington’s Party with the Plebeians
“Driver, do hurry.” Chantal Worthington fished a note from her diamond-encrusted purse, a birthday gift from her late husband Percy. She folded the note and pressed her lips against it. With the steadiness of a neurosurgeon, she wedged it into the pouch of the ceramic kangaroo she purchased at the gift shop before boarding her jet at the Sydney Airport. She’d written the hotel address and room number on the note with the proposition, “Mickey, how about ‘hopping’ over to see me tonight?”
The limousine stopped at the curb of Mick and Sally Sampson’s Long Island ranch house. It was half the size of Chantal’s pool house and almost as big as the carriage house where she stored her antique doll collection. Millicent, Percy’s cousin and Chantal’s social coordinator, neglected to forward Chantal the party invitation, instead calling her two nights earlier at her estate in Australia with news of the gathering.
Chantal opened the car door. In five years of attending the Sampson’s dinner parties, she’d never been more than five minutes late. She usually loved the feeling of eyes on her when she was the last one to arrive. However, the foolish driver had taken a wrong turn and here she was, twenty minutes late, an embarrassment not only to her personally, but to the Worthington name itself.
“Park in a well-lighted area,” Chantal said, motioning to the car, “I don’t want any of the suburban ruffians hounding these streets to get any naughty ideas.”
She strutted up the brick walkway, composing an excuse for her tardiness. She’d been hosting a charity event? No, that wouldn’t do. Stopped to give some homeless people some money? Yes, that would place her in good stead with the commoners at the party.
A slender man wearing white gloves and clothed in a charcoal tuxedo greeted her with a bow. “You must be the wealthy heiress.”
“Heavens,” Chantal said, placing her hand to her heart, “I didn’t know they had a butler. And yes, how did you know?”
“You look the part.” The butler furrowed his brow and sized her up. “My name is Jennings. I’m only here for the night.”
“I’m appalled at my tardiness. I must apologize to the hostess.”
“As you wish.” Jennings kissed her hand and cleared his throat. “Unfortunately,” he said, with a flourish of his hand toward the study, “there’s been a murder.”
“Oh, dear.” Chantal peered into the study, and raised her hand to her mouth when she spotted the rolled up down comforter in the corner with a body cocooned inside.
Mick’s head and neck protruded from the comforter like the top of a push-up popsicle. His eyes were swollen shut. A dog leash had been wrapped around his neck countless times.
“This is atrocious,” Chantal said. “I had my suspicions about the suburbs, but I didn’t realize they were so dangerous. I’m glad I was late. Where is the gracious host?”
“She’s on the patio with the guests speaking with the detectives. It’s been a dreadful night,” Jennings said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “The authorities won’t let anyone leave.”
Chantal walked through the foyer and into the kitchen toward the patio. An arm reached out from the lavatory and pulled her inside, bringing Chantal face to face with a stubble-faced male wearing a wool fedora.
“Detective Slade,” the man said, clutching a spiral notepad. “You the heiress?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“Come with me.” He escorted Chantal to the foyer. “What do you know about this?” he said, cocking his head toward the cylindrical white mass on the study floor.
Chantal choked back tears. “We dated in college. Until she stole him.” Chantal pointed to a photo of Sally hanging in the foyer. She thrust her head back. “It’s so undignified, my Mick being leashed like some feral animal.”
“Wifey is the prime suspect.” Detective Slade brandished a cigarette and put it to his lips. “Some neighbors overheard her calling him a cheating dog.”
“Thank heavens I’m not the prime suspect,” Jennings interjected. “People in my occupation usually are.”
Detective Slade glowered at Jennings and redirected his attention to Chantal. “You the skirt that the body has been canoodling with?” He looked her up and down. “If I wasn’t married . . .”
Chantal looked around the foyer and leaned in close to the detective’s ear. “Do you think she found out about me and Mick?”
Detective Slade gave her a curious glance. “Interesting,” he said, scribbling into his pad. “How long you two been breaking commandments together, doll face?”
“Just once a year for five years,” Chantal whispered. “I was hoping to rendezvous with him this evening, but I didn’t find out about the soiree until a couple days ago. I just flew in from Australia on my private jet. Am I a suspect?”
“Keep talking and you may be.” Detective Slade put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “Sorry doll, I can’t keep this quiet. Your confession adds a new wrinkle to the case. May as well break the news to Wifey while I’m here to protect you.”
“Detective, please don’t. It could ruin everything.” Chantal’s knees buckled and she fainted. The kangaroo fell from her unclutched hand and smashed on the floor. Detective Slade caught Chantal before she kissed the tile.
Minutes later, when Chantal came to, Sally was rubbing a cool washcloth on Chantal’s brow. To Sally’s left stood Mick, sporting a pilot’s uniform and matching hat.
“We’re ecstatic you could make it,” Sally said, helping her up. She wore a stewardess outfit and black high heels.
“I thought Mick was–”
“Dead?” Sally reared back her head and roared. “Millicent didn’t forward the murder mystery invitation to you, did she?”
Chantal exhaled and the color returned to her face. “Of course she did. I was just playing along.”
Mick winked at her and wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead.
“Is this for me?” Sally said, opening the note. Her jaw dropped. “What the . . . ”
Second prize is one free enrollment in a live 20/10 Webinar of the winner’s choice and publication with bio and photo on our blog with links from the I4IE Center for Writing Excellence Website for a minimum of one year. PLUS: publication in the annual Fiction in Five Anthology and a FREE e-copy of the Anthology at the end of the contest year! (First annual Fiction in Five Anthology due out August, 2011)
Second Place Winner: Time Marches On, by Lori M. Quiller, a graduate of The University of Alabama with a degree in journalism and criminal justice. Since graduating, she has worked in the fields of marketing and public relations in both the private and government sectors since 1991. This year, Ms. Quiller received her second consecutive APEX Award for Publication Excellence, an international competition for writing and graphic design. She carries with her a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson for motivation and inspiration: “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” Ms. Quiller and her “Diva Doggie” Mazie reside in Prattville, Alabama.
Time Marches On
The one night I needed to be on time, and Mazie, my sweet little Shih Tzu pup, can’t decide whether to water the grass by the fence or beside the cement planter. To say that the weather was frigid for December in the South was an understatement. We were heading into our third week of near-zero temperatures, and Mazie taking her time sniffing every blade of grass and wrapping her fuchsia, crystal-studded doggie leash around my leg was her little joke on me.
Wrapped in her “Diva Doggie” sweater, I couldn’t help but let her have her way. “You’re gonna be late to the party, Mommy!” she probably thought in her fuzzy doggie head. After pulling on the leash just a tug, she got the idea and did her business. Finally!
Back inside the warmth of my house, I quickly got Mazie out of her Diva sweater and leash, nestled her into her pillow-bed in the bedroom, grabbed my purse and keys, and dashed out the front door. “Iʼm so late!” I thought to myself as I ran to my car. My best friend, Ava, was hosting the holiday party of the year, and she promised that all of the city’s elite and most eligible bachelors would be on hand. Translation: Fix up. But, with my long hours at the magazine lately, I probably needed something to take my mind off of deadlines, advertisers, proofs and presses if for only one night.
By the time I finally got across town, I was fashionably late to Avaʼs party. Ava and Brian Williams had the most beautiful house in the Wyndemere Lakes subdivision. Old money. New money. The only requirement to live in The Lakes was that you had money, and lots of it. Considering I was “fashionably” late, I had to walk a couple of blocks, and each blustery step reminded me that I should have tried harder to be on time. Ava had been talking up this party for months, so I figured I would have some serious explaining to do when I got inside…after my body thawed from the cold.
At the door, I didn’t have to use the huge brass knocker. Someone on the other side with extrasensory perception must have felt my presence and let me in. Oh, to be inside on such a winter’s night! I wrestled with my coat for a moment when Avaʼs husband, Brian, snuck up behind me to help. I always thought of Brian as such the Southern gentleman. Unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting anyone behind me, having Brian grab me from behind knocked me off kilter enough for me to stumble into Avaʼs beautiful collection of antique Staffordshire figurines she inherited from her grandmother a few years back. We had to look like circus clowns with our juggling act, trying to catch the figurines before they crashed to the floor. I caught two, while he caught the remaining three before we both toppled to the ground laughing.
“Well, you definitely know how to make an entrance, Mary!” Brian laughed, taking the figurines from me and putting them back on their pedestal. “You know me,” I said as I scrambled to get back to my feet, “I like to be remembered. Where is your lovely wife? I owe her a gigantic apology for being so late. I was walking Mazie. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it,” I giggled.
“She’s working the crowd. You know Ava. Everyone has to be in the holiday spirit, or filled with spirits, at one of these shindigs. Here, let me take your coat,” he reached for my coat, but I waved him off. “You…mingle. I’ve got this. Which room?”
“Upstairs, at the end of the hall. Have fun!” The house was packed with people, and Ava didn’t lie when she said every eligible bachelor in the area would be present. Half the men in the room were only looking at me because of my less-than-graceful entrance, and the others weren’t looking at all. I slowly wandered through the rooms, chasing the sound of Avaʼs laughter. I owed her an explanation for being so late, and for almost eliminating her inheritance.
Each room was packed to the rim with partygoers. The girl knew how to throw a party…a trick she picked up in college and now did for a living. I made my way through the crush of people to the top of the stairs and found the makeshift coatroom at the end of the hall. Racks and racks of expensive coats were hanging around the room. I took my coat off and sat on the corner of the bed just long enough to catch my breath.
Down comforter. Ava had great taste, and right at that moment I’d have given anything to snuggle up in that bed, pull the covers up tight, and wish the world away. This week made it one year that David left. I preferred to say that David left because it doesn’t draw nearly as much sympathy as “David died.” Itʼs also less final to say that he left…to think that he’s still out there somewhere. “There you are!” Ava burst into the room carrying two glasses of champagne. “Iʼm sorry,” I answered. “I was just putting up my coat, but I really was looking for you. Iʼm fashionably late.” I managed a quirky smirk. “Fashionably, I like it.” She handed me a glass and sat down beside me.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight, even though you promised. Iʼm glad you did.” “I’ve never broken a promise, at least not to you.”
“I know,” and she did without saying a word. Ava held my hand and squeezed it so tight it took forever for the blood to rush back to my fingers. That’s the thing about great friends – time marches on, but great friends linger in the heart forever.
Third prize is publication with bio and photo on our blog with links from the I4IE Center for Writing Excellence Website for a minimum of one year. PLUS: publication in the annual Fiction in Five Anthology and a FREE e-copy of the Anthology at the end of the contest year! (First annual Fiction in Five Anthology due out August, 2011)
Third Place Winner: Irony is so Ironic by Frank Puglia, an award-winning photographer who has written various articles on business, motivation and humorous topics for national publications. Frank enjoys sports and gardening as hobbies, and works together with his wife, Dr. Mary Puglia, on her educational, writing and photography endeavors. He and Mary have a daughter, Stefanie, and they live in Florence, Arizona.
Irony is so Ironic
The music was loud and the laughter was heard from nearly a block away as Mary hurried toward the brightly lit house. She knew how embarrassing her late appearance would be, especially since the party was honoring her for her 30 years of service, amongst her proudest accomplishments. All of her colleagues and friends were there, so how would she explain her unusual tardiness?
“Nobody will believe this — but then, maybe some of them actually would – and will never let me forget it,” thought Mary – it was much easier to laugh then to worry about being late But how will she explain that she took her beloved best friend Shorty, her corgi, for a quick walk before heading out. Who would really believe that she had inexplicably hooked her dog leach on a barrel needle cactus, and the more that Shorty tried to free herself, the more cactus became lodged in her skin. The look in her eyes cried for help, and her painful yelps quickly sent Mary desperately looking for a way to free her friend. Mary ran back to the house and found an old down comforter that she had just used for furniture protection during her recent move, and hurried back to safely wrap Shorty and corral her into freedom. Mary did appreciate that Shorty had managed to mix a variety of distinctive cactus thorns into her skin and she wished that she had a camera to capture the moment for proof and documentation. But she knew she was now late for the party and needed to leave Shorty to lick her wounds.
Everyone was already having a great time. Twenty minutes didn’t seem to be too late for any other party but not on a night like this. She hurriedly made her way into the house as everyone congratulated her and wanted to personally welcome her. She appreciated the salutations and wished she could stop and talk to each person. She knew there would be plenty of time for this later, but it was imperative that she find Stefanie, her longtime assistance, who was responsible for planning and hosting this wonderful evening. When she finally located Stefanie, she knew her story would be both embarrassing and unbelievable.
Stefanie quickly embraced Mary, announcing her arrival to those who could hear above the music and chatter. “So what happened to you? You are always the most prompt person in the world?” asked Stefanie, as she whisked Mary along to the patio, which suddenly appeared as a makeshift stage. Nobody really understood the usual “you will never believe what happened to me…” response from Mary, but the fun was just about to begin.
Stefanie asked that everyone gather around to honor their friend and trusted colleague. Mary was a shy person at heart but she had accepted her fate of being “honored” for her long achievement, and for the friends she had made over the years.
Stefanie started with the traditional “in honor of your 30 long years of putting up with us, and keeping our secrets, we are proud to have you as our guest tonight.” In her mind she continued to remind herself that it was time for her to inherit Mary’s coveted position.
Mary was touched by the kind words from everyone and the gratifying remarks of her assistant. A woman of little words, Mary found herself ready to let out the feelings that had been buried for years.
“This has been a tremendous experience and the best 30 years of my life,” said Mary. “The secrets that I have kept would make a great novel, and the stories that I could tell would be worth a lot to many magazines, spouses, girlfriends, and others.”
A collective gasp came over the group and puzzled faces looked around at each other, wondering what each person was individually hiding.
Just as Mary was ready to begin a ‘believe it or not’ dissertation on her closest friends, she was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see that Stefanie was standing behind her with gift in hand, and her dialogue changed decidedly from retribution to reality.
As Mary turned to see what Stefanie had in her hands, she saw a large box wrapped with care, with a giant bow made of prickly pear cactus pads.
Mary accepted the box with a reserved embrace and chuckled as she realized the irony in the bow and somehow knew what would be inside. She took the top off of the box to reveal her retirement gift, a large ceramic figurine of a saguaro cactus! She tried not to laugh out loud, instead graciously accepting her gift and thanking everyone for their thoughts and generosity. The irony of the situation was not lost on Mary as she couldn’t wait to explain her lateness and share her cacti experience. She knew her fellow volunteers would appreciate the humor in this situation, especially as Stefanie began her prepared speech. “On behalf of the Desert Cactus Botanical Gardens, we are happy to honor Mary…”
Honorable Mention prize is publication in the annual Fiction in Five Anthology and a FREE e-copy of the Anthology at the end of the contest year! (First annual Fiction in Five Anthology due out August, 2011)
Honorable Mention Winners:
The Missing Piece, by Ruth Snyder of Alberta, Canada
A Woman’s Best Friend, by Rodger Orr of Newark, Ohio
Center for Writing Excellence 