Prologue: I want to warn you all before you even start reading this that it is not a BnT, TnA, DnA, SnM or any other combination of L Word character stories. I dont write ABOUT them because you all are so much better at it than I. Plus, there are enough storylines out there that I dont think I could be original. We wouldnt even be having this discussion if it wasnt for HER and all you other authors who hooked me with these sagas way back when. Im talkin about YOU and YOU — you two who write more than one story at a time, and YOU the funny one, and YOU the queen of *****, and YOU with the mind game thing, and YOU with so many different characters in yours I have to read it twice to keep them all straight, and YOU two who finish one series just to start another. And its not just me you addicted – you got a whole new set of authors contributing to the weakness in me you wicked little %$&%^^@$s. So if you readers are looking for L action, move on cause it aint here. I write silly stories about this and that but center around the series and the FAN FIC writers. Dont torture yourself and start reading just to say I dont like this – I miss Bette . Dont start – click the back button and find an L author. Just let me wither away in the residual effects of my addiction – writing much to do about nothing. . . . .





The woman sat across from the detectives desk, staring blankly out the window behind him, tapping subconsciously on the arm of her chair. Sitting forward in the old wooden seat, she did not want to absorb into her clothing or skin the aura of the commoner who had sat there before her. She was gorgeous, (they always are I thought), 30-something, well-dressed, privileged, accessorized and deeply concerned. Or at least thats what she wanted the detective to believe.

Her husband, twice the womans age and a very well-established real estate developer in our area, was missing. She had called police when he failed to return home after a late evening dinner meeting two nights ago. His car was found in the parking lot of the restaurant where he last dined and was last seen. The woman was concerned, understandably so, she stood to inherit over $30 million dollars.

In an attempt to comfort her, the detective was cautious and deliberate in choosing his words as he spoke, giving her no indication that she was his number one suspect.

I was nearly at the top of the winding staircase and could see them both very clearly. The detectives desk was in the center of the room, one of four work areas in the square open layout of the squad room. The only enclosed places were my bosss office and three separate interrogation rooms. Most of the equipment in the room was older – wooden desks, typewriters instead of computers, 20 year old corded phones – Christ, I thought to myself. This is the new millennium – you would think government agencies could afford something more efficient than the NYPD BLUE look for their offices.

But I couldnt fret about the interior decoration or lack of right now. I had a job to do and I had to do it right the first time. No room for error – the case depended on my information and the timely delivery thereof. I was nervous but confident. I had to keep my emotions in check – no side glances at the woman (even though I wanted to throw her down and lick her into a frenzied state of arousal as she grabbed my hair and screamed my name right their in front of my boss – gawd she was hot).

I was breathing just a little erratically– I would like to think that it was an uncontrollable response to the sorrowful suspect, but I knew it was from climbing all those stairs. And I thought these buildings were supposed to be equipped with an elevator? I couldnt be that out of shape could I?

My uniform did feel a bit snug, but that could be from all the belts and guns and handcuffs I had hanging all over me. I felt like a ***** Christmas tree. I just hope I didnt look like one.

I could have called my boss from the downstairs front desk phone with the information I had received, but he wanted me to hand deliver it and speak so the woman could hear. He wanted to see her reaction to the news I was about to deliver.

I approached the two who were sitting in an uneasy silence at the moment.

Excuse me, Lt. Holmes. Just got a call from the restaurant and the forensic team in the parking lot. They found blood in the car and some items which look like they may have fallen out of a womens handbag. Butler wants you to give him a call ASAP – hes thinking you might want to come by before they tow the thing away.

I handed him the paper with the info and he looked it over quickly as I left .

Thanks, Doll. (Doll? My boss is a 50s throwback style pig, but a pig nonetheless).

Your name is Holmes, the woman asked, completely ignoring the information just handed to my boss. Not Sherlock I hope, she grinned trying to make small talk.

Nope, he said as leaned back in his swivel chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
Its John, like the ***** star. (definitely a pig) He smiled and smirked and watched the womans reaction.

Either she didnt know the name or was suppressing a secret desire for my boss to prove it. Doesnt matter, she didnt react in the least as the two of them locked eyes.


CUT PRINT yelled the director from his chair across the room as he watched the entire exchange between me and the two other actors. THAT WAS GREAT YOU GUYS — EXCELLENT – – THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH — LETS CALL IT A DAY

Thank you Jesus, I said to myself as I headed to wardrobe to take off that ridiculous sherrifs deputy outfit. I can finally get my SAG card – an actual speaking part – YES!!

I had been at the shoot location for nearly eight hours – the old movie industry adage held true today – HURRY UP AND WAIT. There were at least 25 extras on the set today hanging around for the filming of just two scenes, both of which will last 30 seconds a piece once the movie is edited . Thank god there was plenty of food and lively conversation between all of us wanna-bes – all of us exchanging stories about the different casting calls we have been on, the movies, tv shows, music videos we were all in, our aspirations to be the next big thing.

I really didnt have much to add to the conversation despite having been in four movies and over 20 commercials — all non- speaking roles and never even close to 15 SECONDS of fame let alone 15 minutes. Rather, I listened and nodded and knew I didnt want to be a star. Nope, I liked traveling around doing the bit stuff. I didnt have an agent but I had a distinctive look after the accident. I was already planning my next adventure I kept looking at my watch, hoping I could do my scene in one take and get going. And I did – gawd I was good. It was time to go.

I needed to gather up the midget, pack the Winnebago and head to Vancouver. Yep, I was going to L for my next job.

T B C . . . .