Erotica Harem

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Plot: Elizabeth is a little upset and feels the need to do something about it.

Style & Voice: Third person limited. Elizabeth. FLAWLESS. Elizabeth's
hearing the events unfold is a lesson in third person limited, if you ask me.

Referencing: Superb.

Scene/Setting: Just enough to keep me moving out of their way.

Characters and POV: Elizabeth, our main character, the wife and mother; Mickey, the
son and youngest child; Julie, the daughter, older child; the painter with a leg and a
foot; Scruffy, the cute little peeing, pooping pup; Sears delivery men; Carla and her
friends Janet and (be still my heart) Bob. Oh and David the husband. I feel the need to
go and re-read the description of Bob, just to make sure you don't need any help
there. It's what friends do, Tim.

Grammar and Punctuation: This is a silly question.

Emotional Connection: HIGH. Laughing makes me fall in love. (And there's
Bob)

Would I purchase this book? Well, yeah!

Does the title intrigue me? No. I'm sorry. I nearly skimmed right over it.
You can do better. Which makes me wonder if this was maybe a contest piece where the
title needed to make a certain reference? You can change it now, ya know.

What I liked best: Laughing myself senseless. It was laid out and played out
wonderfully. The timing was perfect. I'd settle down, and then BANG there was
another one. Very entertaining.

What I liked Least: The ending. Tighten and tweak it. I'm guessing by then
every reader will be where I was. So, it'll be a glide in and land. But it needs
tightening just the same.
In some cases, liked least is a nice way of saying "Hated". Not so here. I
simply liked it less, but still enjoyed it. Then again, is there a way to do without it?
Just a thought.




1715 words
Thank you for including a word count.

The Makeover Moment

About a million reasons for mercy paraded through Elizabeth’s conscience.
Each in its turn marched to the front, made its case, and retreated to obscurity. All the
while, a muffled monotone growled from a darker corner of her mind, repeating a single
word over and over: Revenge. Mercy didn’t stand a chance.

Yikes! Somebody's in trouble. Good opener. 'Nuff
said.

“Mommy?” A little hand tugged on her sleeve. “Are you gonna
yell at Daddy when he comes home tomorrow? Is that why you’re making me and Julie
go to Grandma’s for the weekend?”

And there it is. Daddy's the one in the dog house.

She scrunched back in the easy chair and lifted Mikey onto her lap. “No,
honey, of course not. Mommy’s not mad at Daddy anymore. Big people don’t
stay mad long.”

Liar liar, pants on... never mind.

“Did he go away because you yelled at him?”

“No! It’s called a seminar. He spent these two weeks learning how
to be better at his job. Lots of people go to Hawaii for that kind of thing.”

Hahahaha. I'm snickering already.

The little boy sniffed and looked down at the floor. “Okay. I still wish
I could be here tomorrow when he gets back. Wait ‘til he sees how much Scruffy has
grown already. He didn’t get to see him hardly at all.”

Scruffy intones "dog"

“No, he didn’t.” Elizabeth felt herself starting to scowl, and
forced a smile instead. “As a matter of fact, your daddy only saw him for about two
hours, before he left for the airport.”

Mikey wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked up. “Isn’t Scruffy the
best present ever? I love Daddy.”

“Mom!” The screech from the kitchen jolted Elizabeth out of the
chair so fast that Mikey stumbled and almost fell. “Scruffy pooped on the kitchen
floor again.”

She stomped through the doorway to inspect the scene. Julie stood in the center
of the room, pointing an accusing finger at a steaming pile. A little white ball of fur
huddled in the corner, its head cocked to the side while its tail swished back and forth
in tentative wags.

She started toward the laundry room just as the doorbell rang. “Somebody
get that. The painter is probably done and wants his money.” I know this
is grammatically correct, but it feels off balance somehow. Maybe: "The
painter's probably done and wants his money."(?) The scrub bucket and
spray-on cleaner still sat on the middle shelf where she’d put them a few hours
earlier. She threw a handful of rags in the bucket and plodded back to the kitchen.

The painter was standing on one leg, holding up his other foot to inspect his
shoe. Off balance again. Leg and foot don't work. The word "other"
requires a reference to the first. So, painter could be standing on one foot holding up
the other or standing on one leg folding up the other to inspect his shoe. (We
know it's on his foot. ) See?

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” he mumbled. “I guess I should
pay more attention to where I’m going. I must have stepped in something, and I
sort-of tracked it around a little.”

She dropped the bucket on the floor. “Never mind. I can handle it.
You’re done?”

“Yes ma’am. Three men for eighteen hours, plus the paint. It comes
to thirty-five hundred dollars even. The bill’s due the fifteenth. I must say,
it’s a unique color. You don’t see many houses these days painted that shade
of green.”

Uht oh. I'm giggling over here.

“True enough.”

He tipped his hat. “Well, I’ll be going now. By the way...”
He glanced down. “A lot of experts recommend against carpeting the kitchen,
especially if you’ve got a dog. Linoleum cleans up a lot easier.”



“Thanks for the helpful tip.”

# # #

Elizabeth was stuffing socks and underwear in a suitcase for Mikey and Julie when
an engine rumbled outside. She peeked out the window as a Sears delivery truck backed
into the drive.

Did she order a pool? I'm laughing my arse off. (I
hope this is meant to be a comedy!)

“Julie, let the men in, please.” She finished packing and met the
delivery crew in the front room.

The two men got on each side of the old sofa and started toward the door with it.
One of them wrinkled his nose. “You smell something funny?”

She ignored the flush creeping up her face and held the door wide open.
“I’m sorry. We have a new puppy. He peed on the cushions.”

They set it down. “Really? Which one?”

“All of them.”

OMG!

The taller man shifted uneasily. “Look, I’m sorry, lady, but we
can’t take this. The old ones go in for reconditioning, but you can’t get dog
pee out of a cushion. They’ll refuse it. It’s gotta go to the dump.”

“What? How the heck am I supposed to get this thing to the dump?”

“We can do it. It’ll be an extra hundred bucks, though.”

She fetched her check book while they hauled it out and brought in the new one.

When they left, Julie parked herself in front of the new piece of furniture and
stared. “You think Dad’s gonna like this color? It’s pretty
weird.”

Purple? HAHAHAHA!

“He’ll love it.”

A car honked outside. She shoved the suitcase into Julie’s hand.
“You two be good for Grandma. I’ll pick you up Sunday night.”

Yeah, sending them away is a good idea!

# # #

The alarm clock startled her awake. While she dressed, she counted off the> number of times the puppy had woken her up to go out. Midnight. Two AM. Four AM. Hmm. > Just three? Down from seven. Getting better all the time.
She let the little beast out of its crate, opened the back door, and watched it
scamper to the nearest tree. The moment it finished doing its business, she let it back
in, allowed it to lick her hand a couple of times, and scratched it behind the ears. Its
big brown eyes pleaded for freedom, but to no avail. She put it in the cage, carried
it to the cellar, and shut it in the family room.

Is this right? The family room's in the cellar? Just sounds funny.
"Cellar" conjures a large unfinished area with a dimly-lit finished room toward
the back.

“Just for a couple hours,” she whispered, and slipped a dish of puppy
chow inside.

Carla and the two friends she’d promised to bring showed up at the front
door with less than an hour to spare before Arrival Time. Carla’s jaw dropped.
“Elizabeth! The room looks great! You redid the whole thing.”

“Yup. I waited five years for my chance to do the house like I wanted.
What do you think?”

“New sofa, new lamps, you even got rid of that Elvis monstrosity.”

Oh no she didn'n! Not Elvis!

“That was the first to go. I never could see what David liked about those
black velvet paintings. He says it’s worth big bucks, so it’s in the cellar
for now. But don’t you think Monet is a lot classier? The guy at the furniture
store said so.”

“It sure is, honey. David will adjust. Hey listen, here’s my two
friends. This is Janet and Bob.”

They were both dressed a little sexier than she anticipated, but it was a nice
touch. Janet wore white short-shorts and a clingy top that molded itself to her curves.
Bob went for the hunky casual look, with cutoff jeans and a muscle shirt that gave true
meaning to the style. He had the body of a construction worker, with a deep tan, bulging
biceps, pronounced pecs, the whole nine yards. His artfully messed brown hair completed
the effect. Perfect. These two would grab David’s full attention and hold it
tight. Mine too. Thanks for that. Logic would fail him; he’d never
suspect a thing.

Elizabeth reached out to shake Bob’s hand. “Nice to meet you. You
sure you don’t mind helping me out with this little stunt?”

Janet chuckled. “Mind? This is gonna be a heck of a show. I should pay
you to let me be in it.”

“Well, enjoy yourself. If you want to go freshen up, the bathroom’s
down the hall.” She flicked her head that way.

“So...” Carla paused at the door, her car keys in her hand.
“What was David’s crime?”

“Bringing home a surprise puppy and then heading to Hawaii for a two-week
business seminar.”

Carla shook her head. “Ooo, nasty. Hawaii no less. But are you sure you
want to go through with this? It’s pretty extreme.”

“You remember his new office assistant I told you about?”

“You mean the one you said wears those skimpy little...”

Elizabeth waved her hand to cut Carla off. “Bingo. She went with him. To
help him organize his notes, he said.”

And I'm sure that's the truth. No, really.

“Man o man. Honey, I’m with you all the way. That boy needs a
serious wake-up call.”

“Ding-a-ling. See you later. And thanks for lending me your
friends.”

# # #

From her perch on a stool under the bathroom window, Elizabeth watched the taxi
pull into the drive. “Okay guys,” she whispered. “He’s here.
I’m shutting this door in case he comes inside. Janet, you stay in the kitchen for
a minute. Bob, be ready to meet him when he rings the bell.”

I get it. They're gonna pretend they live there. Am I right? What
do I get? Is there a prize?

David got out of the cab and froze, staring at the freshly painted house and
scratching his head. He kept scratching it all the while he walked up the pavement to the
front door. He turned the knob, pushed, and stepped back when it just rattled against the
deadbolt instead of swinging open. He tried once more before pounding with the knocker.

Oh, I am SO right.

Elizabeth couldn’t quite see David from the bathroom window, but she heard
Bob’s footsteps crossing the living room as he approached the front door. The lock
slid aside and the door squeaked open.

“Yes?” Bob’s deep baritone voice resonated in a way that made
her smile.

Me too. I'm killing myself laughing!

Silence reigned for a few seconds before David reacted. “Who are
you?”

“Bob Lynchfield. And you are...?”

David backed away from the house to where she could see him again. He looked up
at the brass number plate, glanced around the yard, and scratched his head once more
before stepping up to the doorway again. “I’m David Mayer. Hey,
where’s my Elvis painting? And the sofa!”

“Excuse me?”

Janet must have come out of the kitchen, for her voice joined in the
conversation. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Mr. Mayer here seems to be confused about something.”

“Mayer...Mayer...I know that name.” Janet kept a light, sing-song
inflection in her tone. “Oh yeah! Elizabeth Mayer. She’s the previous
owner. We never met her, but the realtor Realtor is a designated
title and thus requires capitalization. told us about her. Lived here with a
couple of kids and a puppy. The story is she flipped out, put the house on the market
real cheap two weeks ago, and moved to the Cayman Islands or something like that. Said
she needed to find herself. Ha! Can you imagine that? A grown woman needing to find
herself. Isn’t that just the weirdest thing you ever heard? What would it take to
push someone over the edge like that? Hey, you’ve got the same last name.
Are you related to her?”

That line weakens the punch-line. I'd start with, "Well, Elizabeth
Mayer's the name of the previous... and ease up on the whole realtor connection. She
flipped out and left the house for the realtor to deal with... Something like that. Make
it quick and snappy. Tick tock tic tock. Bada bing, Bada bang. (Ba dump bump!) And
CUT.

Satisfying right up until the last paragraph. She shouldn't struggle to recall the
previous owner's name. She'd know it. It's only been a week or so. (How
they could close and paint is a little perplexing. In Jersey it takes roughly three
months. I know other States have a much easier, quicker go at it, but he's only been
away for two weeks. That leaves a minimum of a day for her to flip-out and leave, and 14
days to market, sell, close, move, and redo the house. -- **Now, obviously, he's
going to catch on in the next minute or two. I realize this. So my statements are likely
all moot. But I felt obligated to throw them out coz I can be OC about these things.)

Overall a very fun, funny story, Tim. I spent the entire read in varying degrees of
Laugh.

LOVED it!
Carol
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