A NOVELLA IS BORN ...

Hi, all,

Well I must apologize to my fellow ROMANTIC FRIDAY WRITERS for posting my entry SO INCREDIBLY late.

This week with the remodel has been beyond stressful and busy. I know you all understand how life throws so many obstacles in our way. BUT on the bright side I did begin to pen my first EVER Film Noir Novella.

It all began when I started writing with the Romantic Friday Writers. During one prompt I had created the Film Noir word. I found myself escaping back into the 1940's and LOVING every minute of it. This was a time where woman were strong, feminine, and beautiful and Men were heroic, classy, and masculine to the ENTH degree.

For my entry today I am posting an excerpt from the first chapter of my novella. I had wanted to post it from the beginning, but since we have only a thousand word limit, I would have gone over by over five hundred. And I must say the co- hostesses are sticklers for the rules AND they really put on through the paces on this one.

Since it's October, the prompt must be a chilling story with perhaps a ghost or haunted locations. A romantic element must be present and tension is a must.

I chose the haunting location of 1940's Chicago. I hope you enjoy my excerpt of a slim 853 descriptive words.



A sterling mist swirls like autumn leaves, shading the full moon on this All Hallows Eve. Only a single beam of light weaves through the chilly veils and settles on the swinging fringe of an unsuspecting flapper’s dress: the ever present wind, catches each and every delicate strand.

She stops in front of a brilliant marquis; hundreds of lit spheres floating in golden bronze. A masterpiece of mirrored images reflect Chicago’s finest citizens as they enter into the Palmer House. 

After adjusting the feathered headband, she wraps herself in a bubblegum pink faux mink, steps behind a masked Cleopatra escorted by a bandy-legged Marc Antony,  and slips into the lobby.

“Over here, honey.” Doris’ nasal voice rends through the din like a foghorn on a stormy New England night. She glances down from the top of a polished marble staircase centered with a hand-woven, blood-red Persian runner. The ceiling reminiscent of the Sistine Chapel, and appliqued with hundreds of inlaid gilt medallions, frames Doris as she waves a lacy, gloved hand to the approaching flapper.

The man standing next to her, suited up in navy pin-stripes and spats extends his arm. “I’m Marty. Glad you could make it tonight toots. Doris was right, you’re a livin doll.” He wraps his arm around her waist and ushers her toward a tall, strapping man. “This is Cal Cavanaugh ... your escort this evening.” He glares at Cal. “Well say something to the dame, you boob.”

Cal’s throat constricts and he swallows hard. He bends slightly as a cowlick brakes free from his greased, raven hair and covers the right side of his horn-rimmed glasses. “A pleasure,” he says low.

A penciled brow raises and she licks her ruby, bee-stung lips. “How do you do.” Her eyes rake over his broad physique. “I don’t understand your costume. Am I missing something?”

A bead of sweat clings to his brow as a grin etches into his square jaw. 

“Well ... show her you big palooka.” Doris giggles and smacks him on the back with a senorita’s fan.

He raises thick fingers and loosens a tight collar and three buttons. Sapphire blue and a red S incased in a yellow triangle strain across his chiseled, muscular chest.

Doris fans herself frantically. “What I’d tell you, honey. He’s a real pip.”

A slight pink glow peeks through her powdered face. “I see. I have a date with Superman. Is that all you?”

Now it was his turn to blush.

The gangster, the flamingo dancer, the flapper, and Superman climb the alabaster stairs flanked by blank onyx illuminated figures. Open etched glass paneled doors graciously invite the quartet into the Empire room. A heavily encrusted gilt medallion holds center stage on the elaborate ceiling as rainbows of faceted light drizzle down on the polished hardwood floor from dozens of draped crystals cascading like an opalescent waterfall.

Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade touches every romantic as hundreds of masked couples sway like coconut palms on Havana’s sugary white beaches. 

Marty drags Doris onto to the dance floor. “Bye, we’ll see ...”

Cal extends his hand. “Care to dance?”

She folds into his arms and the music sweeps them into a sea of glittery gowns, cloaks, masked strangers, and mysterious creatures of the night. 

The chandeliers dim to barely a whisper and a spot hits the orchestra leader on stage. 

“Tonight I have the great pleasure to introduce the debut of the world renowned pianist, Liberace.”

Hundreds of raised hands applaud while lips pucker and whistles howl.

“Ladies and gentlemen, LIBER-RACE!”

Sporting a beaded black tie and tails, he steps on stage holding a lit twelve taper candelabra and places it on the high-glossed Steinway. 

A deafening silence filters through the room like a noxious gas.

With the waving of one diamond-studded hand, Liberace cast his spell. From Mozart’s,  The Magic Flute, to Beethoven's Fifth, to, As Time Goes By, each new melody blends seamlessly into the next. Pin-pricked eyes dart across the keyboard and never miss a single note. 

Suddenly a girl screams and a sharp crack breaks the spell. She struggles behind a marble pillar as the final fringe of a flapper’s costume disappears into the shadows. 

Chandeliers ignite. Faces unmasked reveal dropped jaws, glazed eyes, and vacant expressions. Bodies are paralyzed. Silence louder than Hitler’s Blitzkrieg jolts the once euphoric atmosphere.

As the crowds disperse, the original foursome are now two. 

“Where’s Marty?” Doris shrieks. “And what happened to Rosemary?”

Cal stands on tip toe, searching frantically. “I thought she went to the ladies room with you?

“Oh, no ... I didn’t wait.” Tears explode from Doris’s black-lined eyes. “What could’ve happened to her?” She stares up at Cal with a tear stained face. “You don’ think?” she whispered.

“Marty do such a thing? I’ve know him my whole life. I know he could be a goon sometimes ... but this?” He shook his head.

Doris latches onto his arm. “We need to find them.”

As dawn breaks through a driftwood gray mist on All Hallows day, a body floats in the Chicago river.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt .... Please let me know what you think.....

Have a great day everyone!