Private Confessions Volume I

By Kimberly Llewellyn

Tell-all stories that come straight from the heart. Heartfelt, emotional, and shocking confessions of love, loss, and triumph. Stories include I Married My Stalker: How Else Could I Get Him to Leave Me Alone, Love at the Inn, A Girl In Every Port: How Could I Ever Trust Him, Attack on America: One Reporter's Nightmare, plus a bonus story by Kathy Carmichael, A Math Curse Almost Ruined my Life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kimberly Llewellyn
• Release date: Nov 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466139251

Kimberly Llewellyn

Known as “the Wedding Writer,” Kimberly Llewellyn is the award-winning author of seven novels, including her last two published as humorous women's fiction in trade paperback by Berkley Books (The Quest for the Holy Veil and Tulle Little, Tulle Late, a Book Sense Notable Pick List from the Independent Booksellers Association). Kimberly has written nonfiction articles as well as stories for the confessions magazine market. She enjoys promoting "fiction for women" to the media and to various organizations, such as the Arts Council, Miss Florida State Pageant for Miss America, and bridal expos. She's made guest appearances on television, including the shows Daytime, Mornings Around the Bay, and Kathy Fountain’s Your Turn. Her most recent nonfiction book, I Want to Be an Author: Now What? is currently available (ISBN 9780615364636). She gives writing workhshops, including online, and offers writing tips on her website and Twitter.

Book preview

Confessions Collection

Volume I

Kimberly Llewellyn

Published by Kimberly Llewellyn at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Kimberly Llewellyn

Copyright 2011 Kathy Carmichael, A Math Curse Almost Ruined My Life

Names of real persons, businesses, and places have been changed. If the name of an actual person occurs, it is entirely coincidental.

Photography by Paul Moore/PhotoExpress

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

I Married My Stalker: How Else Could I Get Him to Leave Me Alone

Love at the Inn

A Girl in Every Port: How Could I Ever Trust Him?

Attack on America: One Reporter’s Nightmare

Bonus Story: A Math Curse Almost Ruined My Life

I MARRIED MY STALKER:

How Else Could I Get Him to Leave Me Alone?

I don’t know how people in the spotlight do what they do and still manage to keep their sanity. I mean, once a woman pursues and finds fame, she also opens herself up as a target to a whole slew of crazy people who want to be in her presence...at all costs.

Not just women. And not just entertainers. All people. People like sports heroes, movie and television actors, and any other sort of celebrity. I wonder if they consider the darker side of being in the public eye before they find themselves in it. Out of the blue, you’ve got people you barely know wanting to be your friend, especially those who snubbed you at one time. Like suddenly, you’re good enough company to keep just because you’ve touched on a bit of popularity.

As for me, I’m no big-time star, but I am somewhat of a local celebrity here in Salonport, a growing east coast city with a reputation for being a real hot bed for artists, musicians, and such. This city is one of Hollywood’s best kept secrets. You see, it’s on the opposite coast of California, and it’s a great place for movie stars to open their own small theater companies, do a little experimental acting, and not be bothered so much by the media or fans or the business part of show-business. It’s also a chance to escape the constant pressure of always looking over your shoulder to be sure that some crazy isn’t out there trying to track you down.

I’d learned all about contending with crazy fans early on from the big-time celebs as they came to town. I’m fortunate to rub shoulders with these famous types all the time. See, I’m a singer, a darned good one. I go under the name of Sara Lovejoy. I kept my first name, but changed the last. I mostly enjoy singing pop music, the stuff that gets you moving. But I have a soft spot in my heart for country ballads too.

My music keeps me financially comfortable enough to own a quaint home right on the coast. It’s rather small and very intimate—-but I live alone, so for me, it’s perfect. And in the back of the property, it has got the sweetest little cottage you’ve ever seen, along with a shady trellis-covered walkway. Wild growing pink roses cover the trellis, and I love how their sweet fragrance mingles with the salty air.

Since this cozy cottage is nestled in the back of my home, it’s especially perfect for any star-studded guest who blows through town and needs to cocoon for while. Sometimes I don’t even get to say so much as a hello, or share a cup of coffee with them. It’s usually because I’m sleeping away the mornings, since I work tirelessly at night with my singing review. But I think that’s what celebrities like best about staying here. The anonymity and solitude.

Now, I could provide you with a laundry list of celebs who have come here to just get away, but I won’t. I guess it’s like a code of honor. Like there’s this understanding to respect each other’s space and privacy. I’d never go to the press and squeal about who came to crash at my little cottage after a night of partying. Nor would I leak information on a producer’s newest screenplay he’s been working on while sitting on the bench under the shade of my pink rose-covered trellis. It’s the sense of peace you get when you know you can sit back and relax here without being pestered by people, even if just for a little while.

But no amount of privacy can stop a stalker who’s hell-bent on hunting you down. No person can shelter you at all times from some nut case with deluded fantasies of loving you and marrying you and truly believing you’d reciprocate that love.

I had to learn that the hard way. Like I said, I’m a local gal, but I’ve been gaining more and more notoriety lately. And with the many contacts I’ve made between New York’s wheelers and dealers, metropolitan socialites, and those Hollywood superstars who know they can feel comfortable with me, I have lots of promising opportunities to make my singing career skyrocket.

That is, if I want it to skyrocket. And as it stands, I’m not sure I do. Not after what I’ve been through. I’ve worked hard to get where I am in such a short time, but it has already come with a price. A price I’m not so sure I’d be willing to pay if I’d had the hindsight I have today.

I still remember that fateful night when my terrible trouble all started. It was my first time to be singing at Miss Kitty’s Corral. Locals refer to the place as the miniature version of the Grand Ol’ Opry. Although I felt confident my singing would be fine, a series of small disasters beforehand had left me frazzled. I only hoped the audience wouldn’t notice how my nerves were on edge.

I found myself in this predicament because Miss Kitty herself had caught wind that I could belt out one soulful, sultry country song, amid my top-40-pop set whenever I sang around town. And when she’d heard how I wrote a lot of my own material, she got right on the phone and invited me to sing during variety night. She’d left it up to me to perform a set of music to my liking, so I chose songs that would showcase the wide range and depth to my voice, something I’m noted for around here. I planned my music with care since you never know who will be in the audience during one of these things and you want to do your best.

But it’s hard to do your best when your day goes from bad to worse on the evening of your performance. Somewhere along my travels to Miss Kitty’s, I tore the backside of my blue sequin gown, sending a spray of broken-off shiny sequins everywhere I walked. And let’s not talk about the wobbly heel of one of my matching satin strappies. And on the drive to the concert hall, I’d gotten rerouted due the Festival in town and found myself arriving way too late for getting hair and makeup done. Miss Kitty looked none too pleased.

But the small disasters didn’t just happen to me. Sound checks were off. The lighting came off all wrong. The problems stemmed from a brief thundershower earlier that afternoon. A lightning bolt had struck a transformer, which affected every technical aspect of the show. It didn’t look like the event would be taped for use on local cable stations.

Did I mention the lack of air conditioning? Yes, that’s electrical, too. And some diva-performer (I won’t mention any names) threatened to walk out at the last minute if things didn’t improve. She refused to work in such deplorable conditions.

But as the big moment approached, things slowly began to fall into place, and the whole building had cooled down, along with flaring tempers. It all happened just in time for the swarms of people to descend on this little popular place. Even the temperamental diva who had threatened to walk, returned to her usual sweet self, barking orders about her makeup and demanding her special water to soothe her voice.

Now, I’m used working in nightclubs and really playing to my audience, so I’m more used to things being intimate. This big-time event started to get a little intimidating, as I sat there on my stool, in my tiny dressing room, and in my pinned-together gown. I had one foot extended while my friend, Trisha, inspected the heel to my broken shoe.

Sara, you keep thinking small, and you’re gonna stay small, she scolded and tapped the shoe’s heel.

What’s wrong with small? Maybe small isn’t so bad. Maybe this is all a little too much for me.

This sounds much more than a bad case of stage fright. What’s going on with you?

"I don’t know. I guess it’s all these disasters today. Maybe