Strut

By Susan DiPlacido

A RUN DEVIL RUN NOVELLA

California girl Lisa is living a very un-Hollywood life, and that’s just fine by her. She took over her father’s pool service business and enjoys sunny days and a quiet home life with her mom. But one of the guys on her crew who moonlights as musician occasionally puts an extra spring in her step, and when she starts facing financial pressures, she starts wondering if there might be a few things she’s missing. Then her mom finds out that one of Lisa’s premier clients possesses a mysterious and enigmatic pair of shoes that are rumored to change fortunes, and lives, for those who wear them.

Will Lisa decide to take a walk on the wild side and test the powers of the supposedly serendipitous high heels? And do the shoes really possess magical powers that could make Lisa’s Cinderella dreams come true? Or is what Lisa really wants just a click of her heels away in the form of a smoldering rock drummer? From swank Beverly Hills days to sexy Sunset Strip nights, Lisa is on the cusp of finding out what really makes LA glitter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: Feb 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781936394609

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Strut

by

Susan DiPlacido

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011 by Susan DiPlacido

ISBN: 978-1-936394-60-9

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover model-Dave Plesh of Run Devil Run

Cover Design by Fiona Jayde

Cover Photography by Sidney Morgan

http://www.sidneymorganphotography.com

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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http://www.decadentpublishing.com

Chapter One

It’s another gorgeous day in L.A. That’s definitely one of the advantages of living here.

I was still young when we moved out here, but I was just old enough to have vivid memories of bitter cold days with snow piled high along the streets as cars had to trudge through slush and my toes would go numb, even though they were nestled inside faux shearling-lined boots.

I haven’t had to wear boots like that since the move. When Dad packed us up and headed for the Golden Coast, all winter attire was thankfully left behind. We didn’t come primarily for the weather. Dad didn’t mind winter. In fact, I think I recall he liked it. The shoveling, making snowmen, and pushing me and my mom on a rickety old sled didn’t seem like tasks he had to endure, but like activities he enjoyed. Then again, Dad enjoyed most everything, as long as me or Mom were involved.

Mom was a young chanteuse, singing torch songs at a corner jazz club when Dad met her and managed to sweep her off her feet. I came along, and though Mom never complained, Dad never gave up the dream for her. So he moved us out here, where he thought it’d only be a matter of time before she got her big break and became the star he thought she should be.

I was glad to trade in snow boots for flip-flops, so I adjusted extremely well to the move. Seemingly endless summer days never lost their appeal, and I never take them for granted. And Dad adjusted even better. His business back in Chicago as a pool installer was fairly lucrative for six months a year, but the other times he was relegated to driving a snowplow. He didn’t seem to miss the plowing at all, and the pool business in L.A. boomed. And Mom? Well, she never got that big break to become the big star that Dad hoped she would, but I guess that just makes us bona-fide Californians now. There has to be a few unrealized or broken dreams littering your past if you’re going to survive in this place.

I kick off my flip-flops and lean down, brushing my fingers through the water to test it. Naturally, it’s a perfect eighty-eight degrees. I grab a test strip and dunk it. Sure enough, the pH and chlorine is low because of how much water had to be added.

From behind me, I hear Rick. What’s up, Boss? he asks.

I stand up but don’t turn around to answer him. You done at the Sorensen’s already?

They wanted us out, he explains. Got some big cocktail party tonight. We got the French drain finished and leveled the sand. We’ll pick up tomorrow. You’re not done yet?

Almost, I say, slipping the used test strip in my shorts pocket. Have to up the chemicals first. And I didn’t find a leak in the pipes but they’re losing a couple inches of water a day.

Check the main drain? he asks.

I puff out some air. Not yet.

I’ll grab the pH, Rick offers.

Thanks, I say, but still linger where I’m standing.

What’s the matter? he prods. Don’t feel like going down, huh?

What he’s asking is why don’t I want to dive to bottom of the pool the check the main drain. But he specifically phrased it the way he did to try and make me bite on the comment. I briefly consider making his day by answering the way he wants. All the guys on the crew have been playing the That’s What She Said game lately. They even keep track and the guy with the most TWSS logged at the end of the day gets his beer bought for him. Frankly, I think it’s a cute game for them. But also frankly? Sometimes they really reach and the comments don’t make much sense. Rick just set me up nicely with that one, and I’m half grateful for it because he’s including me in the game. But I’m reticent enough to stick my tongue in my cheek, because I’m not so sure that I want to jump in like that. Technically, I’m not one of the guys.

So even though I was perfectly set