Passion Project: DIY, #2

By Sandra Kyle

Marly's been doing the best with what life's dealt her. Losing her husband a decade ago and raising two kids on her own made her self-reliant and unapologetic. When she's pushed to the limit after losing her job, what's a girl to do? Audition for a spot on a DIY show, naturally.

Jack is a down-on-his-luck television producer trying to catch a break. When an offer comes along to get a fledgling DIY show up and running, he jumps on it. Little does he know that Marly is about to give him a run for his money as Handyman Dan's sidekick.

Return to Savannah and catch up with the characters of A Building Passion (DIY Book 1) and get to know some new ones in Passion Project (DIY Book 2).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Kyle
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386285854

Sandra Kyle

Sandra Kyle is a first generation American, born to Italian parents who came to the United States in search of a better life. Along with their dreams, they brought vivid tales: some wonderful, some far-fetched, and some downright terrifying. Sitting and listening to those stories around the kitchen table is where her love for storytelling began.  A historical and contemporary romance author, Sandra is also a film fan and proud introvert. She currently resides on the East Coast with her husband.  To contact or find out more about Sandra Kyle, visit: sandrakyle.com

Book preview

Chapter One

THIS IS THE WORST IDEA I’ve ever had. I never should have let Monica talk me into this.

Marly grimaced at her fluorescent-lit reflection. The unforgiving light in the antiseptic restroom washed over her. The bobblehead Barbies flittering in and out of the stalls didn’t help Marly’s assessment of her appearance.

Mom? Jasmine whined from inside a bathroom stall. The sound — an auditory precursor to tantrums toddler-aged Jasmine would pitch in the grocery store’s cereal aisle —  shook Marly out of the shell of self-judgment.

Mom of the year, bringing my eleven-year-old to a meat market. Way to go with the parenting skills. She took a deep breath. Remember why I’m doing this. What is it, Jaz?

Can you come in here?

The foreign request caused Marly’s eyes to widen. The joint use of a public bathroom stall had been banned from her motherly duties by Jasmine herself when she was only six. All other thoughts were filed away into the back of her head. She hurried to the door and lightly tapped. Let me in, sweetie. Marly got a weird gaze from one of the boobs on a stick leaving a nearby stall. The rest of the cattle-call attendees were too engrossed with themselves to pay anything else much mind.

The shiny chrome lock rotated. The door eased inward slowly. Marly slipped through the sliver of an opening Jasmine offered. Once inside, she glanced down to find her daughter seated on the toilet. Jasmine leaned forward, crossed her arms, and shielded her midsection. Lock it, she muttered quickly.

Marly obliged and twisted her tall frame to close the stall door. She turned back, about to ask what was wrong. Then she saw it.

The light pink underwear suspended around Jasmine’s calves had a splotch of crimson on the liner. Marly’s heart stopped in that moment. She flashed back to the day she had gotten her first period. She had what she thought was a stomach ache all day and had grumbled her way through most of her classes during the morning. She had gone to the bathroom at the end of lunch with her girlfriends and shrieked ecstatically when she got the surprise. She’d been the last of her friends to finally get it at fourteen.

Marly had been prepared, praying for the flow for two straight years, always carrying a stash of tampons in her purse. Jasmine wasn’t.

Can you get me something? Jasmine whispered. Her cheeks flushed when she made eye contact with Marly. She dropped her head like a weight and stared at the silver floor tiles.

I have a tampon in my purse, Marly offered.

Jasmine’s chin-length brown curls whipped around her face like a high speed fan.

Sweetie, I’ll check, but I don’t think they have any pads in the dispenser. Marly also didn’t want to break the news to her daughter that she probably didn’t have any change to get her one if they did anyway.

Jasmine squirmed on the seat. Well, can you ask someone? Her gaze shot up, and her brown eyes pleaded.

Marly sighed. Oh, the joys of motherhood. She nodded and contorted her way out of the stall. Staring around at all of the twentysomethings, she took a deep breath in through her nose. Remember why I’m doing this. She released the request along with the exhale. Would anyone have a pad on them I could use?

GOD, I MISS FIRST CLASS. Jack thought back to the flight that had ended an hour ago. He sat in the sweltering back seat of the New York cab. Course, I pick the one with the broken AC. As his suit began to stick to his perspiring body, he couldn’t decide what he had enjoyed more on the flight: the complimentary champagne or the make-out session with the hot attendant.

She was definitely attentive. I’d have filled out a comment card about that trick with her tongue. He dropped that he was a television producer to the perky blonde when she made her second round for drinks. Only minutes later a napkin with instructions to meet in the bathroom had been slipped to him along with the beverage. The note had been written in bright pink ink and bubbly letters, complete with a heart over the i.

She would have attended to more, preparing to drop to her knees in front of him between the toilet and the sink. And five years ago he would not have stopped her. But his hands had wrapped tightly around her midsection, trapping her, and he’d enjoyed the warmth of her body. When they were done with the make-out session, he promised to try and get her an audition for a possible sitcom. Her fingers slid a folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket.

I’ll be in New York for a layover if you want to give me a call, she whispered in his ear then reapplied her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. He placed his business card on the sink’s rim and exited the closet-sized room first.

What the hell was her name? He tapped the pocket with her note and shook his head. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t a sitcom or anything else on the horizon. The production his old buddy Ned had called him about three days earlier was a DIY show. And it was the only call he had gotten in a year.

Last chance. He’d said that before. But, this time, it really felt like it.

Hey, buddy, Jack called to the driver, leaning forward.  The middle-aged black man honked and yelled as he rotated the steering wheel. His navigation through the streets of New York City appeared knowledgeable enough.

Buddy, Jack repeated.

Yeah? The driver didn’t look back.

How much longer do you think? The flight already put me behind an hour.

You got someone important waiting for you? He chuckled.

No. Jack reclined back in the seat. Just my future on the line.

MARLY LET JASMINE PLAY with her cell phone while they waited in the hallway. Straight-back office chairs lined each available space along the walls. And every single one had a beautiful young female in it. Everyone but mine. One of these things is not like the others should be playing.

Aunt Mon texted again, Jasmine mumbled.

Of course she did. What is it this time? Marly uncrossed and then recrossed her legs.

She wants to know if they’ve called you back for the audition yet.

Tell Aunt Monica you’ll text her when your sad state of a mother gets rejected. She ran a finger over Jasmine’s brow to corral a loose strand of hair.

Jasmine lurched away in her usual fashion as if she had to avoid the touch of death. Was I this dramatic at eleven?

A lanky gentlemen dressed in an impressively tailored suit strolled down the middle of the hall. He appraised a handful of the women with a languid rotation of his head. His fingers adjusted the cuffs under the navy blue jacket. Sharp angles formed a strong jawline and pointy nose. The woman handling the call list sitting behind a desk recognized him immediately. Mr. Burns. How are you?

Marly leaned toward the direction of their conversation. Good. His voice matched his slick appearance. What’s the hold-up? We should have thinned this group out by now.

The twentysomething brunette handed him a folder. Mr. Grantham hasn’t arrived. He called five minutes ago. The flight was delayed and took longer than expected.

Mr. Burns shook his head and muttered, Like everything else in his life. He tapped the folder edge into his palm. Is everyone else here?

Yes, sir.

Let’s get started, then. Give me ten minutes to slash and burn.

Certainly.

When he disappeared behind an office door, Jasmine mumbled to Marly, Slash and burn?

Marly shrugged. Your guess is as good as mine.

It’s when they go through the head shots and select who they want to see for the audition. A blonde on the other side of Jasmine offered up an explanation. Her long, polished fingernails tapped the back of her smartphone case. Marly figured she was barely legal age. Probably only ten will make the first cut. She bent forward to look past Jasmine and straight at Marly. How’d you hear about this?

Her sister, my aunt, Jasmine answered out of turn.

Marly rolled her eyes. Hey, manners. She tapped her daughter’s forearm.

The young woman took the interaction in with amusement. And why are you here with your mom?

She didn’t have anyone I could stay home with back in Virginia.

A complete stranger opens the verbal flood gates and I can barely get a complete sentence.

Wow, all the way from Virginia. This must be pretty important.

You could say that. Marly managed a polite smile.

JACK’S PHONE BUZZED in his palm. He glanced at the screen. Shit. Hey, Ned.

Can’t wait any longer, Jack. We are going through the prospects now. Hopefully you make it in time for the final choices.

Jack sighed. I’ll do my best.

Do better. Ned hung up.

Any turn the cabbie made to avoid congestion ended up pointless. Cops blocked one avenue. Construction coned off another possible shortcut. The constant background noise of this city hopped up on amphetamines activated a speed gear deep inside Jack that he’d disengaged a long time ago.

The stench of long-standing garbage on the sidewalk pushed its way into the small opening of the rolled-down window. Thank God I’m not going to have to stay here for the show.

MARLY CHEWED ON HER stubs called fingernails. Mr. Burns had been in the office for fifteen minutes. She readied herself for the Thanks, but no thanks smile from the assistant that had been called in only moments ago.

How the hell did I get here? There weren’t many options when she had gotten her pink slip a couple weeks ago. The paint company she worked for had to make cuts somewhere when they came out on the losing end of a lawsuit. Her boss, Jimmy, had walked her out to the parking lot after delivering the news. He helped her with a box of belongings from her office, handling the termination worse by the look on his face. His normally jovial grin had been replaced with a sad puppy dog expression. The offer he made to look up some of his old textile and manufacturing buddies was heartfelt. But she knew there could be no substance behind it. At least, not where she called home. 

She had worked for Villa Hues Paint for almost ten years, and the city of Martinsville had crumbled around the company during that time. She sat at the kitchen table after her last night of work and poured a glass of bourbon. She called out to Jasmine in the adjacent living room.

Yeah? Her daughter stared at the television screen and replied without looking over.

How much was that softball glove you were looking at again?

The ancient air conditioner rattled in the window behind Jasmine. It tried its best to combat the August heat. Jasmine tapped the volume button on the remote. Seventy, I think. She spat out the figure without a second thought.

One more thing I might not be able to get her for Christmas this year. At least Billy is starting his second year on scholarship at Averett. Got out before mama fucked things up for him, too. Marly sipped at the drink. The only jobs left in Martinsville were retail. You had to know someone to get a decent position at the big box stores and price clubs. She had seen a bunch of ads for a new hardware store opening off route 220. Maybe Jimmy knows someone at Home Work?

She called Monica after her third glass and Jasmine had disappeared into her room.

What? Oh my God! Marly, what are you going to do?

Marly sighed. I called so you could talk me down from the ledge, Mon, not make me step off it.

Her little sister took a deep breath. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll find something. You have a ton of experience as an office manager. Monica took a beat before blurting out, You know, I’m sure you could find something down here.

The same old ploy, in a different guise, to get her down to Savannah. I can’t uproot Jaz on a chance at a job. I need a sure thing.

Something to consider. There’s nothing keeping you in Virginia. With Dad gone... Monica’s voice faded away on a wave.

Marly dipped under the liquor’s surface, hearing the echoes of conversation. She thought of her father and the smell of antiseptic and urine as he lay in the hospital bed. A flash of Will’s funeral blurred the memory - the tightly bound flag and its white stars against a blue background held in Billy’s small hands. Jasmine wailing in her arms. Eyelids blinked to push away the vision.

Marly, are you there?

Yeah. She brushed away the beginnings of tears.

Maybe you need something completely different. I was thinking...

Uh-uh.

You don’t even know what I’m going to suggest.

Doesn’t matter. Anything that comes out of your mouth that starts with ‘I was thinking’ is bound to get me into trouble.

Monica made a pfft sound and continued. Remember that project I’ve been working on?

Marly vaguely recalled a lengthy lecture from Monica about a video blog she had been doing for a friend. Sort of.

A production company in New York signed a deal with Dan for a home improvement show.

The hunky carpenter from the videos. Okay?

They are auditioning for assistants in a couple weeks.

And?

"You should audition."

Marly shook her head to clear out the fuzziness in her brain. Come again?

They are looking for female assistants. You’ve got experience in construction.

Marly laughed. You mean like holding a hammer for him or something? Mon, if you are talking about the kind of ‘assistants’ I’ve seen on shows like that, they are usually in their twenties. Eye candy more than anything else.

Your point? You are gorgeous and a former model — and, don’t forget, Miss Virginia 1996.

Monica loved to puff up her sister. A former print catalog model for like three months. And currently forty.

Forty is the new twenty.

No, sis, it’s not. What planet are you on?

Look, everything is up in the air for you right now. Why not try something completely different?

Marly pushed further. And where would this show be based?

Monica hesitated. Savannah.

I’ll think about it, okay?

Don’t think too long or you won’t do it. I’ll send you the information.

Jasmine elbowed her back to the present. Mom, how much longer? She shifted in her seat.

Marly rubbed her daughter’s thigh. Hopefully, soon. Are you feeling okay?

My stomach feels weird.

Marly nodded. We’ll have a lot to talk about on the ride back.

Jasmine shrugged. I just want to sleep in the car.

You can do that, too. The day’s events had worn on Marly as well. I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.

Jasmine’s eyes widened. What if they call you back while you’re gone?

You go in there for me. Talk your mother up.

Jasmine rolled her eyes.

JACK OPENED THE DOOR to the office building, ready to enter. A beautiful blonde made her way out, assuming the sweeping door had been a chivalrous act on his part. Another passed. Then another.

He counted ten as he stood there. Each had a different scent. Raspberries, vanilla, coconut. And each totally oblivious to his presence. Already missed the first cut.

By the time he made his way to the sixth floor, he had encountered another half-dozen beauties exiting and entering the elevator. He straightened his posture and buttoned his jacket rounding the corner.

Ten women sat in the hallway. The cookie-cutter models didn’t grab his attention, however. The little girl sitting with her knees locked together and toes pointing inward caught his interest. She wore teal-colored sneakers, brown capris, and a bright pink T-shirt. Her fingers tapped away at the smartphone in her hands.

Mr. Grantham? The brunette at the desk called out to him.

Yes. You must be Erin. He offered his hand.

She smiled and shook it politely. Glad you were able to make it.

He nodded and glanced over to the door to his left. Can I go in?

They’ve started the first interview. Mr. Burns asked me to have you wait until the next one is called in.

He pursed his lips. His plastered smile threatened to crack under the pressure. Gotta prove you’ve got the biggest cock in the room again, Ned. Absolutely, no worries.

An empty seat closest to Erin’s desk also happened to be right by the young girl. Jack unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat. He leaned back in the plastic chair and inspected her.

Her eyebrows crinkled, seemingly aware of Jack’s stare. She tilted the smartphone screen away from his gaze.

Who are you here with? he asked breezily.

The girl rotated her head in slow motion like a robot. Her brown eyes darkened, filled with caution and irritation. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially strange men.

Jack smiled. Parents taught you right. He shrugged. My daughter would probably agree with you about the strange part.

She frowned. Who are you here with?

Just myself. He pointed to the closed door. Should be back there.

Are you auditioning, too? Her eyes widened.

No. I’m one of the producers.

"What exactly do you produce?"

Well, it’s a little like raising a kid. You come up with an idea of what you imagine your child will be like. You put a lot of money and effort into the development and growth. And then it disappoints you.

She shook her head. I feel sorry for your daughter.

He chuckled. She’s doing quite well with her mother on the West Coast. I haven’t had much to do with that production.

So, you already expect this show to fail? She straightened up in her seat. Maybe I should just tell my mom we can leave.

Jack scanned the hall. None of the females left in the hallway looked old enough to be this adolescent’s mother. Your mom is auditioning?

The girl tucked a curl behind her ear. She ran to the bathroom awhile ago.

Hm. The office door swung open. A confident blonde pranced past those remaining. A whiff of ginger trailed behind.

Erin, the receptionist, rose from her seat. Marlena Stetson.

The girl’s hand shot up as if eager to answer a teacher’s question in class. She’s in the bathroom.

Why don’t you go get your mom. He patted the wiry-framed girl on the back. I’ll go stall the judges. She slid off the chair and bounded down the hallway. Jack stood, took a deep breath, and marched into the office without waiting for Erin’s permission.

The maroon bricked wall and its dilapidated faux patches of repair were out of place. Making new look old on purpose was a chic fad that never quite worked for Jack. He wondered if all the offices had been redone in this fashion since the last time he’d stepped into the Walden Building.

A large picture window looked out onto the gray concrete exterior of the neighboring structure. The unflattering spotlight in the middle of the space heated the room. A lengthy narrow table spanned along the farthest wall from the entrance. Behind it sat two stakeholders. Jack smiled instinctually over at Ned. Five years since he’d last seen him and there hadn’t been much change. Spindly and athletic, tanned skin stretched taut over his expressionless face. Jack thought of all the money he’d lost to him. Damn good poker player when he needs to be.

Glad you could finally join us, Jack. Ned offered his hand. Jack approached to shake. One of Ned’s groomed eyebrows rose. Have you found us any other interested producers?

Jack connected in a firm grip. I only just got the call from you yesterday, Ned. I need at least forty-eight hours to work a miracle.

Ned chuckled. Holding you to that. This is Aria Fuong. Assistant VP of Acquisitions here at Walden.

The Asian woman next to Ned extended a supple, petite hand out to Jack. Pleasure. Her onyx eyes, framed in black-rimmed glasses edged with diamonds, inventoried Jack quickly. Ned tells me you really are the savior we need to get this project underway. Subtle lines around her demure smile was the only thing that hinted at her age. "We’ve interviewed four girls