{"id":6030,"date":"2019-08-22T16:39:50","date_gmt":"2019-08-22T20:39:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/?page_id=6030"},"modified":"2025-01-26T19:57:13","modified_gmt":"2025-01-27T00:57:13","slug":"junk-shop-girl","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/junk-shop-girl\/","title":{"rendered":"Junk Shop Girl"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Order from <\/strong>Amazon<\/strong><\/a> or read on <\/strong>Kindle Unlimited<\/strong><\/a> <\/p>\n\n\n

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Kiki Keller wasn’t always a\nsleek, urban graphic artist. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teenaged Kittie, as she was\nknown then, was awkward and wildly in love with the town bad-boy, Stephen\nTellisford, who destroyed her romantic dreams, her reputation, and her life.\nShamed and bullied by her classmates, Kittie fled to art school in Atlanta and\ntried to put what happened in that small southern town behind her. But her\nbeloved grandfather’s death summons her back home and to the antique store,\nlocally known as the “Junk Shop”, where she played and dreamed in as\na child.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Russell Tellisford wasn’t always\na smooth, small-town developer. <\/em>
\n
\nGrowing up, Russell only wanted to escape from\nhis abusive, drug-addicted father and his brother, Stephen, who idolized their\nfather. As a boy, that escape was to the town junk shop, where a young girl\nnamed Kittie made fantastical worlds out of cardboard, sequins, and glitter.\nLater, escape was college and a fast-paced life in Washington, DC. After his\nfather’s death and his job in DC collapses, Russell is called back to the\nfamily home he despised, a pile of debt, and a brother struggling with\naddiction. Russell, desperate and angry, transforms his family’s crumbling\nmansion into a resort. Now he\u2019s aiming to renovate the town\u2019s historic square,\nwhich, for decades, had been trashed by the sprawling junk shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With Kiki as the store’s new owner, he might get some traction on this project\u2014and with her.  But the open, trusting little girl he remembered has changed. The closer he tries to get to her, the more walls she erects between them.  And he doesn’t know why… <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Junk Shop Girl – Excerpt<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Chapter One<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI\u2019m late. I\u2019m so effing late,\u201d Kiki muttered like a profane white rabbit. She hurried\nalong as fast as was gracefully possible in four-inch heels over the pavers of\nthe Atlanta Botanical Garden. She missed her warm, comfy yoga pants and fuzzy\nsocks she had left abandoned in a puddle on her bathroom floor. Instead of\nspending a low-energy, low-risk evening\ncuddled with her warm laptop in bed, eating popcorn from the microwavable bag\nand binge-watching anime, she was attending an awkward evening of real,\nperson-to-person networking. All stiff smiles, saying where she worked and then\nmaking small talk about the weather\nbecause that\u2019s what she was left with as she wasn\u2019t a sports fan unless\ncommenting about the hotness of soccer players on the big screen at a bar counted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ahead of\nher, red, orange, and yellow tulips, planted in color-coordinated lines,\nbordered the path. Their vivid hues visually popped against the gloaming jewel\ntones striping the skyline. The midtown skyscrapers rose in harsh vertical\nlines above organic curves formed by the treetops. White-gold lights created hazy haloes along the building tops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A picture\nof color and symmetry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nreached to pull her camera from her red Japanese schoolgirl-style backpack and\ncapture the moment, but then remembered she had left her backpack and camera at\nhome. All she had was a useless clutch that held the basics: car keys,\nlipstick, phone, ID, credit card, business card, and two twenty-dollar\nbills\u2014because her grandpa always said it was dangerous to go around without\ncash. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She cursed\nagain and hurried on to the main garden where Atlanta\u2019s elite gathered for the\nsponsor-only exhibit preview\u2014men in understated gray and black, young women in\nSpanx-enabled black dresses and heels, older women in loose, gauzy floral\ngowns. Diamonds and gold flashed from their ears, necks, and wrists. They\nchatted politely among members of their corporate tribes, sipping wine from\nglasses that gleamed in the footlights.   \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kiki\ndidn\u2019t belong here. She wasn\u2019t a CEO sponsor, nor was she a trophy wife or the\ngolden child of a local powerbroker. She barely had three hundred dollars\nremaining in the bank each month after paying the crazy rent on her apartment\nand taking care of bills and student loans. And, of course, she had to eat.  Every other week it seemed she was siphoning\nfrom last year\u2019s bonus, which she had put into savings and vowed she wouldn\u2019t\ntouch. Of course, she kept changing the terms of that vow\u2014just a hundred\ndollars for concert tickets or for a killer deal on a weekend trip to New York\nCity and then, for real, she would save the rest like a super responsible adult,\nshe would assure herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only\nreason she was invited to tonight\u2019s event was that\nshe helped design the marketing material for the garden through the\nyear, including the luminous green banner\nrising over everyone\u2019s heads. \u201cAlight in the Garden. The works of Daiki Sato\u201d\nit read in a clean, delicate san serif font that she finally settled on after\ntrying fifty others. Vivid red, gold, and blue flowers and tiny incandescent\nbutterflies, grasshoppers, and dragonflies that she had illustrated dotted the\ncanvas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\npaused for a moment, transfixed by her own work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did that. I made that. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It filled\nher with a sweet glow that nothing else in her puny life\u2014not wine, not Chinese\ndumplings, not sex\u2014could. It was her little creation, her artsy baby in the\nworld. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sweet\nhigh didn\u2019t last long before someone bumped into her and muttered\naccusatorially \u201cUmmm, excuse me\u201d with\nunspoken \u201cbitch\u201d tagged on at the end. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d\nKiki murmured and moved along in the current of rich folks. She spied her\nfriend and fellow inmate at Portman Media, Inc., Terence, loitering along the\nedge of the crowd by the Japanese garden entrance, and automatically she smiled.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Terence\nwas the essence of cool, sporting a gray hat and argyle sweater vest as he\nsipped from a martini containing a speared fat, green olive stuffed with a\nflaming red pimiento. He didn\u2019t quite pull off the sophisticated, world-weary\nlook because his ebony face retained the sweet, boyish quality that gave Kiki\nthe courage all those years ago to introduce herself. \u201cHi, I\u2019m Kiki Keller,\u201d\nshe had said, trying out her new artist name for the first time in public. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They had\nsat beside each other in the metal folding chairs at art school orientation,\nboth nervous and searching. The name Kiki had felt heavy on her tongue\u2014thick\nand gooey. Terence had to have seen she was an imposter, a fraud. A small-town girl desperate to belong to the city. But he\nhad simply looked on at her in earnest.\nThere had been no meanness in his eyes like the people back home, who knew the\njoke about her. He\u2019d simply said, \u201cCool.\nI\u2019m Terence Grady.\u201d He\u2019d held out his hand, and she\u2019d latched on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the\nnext three years, they were comrades,\nstuck together in the art school foxhole, enduring years of all-nighters and harsh\nteacher critiques. Now both twenty-six, they worked for the same company\u2014wiser,\nmore urbane than those first days\u2014but sometimes feeling just as lost. They simply\nhid it better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow late\nam I?\u201d she asked when she reached his side. \u201cAnd, by the way, you are\ncompletely hot tonight. Yum.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nalways hot, girl,\u201d Terence responded. \u201cWhich is good, \u2018cause you missed the\npart when the Atlanta mayor gave you an award for the graphic designer of the\nyear. I had to go up there and be all thankful and teary-eyed for you, saying\nhow you were too lazy to get here on time.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\ncould have totally accepted that fat award for yourself. Thank you so very,\nvery much for saving my ass.\u201d  She\npressed her hands together like she was praying her gratitude to him. Several\nweeks ago, she had frantically called Terence after being slammed with three\nprojects on short deadlines. He had offered to help her out with some of the\ncopy for tonight\u2019s shindig.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGirl, I\nowed you for staying up all night last month to help me redo that web interface\nin time for that healthcare company product launch?\u201d He waved his hand. \u201cAnd\nyou ain\u2019t missed anything. They just opened the bar\nso everyone could get happy while we wait for dark and then they\u2019ll turn on the\nlights. All dramatic-like.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you\nseen Heather? We\u2019re supposed to meet up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw, I\nain\u2019t seen that wild lady.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour\nmartini looks spectacular. I need one. Badly. I\u2019ve been working on that insane\ncorporate rebranding project from hell last weekend and all this week. The evil\noverlords\u2014I mean, clients<\/em>\u2014keep\nsending everything back, wanting more changes.\u201d She mimicked her project\ncontact\u2019s saccharine voice, \u201cWe love it. Just. Love. It. But could you \u2026\nbut could you \u2026 but could you \u2026<\/em>\u201d She waved her finger. \u201cOne more \u2018but could\nyou\u2019 and I\u2019m going to lose it.  Like \u2018I\u2019m on the five o\u2019clock news being\nhauled away in the cop car\u2019 kind of lose it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWell, baby doll, you look good anyway. Check\nout the heels! And your hair! Did you brush it or something? Mmm-mmm, you are\nbegging for bad, sexy trouble tonight.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s\nthat?\u201d She flashed him a wicked smile and rubbed one freshly shaved leg against\nhis. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nbetter stop that, girl,\u201d he warned. \u201cYou\u2019re messing with my signals. My\npheromones are covering a quarter-mile radius of male goodness around here. I\u2019m\ngoing to meet the love of my life. I put my intention in the universe. Don\u2019t be\nscrewing with the universe.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kiki\nlaughed, breaking up the tension in her muscles from being hunched in front of\nher dual monitors for the last ten hours. At three fifty-five, she had\npersuaded herself to back out of the evening, even though she had already given\nher extra event pass to her friend Heather Marshall and said she would meet her\nthere. Kiki was mentally composing a massive, groveling apology to Heather,\nwhen, at four o\u2019clock, Kiki\u2019s boss had called from Los Angeles where he was out\nschmoozing. He asked\u2014in a breezy, casual California way\u2014how the rebranding\nproject was coming along. Oh, and to tell him later how the botanical garden\nevent went down tonight. He tossed about the word \u201cannual bonus\u201d a few times as if a mere afterthought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cOf course, I\u2019m going.\u201d Kiki had smiled into\nthe phone, trying to sound pleasant as she beat the armrest with her fist.\nAfter months and months of sixty-hour plus work weeks, the dangling annual\nbonus carrot was losing its charm.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But\nunemployment and massive student loans weren\u2019t exactly\ncharming either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then her\nboss went on to say she was one of the\nbest employees, that her work was loved and praised by clients. He knew her too\nwell. She would stand on the street corner holding a sign that read, \u201cWill\ncreate graphics for love and praise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, she\nhad stumbled for the shower and mowed down her overgrown\nlegs and armpits. She was almost out the door when her phone sounded\u2014deep,\nguttural omms<\/em>\nof meditation to remind her to be mindful. It didn\u2019t work. The word \u201cGrandpa\u201d\nflashed on the screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No. No. Not now. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everything\ninvolving her grandfather brought guilt. It had become a Pavlovian-like\nresponse now. The poor man was lonely and wallowing in his cluttered home. He only\nwanted someone to talk to. And, after all, she had canceled her trip home to see him for the third Sunday in a row.\nShe loved her grandpa with all her being. He had taken her in and raised her\nwhen her mom abandoned her, but dear lord, he would keep her on the phone for\nhours going on and on about trivial stuff happening in her hometown of\nTellisford. \u201cThem Vidalia onions are four for a dollar at the store.\u201d, \u201cThe\nlake\u2019s real high.\u201d, \u201cThey\u2019re finally\nputting in a stoplight at the intersection by the Walmart.\u201d It took every ounce\nof control she had not to scream, \u201cI don\u2019t care. I don\u2019t. I hate Tellisford.\u201d A\nbig tornado could come churning through, ripping out every building in that\ncrappy town, and she couldn\u2019t care less. And he didn\u2019t understand her life in\nAtlanta. He never came to the city, only read the Atlanta newspaper, which made\nhim think murders happened on every block. If she mentioned something about\ngoing somewhere or who she had seen, he would say, \u201cI don\u2019t know why you wanna\nlive there with them crazy folks.\u201d She could never tell him why she had to flee\nnine years ago or why coming to visit him, even for a few hours on a Sunday,\nfelt like setting her insides on fire. She never told him or anyone outside of\nTellisford about the video that ruined her young life. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had\ngritted her teeth and gripped the phone, standing firm against the onslaught of\nguilt until the voicemail notification\nlight came on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She would\ncall him as soon as she got home. Promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had\nchecked the traffic map on her phone before pulling out of her assigned parking\nspace. It appeared as if someone had emptied a vein over metro Atlanta. Every\nartery was red. Not bright, happy red, but deep, non-moving, \u2018why go on\nliving?\u2019 crimson. She\u2019d sighed and left Heather a voicemail, saying she would\nbe late due to living in Atlanta and not to wait for her at the front gates.\nThe usual ten-minute jaunt to Piedmont Park took an excruciating half-hour of\ninching along, and then she had spent ten minutes driving around the parking\ndeck, trying to squeeze in between the sleek, black BMWs and Mercedes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know\nI love you.\u201d She hugged Terence. She was so pathetic. She savored the\nskin-to-skin contact with her gay friend. Oxytocin deprivation was one of the\nnegative side effects of her pathetic romantic life. \u201cAm I messing up your\nsignals?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was\nmid-laugh when she caught sight of her banner again out of the corner of her\neye. At this angle, the graphic appeared fresh\nas if she hadn\u2019t spent thirty hours staring at the words and images, combing\neach pixel. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s\nwhen she saw it.<\/em> Her arms went limp,\nfalling from Terence\u2019s shoulders. \u201cOh. My. God!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\nYou see a man?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo! The\ntext. On the banner. It\u2019s off-center.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWha\u2014It ain\u2019t.\u201d Terence scrunched his eyes.\n\u201cWell, yeah it is, a little. But nobody\u2019s going to notice, they\u2019re too busy\nworrying if they look good. Get yourself a martini or two or three, and you won\u2019t notice neither.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nslammed the pad of her palm against her forehead. \u201cThat\u2026 that was the version I\nplayed with when adding ladybugs at the end of the words. Oh no, I sent the\nwrong version to the printer! How could I have made such a stupid mistake!\nStupid! Stupid! Stupid!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop\nhitting yourself on the head like that. It\u2019s unsexy. Now we\u2019re not going to\ndiscuss your perfectionism issues tonight. Dr. Phil ain\u2019t in the office, but on\nthe prowl. Look at all these cultured men. I know one wants to fall madly in\nlove with me. Maybe one will fall madly in love with you, too, if you stopped\nobsessing about something that ain\u2019t nobody looking at anyway\u2014being off a few\npixels.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPixels?\nIt\u2019s off by inches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t\nget caught up in the inches. It\u2019s what you do with the inches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shot\nhim a look. \u201cThis is serious.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTo you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKiki,\nyou bitch.\u201d A female voice said affectionately. Kiki whirled around to find\nHeather ambling forward, holding two glasses of white bubbling wine in her thin\nfingers. \u201cI saw you come in. You look amazing. I love that dress, the heels,\nthe hair. You\u2019re like, a watercolor nymph flitting in the garden.\u201d She offered\na glass and kissed Kiki\u2019s cheeks French style when Kiki took it. \u201cIf you\nweren\u2019t so sweet, I could unabashedly wallow in my jealousy. Instead, I brought\nyou a glass of Prosecco. Aren\u2019t I a lovely date?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are\nlovely on every count, sweetie.\u201d Kiki drew a vertical line in the air with her\nindex finger. \u201cAnd that vintage look you\u2019ve got going totally works.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather\nhad curled her cherry cola red hair into a retro pageboy. Rhinestone bracelets\ncircled her wrists, and her arms were\nadorned with tattoos of quotes and\ncolorful images, which she would explain came from scenes in Jane Eyre<\/em>, Wuthering Heights,<\/em> and To\nKill A Mockingbird<\/em>. She wore a turquoise silk dress that gathered across\nthe bodice and hips, meeting at a round\nrhinestone pin on the left side of the waist. The fabric was a little\ndiscolored with age along the gathers, but otherwise it was \u201cstunning 1950s\nglam,\u201d Kiki proclaimed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m\nall about the glam,\u201d Heather said. \u201cSelfie?\u201d She fossicked around in her\nvintage beaded purse, digging out her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Terrence\ngroaned. \u201cCause if you don\u2019t take a picture of it, it never happened.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome\non,\u201d Heather said. \u201cI have to make my life look amazing in case my ex sees my\nfeed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nfriends scrunched together for a picture, while Heather held her phone up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kiki was\nheartened to see her friend in better spirits and smiling again. Heather was a\nfreelance journalist and had released her first work of fiction last fall. \u201cA\ndream finally realized,\u201d Heather had said when it came out. \u201cThings are turning\naround for me. Finally. I can feel it.\u201d Later, Kiki had treated her friend to a\nfoot massage, Goodwill shopping therapy, and then a crying drink fest after\nHeather had received her first real review for her debut novel\u2014a savage\ntake-down. The other reviews weren\u2019t any nicer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cOkay, look at the banner.\u201d Kiki aligned her\nfriend with the sign after Heather was done taking multiple selfies. \u201cWhat do\nyou see?\u201d   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat I\nexpect from a Kiki creation\u2014beautiful, eye-catching, yet slick.\u201d Heather\nwrinkled her nose. \u201cI adore the little bugs. They\u2019re cute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe text\nis off-center,\u201d Kiki said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is?\u201d\nHeather narrowed her eyes. \u201cIsn\u2019t that, like, an artistic choice?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee,\u201d\nTerence said. \u201cNobody\u2019s gonna care. Your pristine\nworld won\u2019t end.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 He turned to Heather and abruptly changed the\nsubject, cutting off Kiki before she could drag him further into her spiraling\ninsecurity. \u201cAre you covering the event for Atlanta\nCity Life<\/em>?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cDidn\u2019t Kiki tell you?\u201d Heather waved her\nhand, clanking her numerous bracelets. \u201cI\nmay be moving up in the world of low paying, freelance journalism. The Southern Hearth and Home<\/em> liked my pitch\nabout the sophisticated Southerner. They liked it! Now I have to write it and\nnot screw it up because they still might not take it. So, I\u2019m here as Kiki\u2019s\ndate to, you know, schmooze with the sophisticates.\nAnd y\u2019all are extremely sophisticated, soooo\u2026\u201d She held her phone out like a recorder.\n\u201cTell me about the \u2018Alight in the Garden\u2019 exhibition. Elucidate. Enlighten me.\nBe profound. This article has to rock. I need a win. Like desperately.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve\nimported Daiki Sato\u2019s sculptures from Japan,\u201d Terence explained, taking on his\nbusiness tone. \u201cHe mostly works in glass, and\nhis subject is nature. The garden has set out thousands of colored LED lights\nto\u2014wait, don\u2019t you know this already? Ain\u2019t this what you\u2019re supposed to do for a living?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t\ncall it, like, a living, because I had to move in with my mom again,\u201d Heather\nclarified. \u201cBut if you tell me about the art, I can write, \u2018as explained by the\nacclaimed local artists Kiki Keller and Terence Grady\u2019\u2014totally plugging y\u2019all. Friends stick up for friends.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI\u2019m just a graphic designer,\u201d Kiki corrected\nand then nodded to Terence. \u201cHe\u2019s the true artistic genius.\u201d When not on the\nclock, Terence was a muralist, graffiti artist, and social media sensation. His\nwork, both commissioned and illegal, adorned rail line bridges and rotting\nbuildings in the older parts of the city. Sometimes Kiki rode shotgun on his two\na.m. art missions and assisted him, buzzing on the dark thrill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe\ndifference being?\u201d Heather asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go\nthere,\u201d Terence warned. \u201cYou don\u2019t know how many arguments, I mean, heated<\/em> discussions <\/em>we had about this subject in school. Kiki don\u2019t listen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook,\nDaiki Sato art is about frailty and the delicate balance of nature.\u201d Kiki\ngestured about the garden, where glass sculptures rose above the flowers. \u201cHe\nis complexity within simplicity. Ugliness and beauty intertwined. His best,\nmost edgy work\u00ad, which is not shown here, by the way\u00ad\u00ad, both repulses and\nattracts. He delights in uncomfortable paradoxes. He is trying to share a deep,\nprofound truth in his art like Terence\ndoes. Meanwhile, I\u2019m a happy little brownie choosing fonts and stock\nphotography that represent the profound marketability of toothpaste.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGirl,\nplease,\u201d Terence said. \u201cI happen to have seen your graduating art project.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not\nan artist,\u201d Kiki insisted. \u201cI\u2019m not. I\u2019m not smart enough to say anything about\nnature, sex, death, religion, ideology, or any kind of \u2018ism.\u2019 I\u2019ll let y\u2019all be the artists. Terence, your murals are\nstunning art that you deceptively embed with dark social messages with even\nmore contradictory messages within those messages. It\u2019s like a mirror to a\nmirror. I\u2019m blown away every time I look at one.\u201d Breathless, she went on. \u201cAnd\nHeather, your book is literary art. It\u2019s profound and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow I\nknow you\u2019re lying.\u201d She held up her palm, her bracelets shimmying down her arm.\n\u201cAnd remember we\u2019re not going to talk about my book anymore. I\u2019m finally\nsomewhat happy tonight. Don\u2019t ruin it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you\nknow what I mean,\u201d Kiki said. In truth, whenever she tried to create a true piece of art, all that bubbled up from\nher silent depths was an embarrassing outpouring of raw, unformed hurt and\nanger. No transcending message. No truth or profound meaning. Just lush red,\nall-consuming anger over what happened to\nher back in Tellisford. Nobody wants to hang a piece titled \u201cRage I Repress\u201d\nover a sofa or complement their dining set with \u201cVelvet Black Hatred for Stephen.\u201d Or worse, have her pathetic soul\nhanging in a frame at some bohemian coffee house with a price tag beneath it\u2014her\npain reduced to unnoticed visual ambiance as people ordered their espressos and\nlattes. She found refuge in the neat,\nbenign, color-in-the-lines, glossy stock world of design. She felt safe in it.\nAll the messiness hidden from view. She was<\/em> Andy Warhol\u2019s soup can\u2014only without\nthe deeper meaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But\ndammit, how could she not see the mistake? \u201cThe banner text is misaligned by\nalmost two inches, y\u2019all.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet. It.\nGo,\u201d Terence said.  \u201cMaybe you don\u2019t want\na man, but your bad energy is killing my sexy vibes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust\ndrink, sweetie,\u201d Heather suggested. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A woman\nsporting short silvery hair, wearing a green suit accessorized with a silk\nscarf dotted with cherry blossoms, tapped the microphone, sending an\nelectronic, reverberating thud sound over the lawn.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs this\nworking? Yes? Great. I\u2019m Mary Alice Stonecipher, CEO of the Atlanta Botanical\nGardens. Thank you for coming out on this lovely spring evening. On behalf of\nthe gardens, I would like to give you a big welcome.\u201d She extended her hands\nand clapped.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOoh,\ngolf clap,\u201d Terence said, joining everyone in polite, restrained applause. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ms.\nStonecipher dove into a canned speech about how much the sponsors meant to the\ngarden. Kiki forced herself to gaze across the lawn toward the conservatory,\nelse she would obsess about the misaligned banner over Ms. Stonecipher\u2019s\nhead.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A warm\nnight breeze blew down the oval lawn, ruffling the grass and ornamental trees\nbordering the grass. Kiki stepped into\nits rush, letting it caress her skin. The last light of dusk was fading away\ninto the night. A vague outline of buildings\nand orbs of gold light composed the skyline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She loved\nthe gleam of the city. It mesmerized her in its shine, making her forget about\nthe traffic, the crowds, fighting for every little thing. In Atlanta, she could\nslip easily through the days without recognizing anyone, unencumbered by her\npast. Transplants said that Atlanta had no soul. To Kiki, the city certainly\nhad a soul, just no form. Always in a state of flux and change. Atlanta took\nyou in, not caring about your past. It didn\u2019t say \u201cWho do you think you are?\u201d\nwhen Kittie Kellerman, running from Tellisford and the tormenting students in\nher high school, registered for art school with only GED scores. She dove into\nthe city\u2019s current when she arrived, reinventing herself, tearing away the old,\nugly parts that hurt, putting in new elegant structures of sleek, cool design.\nHer ugly past eradicated, a new woman\nemerging. Broken Kittie Kellerman became sleek Kiki Keller, at least, among\nfriends and on graphic work. She liked to think that she flew out of the ashes\nof her old life like the Phoenix,\nAtlanta\u2019s symbol.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of this abundance and beauty would be possible without your gracious help,\u201d the garden\u2019s CEO continued. \u201cIt\u2019s donors like Benitez International and Tellisford Estates that\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kiki\u2019s head jerked like she had been slapped in the face. Tellisford Estates?<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Immediately,\nStephen\u2019s image flared in her head. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

No!<\/em> A roar filled her ears.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She whirled around. A thirty-something man in an understated charcoal suit strolled forward, followed by a trim man in his fifties or sixties. The younger man had a smooth, reserved gait, not the bad-boy swagger of Stephen. Stephen was dark with disheveled chestnut hair and melting chocolate eyes. This man was all lightness. His neatly clipped, honey gold hair swept to the side of his long face. Soft lips contrasted with his flint hard cheekbones. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heather leaned in. \u201cLike, meow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGirl, he\u2019s mine,\u201d Terence said. \u201cHe just don\u2019t know it yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank\nyou, Russell and Daniel,\u201d the woman from the Botanical Garden said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Russell?<\/em> Was this Stephen\u2019s older\nbrother Russell? She hadn\u2019t seen Russell since they played together when she\nwas five or six.  He had been a freckled\njumble of skinny arms and legs then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s Russell, not Stephen. You can breathe\nnow. Breathe. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet her\ninsides rushed like a pipe had burst in her head spouting anxiety. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just\nbecause it wasn\u2019t Stephen, didn\u2019t mean that Russell didn\u2019t know what happened\nbetween her and Stephen or that he hadn\u2019t\nseen the compromising video Stephen had secretly made of her for his friends\u2019\nenjoyment. She estimated a little over two hundred of her classmates, about\nhalf her county high school, must have seen the video. Surely Stephen\u2019s brother\nmust have seen it as well. Maybe they had a bro bonding moment over it. Maybe\nthey laughed and joked about the video like Stephen\u2019s friends. Maybe they\ncalled her Blow Job Queen and Cum Kittie like the others. The idea that someone\nin this lovely garden had seen it poisoned all the beauty for her. She felt\nviolated and vulnerable. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nBotanical Garden\u2019s CEO presented Russell and the other man with an open box,\ndisplaying a small Daiki Sato sculpture nestled in shiny fabric. Then she drew\nhim into a hug and patted his back. \u201cRussell is part of our family,\u201d she\nexplained to the audience. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even\nthough the man wasn\u2019t Stephen, Kiki wanted to run to the stage, yank away the\nDaiki Sato and scream, \u201cGet out of my city! Go home! This is not your family.\nYou don\u2019t belong here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For God\u2019s\nsake, the Tellisford clan already ran Tellisford. Russell had transformed his\nfamily home into a resort and had developed all of the land around it. Were the\nTellisfords getting ambitious and trying to take over Atlanta, too? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, as\nif he could hear her vicious thoughts,\nthe older man\u2014Daniel something\u2014looked right at her. Her heart sped, a buzzy\nblack heat rushing to her head. Oh God, a full panic attack was beginning to\nbloom. She hadn\u2019t had one in years. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just get away. <\/em> She had to flee before she embarrassingly fell apart in front of the city\u2019s elite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cE-excuse m-me,\u201d Kiki whispered to her friends, but she doubted they heard. Her voice was a low, thin reed of sound. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She spun,\nstumbling through the Japanese garden until she almost fell over a stone bench\nconcealed behind a brick wall.  She slumped\ndown on the cool stone and tried to do the breathing exercises she had learned\nin Meditation for Anxiety class. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Focus on the breath. In for two, hold, out\nfor three. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But she couldn\u2019t manage even the simple task of\nbreathing because it sounded as though the speaker amplifying Russell\u2019s voice\nwas shoved next to her eardrum. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He spoke\nin polite, gracious tones\u2014his consonants were soft, the vowels elongated with a\nslight \u2018h\u2019 sound capping them. He spoke about\nhow the Botanical Garden was a gift to the Atlanta community, as well as to the\ncountry, for their conservation efforts. And that Tellisford Estates in\npartnership with Benitez International was proud to be sponsors of the garden and its outreach programs,\nwhich were vital to the health of the city, and other such boilerplate\nrhetoric.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kiki\u2019s\nstomach burned with shame. Tellisford was only\nan hour away, but somehow Kiki naively thought she could hide in the\npopulous city and its fortress of interstate systems and skyscrapers could keep\nher safe from the Tellisford family. Now she felt no better than\nseventeen-year-old Kittie on her first day back to school after the summer,\nhiding in between the enormous air\nconditioning units by the high school auditorium, her book bag on the ground at\nher feet, decorated by Stephen\u2019s friends with the words \u201click it\u201d from the\nmayonnaise squirt bottles in the cafeteria. She had hoped the school had\nforgotten about the video over the summer. But they hadn\u2019t. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now,\nten years later, neither could she. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

What\nwould she say when her boss called from his cruise stop tomorrow? \u201cOh, that\nBotanical Garden event? It was lovely until I ran into the brother of the guy\nwho secretly taped me and ruined my life. Then I had a total PTSD meltdown and\nspent the evening under a bench in the fetal position. Oh, and I misaligned the\nbanner by two full inches. Now, how about\nthat bonus?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally,\nRussell mercifully stepped away from the microphone, and someone else was being announced. Kiki\u2019s heart rate slowed\ndown. Oxygen trickled back into her blood and into her brain. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

How could\nshe not have known Russell Tellisford would be here? When Terence offered to do\nall the typesetting, she didn\u2019t even look at the sponsor copy the garden had\nsent and gratefully forwarded it on to Terence. Then she went on making pretty,\nglittery insect and plant graphics for the brochure and the screwed-up banner.\nFor God\u2019s sake, why didn\u2019t she even look at the copy?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\npressed her fingers to her temples. The anxiety was physically sickening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What she\nloathed most, more than the video, was how gullible, how stupid she had been.\nShe had willingly removed her clothes and did what he asked because she somehow\nthought Stephen loved her too. How could she not see? Like the banner tonight,\nhow could she not see it was misaligned by several inches? Why did she always\nmiss the most apparent things? Stupid K\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stop.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She couldn\u2019t\ngo down this well-worn, spiraling mental path right now. She had to keep it\ntogether until she could have a nervous breakdown in the comfort of her own\nhome.  She needed a distraction. She rose\nand wiped her shaking palms on her legs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although\nit was dark, a low ambient light outlined a boxwood garden. In the center of\nthe area, something glassy shined in the\ndimness. She strolled toward the glossy\nobject and knelt to see it better. The colors reflected dimly from the ambient\nglow of the city. And then, at that moment, beautiful colored lights burst\naround her\u2014luminescent purples, pinks,\nand blues. A loud chorus of \u201cAhhhs\u201d filled the air and then applause. The\ngarden was alight with lush, brilliant color. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone else remained gathered at the central fountain, leaving Kiki alone to take in the stunning sculpture of two brilliant hummingbirds locked in battle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n Order the ebook from Amazon<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n


<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Order from Amazon or read on Kindle Unlimited Kiki Keller wasn’t always a sleek, urban graphic artist. Teenaged Kittie, as she was known then, was awkward and wildly in love with the town bad-boy, Stephen Tellisford, who destroyed her romantic dreams, her reputation, and her life. Shamed and bullied by her classmates, Kittie fled to … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Junk Shop Girl”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6040,"parent":1165,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-6030","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJunk Shop Girl - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/susannaives.com\/wordpress\/books\/junk-shop-girl\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Junk Shop Girl - Susanna Ives\u2019 Floating World\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Order from Amazon or read on Kindle Unlimited Kiki Keller wasn’t always a sleek, urban graphic artist. 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