Excerpt:
I
sang my favorite song as loudly as
I could. It was by the Crystals, “Da Doo Ron Ron.” I was driving home to
Paradise, feeling like the world had just turned right side up again. I had the
windows wide open and the sun was streaming down and hitting me in the face,
just the way I liked it, steamy hot.
Ginny Jo had reached into the hem of Betty
Ann Houseman’s drapes and had pulled out as many as twenty-five twenty-dollar
bills. I figured that once we had the ring back, we could sell it in Durham,
and with Ginny Jo’s three hundred, we’d be in super fine shape for New York
City.
I did have one dilemma, though. I had to
keep Lenny Bean occupied so Ginny Jo could get my ring back. She kept insisting
that if Lenny were there in the morning she wouldn’t be able to sneak up to
Betty Ann’s bedroom and cop it. I kept telling her that Lenny said he didn’t like
sleeping with women, but she didn’t believe me. She said that was the dumbest
thing she’d ever heard, but I remembered Lenny telling me that he liked his bed
to himself. We never had slept together in the same bed ’cause we only had sex
by the creek or at the Wheeler barn. We napped together once, and he didn’t
seem to mind that. But when I told him how much I loved canopy beds, he said
he’d rather run buck-naked through a minefield than sleep in some stupid canopy
bed.
The last thing I wanted to do was mess
with Lenny ever again. The strangest thing had happened to me since I found out
what an underhanded deed Lenny was planning to do to Betty Ann. That love I had
felt for him disappeared into thin air, and I didn’t want his horny penis creeping
up on me ever again. But I guess I’d have to do more acting and pretend he was
still the living end. Ha! The living end of a pail of shit, that’s what Lenny
Bean had become to me. There was no way in hell that I was going to give up one
piece of myself, though. This was going to be a virgin night.
I was coming up with a plan. I figured
I’d drug the son of a bitch with Mama’s sleeping pills. I was trying to figure
out how I was going to get away with that when I spotted an old man standing in
the middle of Paradise with a tattered brown suitcase. He was looking around
like he’d lost something, or maybe he was trying to find something, I couldn’t tell
for sure.
“Can I help you, sir?” I asked as I pulled
my old Ford over.
The old man put his suitcase down and
grinned at me. “Why, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.
“Oh, I thought you were lost,” I told him.
“You seemed to be.”
“Seemed to be what, discombobulated, you
think? Lost in Paradise? My, my, my.”
“Yes,” I said and looked at him closely. I
thought for a moment he might be the senile, old coot that sometimes wondered
around Paradise asking people where he was. But I knew I’d never seen this man
before.
“Why, yes, I am,” he said.
“Sir?”
“Lost, dear girl.”
“Who are you looking for, sir?” I asked
and watched as he came closer to the car and leaned in.
“My illustrious wife, young lady.”
I smiled. “And who might that be?” I asked
him.
“That might be my calendar girl, June, to
be exact. Have you seen Aphrodite afloat over this antipathetic paradise, young
woman?”
“Aphrodite?” I giggled. “You mean Mr. And
Mrs. Appolonarius, the Greeks over on Lot Eight?”
He stood back and sat down on his
suitcase. I watched as he took a handkerchief from his vest pocket.
“Demeter?
Athena? Aphrodite?” He smiled as he patted his brow. “Before me, perhaps, Persephone?”
I shook my head, “No, sir. Grace Place, I
live on Lot Ten.”
“Allow me to introduce myself, Grace
Place, from Lot Ten.” He stood up and came back to the car. I put my hand out
and he reached in through the open window to take it.
“Ah,” he said, “the obvious rose petal in
a land of thorns. The first leaf of spring,” he added as he reached in and
kissed my hand. “Grace Place, the last penumbra of fall.” He stood back from
the car and bowed at the waist.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said.
“Your servant, should you so desire, Ezra
Buckley Bean.”
“What?” I said and got out of the car so
quickly that the old man almost fell over backward.
“Have I said something wrong? Oh, dear,
has my uncompromising reputation offended your propriety, dear girl?”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I hollered.
“What?” he said and began to pinch himself
on the arm. “Dead, you say?”
“That’s what Lenny said — that you were
dead.”
“Oh really? What ungratefulness. I meant
you no harm.”
“That’s what he said, not me. I didn’t say
it.”
“So, I am defunct then, extinct, you say?
Pushing up daisies?”
“You’re Lenny Bean’s father?” I asked.
The old man stared at me for a moment as
if he were trying to remember who I was.
“I do declare. Grace Place? You’re the
gudgeon? You must be. Oh, no, it couldn’t be. Forgive me but I’m a bit
confused. It’s the heat.”
“What did you call me?”
“Yes, how could I have been so stupid, so
hebetudinous? You’re not the gudgeon at all. Yes, you must be the Trojan horse.
He said you were beautiful. Yes, of course. Grace, he called you. The boy has
my eye. And how large of an army can you hide neath your smile, my dear?”
“Are you calling me a horse now, mister?”
“No, no, forgive my impolitic comment. I’m
despondent, been traveling too many days. I feel like Ulysses. Now, you say I’m
dead. You’ve unsettled me, girl.”
“Lenny Bean said you were dead. That’s why
this lighter means so much to him.” I reached into my pocket and took the
lighter out. The old man stared at it like it was a T-bone steak.
“What is a man without his Zippo in his
hand?” He reached out toward me. “Give it here, girl,” he said. “Haven’t seen
it in years.”
“No.” I put the lighter back in my pocket
and glared at him.
“Um, primitive little tart,” he snarled.
I was ready to haul off and hit the old
sod when I saw Lenny’s Bel Air racing down from the dirt road that led up to
the Bean trailer. He screeched to a stop behind the old man and just sat there,
staring at me, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of the big lie
he’d told me about his daddy being dead.
Mr. Ezra Buckley Bean turned to face his
son. “You ungrateful cur,” he said. “Get out of that car and face me like a
man.”
I watched as Lenny slammed the car door
shut and walked over to his father.
“Why didn’t you call me from the bus
stop?” he asked and picked up the old man’s suitcase, completely ignoring me.
“Must have written the number down wrong,”
he mumbled as he got into Lenny’s car.
I stood in the road staring at Lenny. He
didn’t turn back to me right away. I was wondering how in hell I was going to
keep him from showing up at Betty Ann Houseman’s house without offering to
swing from his penis. I knew if I got him angry I wouldn’t be able to keep him
preoccupied. He’d just get pissed and show up at Betty Ann’s door. I had to think
quickly.
“You like lamb chops, Mr. Ezra Buckley?” I
asked. Lenny gave me the strangest look but the old man smiled.
“Darlin’,
do women like to shop? Does Johnny Cash like to croak? Do I like lamb chops,
darlin’? Well, would a dying man turn from the bible?”
I laughed and looked into Lenny’s eyes. He
had a strange look on his face but I smiled anyway. “I think your homecoming
deserves a little celebration.”
“Is that an apology for referring to me as
a corpse?” He grinned and I grinned back.
“Lamb chops, mashed potatoes, butter
biscuits, and all the beer you can drink,” I said.
“Kill me with kindness, woman. I will put
up no fight. I will whisper no words of resistance. I am at your mercy.”
“Are you offering to cook my daddy
dinner?” Lenny asked and looked at me coyly.
"Not just dinner, Lenny Bean, but a
feast for the forlorn and weary Ulysses, a celebration to honor the return of a
gentleman.”
“Ah, you are surely a lady. I will arrive
at your abode precisely at seven. I like my beer cold and my chops as rare a
beauty as yourself.” The old man grinned so wide I noticed he had a mouth full
of gold fillings.
I watched as Mr. Ezra Buckley blew me a
kiss. Lenny had his hands low in his jeans and he was staring at me with an
embarrassed half smile.
“I’m sorry, little darlin’, Daddy’s been
in prison the last three years. I didn’t want to tell you that.” He hung his
head and looked at the ground.
“No big deal, Lenny. Everybody lies.”
He reached over to kiss me on the cheek.
“I really appreciate your cooking for my daddy. Can Mama come too, Grace?”
“As long as you’re there Lenny, and your
daddy, of course.” I said as I opened my hand. “Oh, I believe this is yours.” I
tossed him the lighter.
Lenny caught it and stared at it like he’d
never seen it before. He gave me a grin as he stuffed the lighter into his
jeans.
“Why, thanks, little darlin’. You find
this on the road?”
“You better take better care of your
things, Lenny,” I said with a smile. “I found it in the dirt.”
He smiled back and I watched as he walked
away from me and got into his car. He drove his daddy back up toward their
trailer, waving his hand out the window like he wasn’t the biggest cheat in
America. Last
thing
in the world I wanted to do would be to cook for Lenny Bean and his half-crazed
daddy and his completely insane mama; but I had no choice. I had to grit my
teeth and bear it.
Winner: Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and the Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction! 5 Star Clarion ForeWord Review!
Publisher: Musa (November 16, 2012)
Category: Contemporary Fiction/ Women’s Fiction/ Southern Fiction
Tour Date: April/May, 2014
Available in: Print & ebook, 347 Pages
Category: Contemporary Fiction/ Women’s Fiction/ Southern Fiction
Tour Date: April/May, 2014
Available in: Print & ebook, 347 Pages
Life for Grace Place is all about sucking on “meat jerkys” and Lenny Bean, her handsome lover. Grace’s mother has loftier plans for her daughter. She insists that Grace save her money and move to New York City so she can find fame and fortune as an actress.
Grace works as a cleaning lady for wealthy Betty Ann Houseman so she can pool her pennies for the trip north. Betty Ann has a passion for men more pronounced than her overbite, and it isn’t long before she’s parting the sheets for Lenny Bean. But just before Grace leaves Hixson for New York City, she uncovers an insidious plot: the Bean family is trying to steal Betty Ann’s estate.
Grace flees to New York, where she faces her darkest hours. In a world of surprises, Grace truly discovers paradise.
Praise for Dancing Backward in Paradise:
“Dancing Backward in Paradise by Vera Jane Cook is a charming rags-to-riches story with a heartwarming ending, memorable characters, and a riveting plot that will make the reader forget the outside world. The characters in this story are rich and deep. At first, the reader might roll her eyes at Grace’s naïveté and childish reactions as she falls for Lenny, a sexy but lazy “cowboy with sideburns.” Yet as Grace experiences the outside world in sophisticated New York, a place “so miraculous and exciting, so painfully alienating that you just might find yourself amongst the confusion,” the reader will appreciate Grace’s ability to stretch and change. Minor characters have layers, too.
The author’s craftsmanship is stunning and poetic. Cook draws on her own southern heritage to create masterful metaphors like “The car smelled like a Budweiser plant had exploded under the hood and those fools were the happy fish floating in the foam,” or “I was melting faster than ice cubes in Mama’s bourbon.” In the hands of an amateur, such comparisons would only equate one thing to another; Cook layers her metaphors to establish setting and deepen character development.
Anyone who enjoys Southern stories, coming-of-age adventures, murder thrillers, or a satisfying romantic tale should read Dancing Backward in Paradise.”-Emily Asad, Foreword Reviews
The author’s craftsmanship is stunning and poetic. Cook draws on her own southern heritage to create masterful metaphors like “The car smelled like a Budweiser plant had exploded under the hood and those fools were the happy fish floating in the foam,” or “I was melting faster than ice cubes in Mama’s bourbon.” In the hands of an amateur, such comparisons would only equate one thing to another; Cook layers her metaphors to establish setting and deepen character development.
Anyone who enjoys Southern stories, coming-of-age adventures, murder thrillers, or a satisfying romantic tale should read Dancing Backward in Paradise.”-Emily Asad, Foreword Reviews
“Dancing Backward in Paradise is the debut novel of award-winning theater actress Vera Jane Cook, about one young women’s quest to find herself in “Paradise” – New York City in the 1960s, a place beset by hippies, ambition, and the turbulence of the civil rights era. At first, nineteen-year-old trailer park resident Grace Place enjoys amorous trysts with her lover, Lenny Bean, more than anything else; but urged by her mother to seek fame and fortune in New York City, she works as a cleaning lady for the wealthy Betty Ann Houseman. When her lover betrays her and seeks to steal Betty Ann’s estate, Grace is shocked, yet remains intent upon fulfilling her mother’s wish and seeing New York City with her best friend, Ginny Jo. Together they will discover unforgettable surprises in this Eric Hoffer Award-winning novel. Highly recommended.”-Midwest Book Review
“The author introduces a parade of personalities that you will recognize–people that you will want to know and that you will miss. The life and richness she gives to the people of Paradise will take you in like a welcomed stranger. You will love knowing Grace, her family and her friends, both in Hixson and in New York.
Life has its tragedies, humor and mysteries, and this story has all of that. Some really good novels slip through the cracks, don’t let this be one of them. Armchair Interviews says: Dancing Backward in Paradise is a story you do not want to miss.”-Armchair Interviews
Life has its tragedies, humor and mysteries, and this story has all of that. Some really good novels slip through the cracks, don’t let this be one of them. Armchair Interviews says: Dancing Backward in Paradise is a story you do not want to miss.”-Armchair Interviews
“From the minute I purchased this book I was dying to read it. All I have to say now is MORE please from Ms. Cook. I don’t even no where to start except that this cast of characters, the places, the nostalgia, Ms. Cook’s writing style and humor is like the perfect book for me. All I need now is a wrap around porch, some iced tea and a warm breezy day! This is the book you don’t want to put down or ever end. I am looking forward to her next series of books! Please hurry!”- Carla Bamonte, Amazon Reviewer
“I absolutely cannot recall when I read a book that I enjoyed (loved) as much as I did “Dancing Backward in Paradise,” written by Vera Jane Cook. Starting with that wonderfully apt title, I became so totally involved in this story that takes place in a tailor park called “Paradise,” l was so totally fascinated with the characters who lived in the town of “Holy Horrible Hixon,” that I couldn’t tear myself away from that crazy, mysterious, wonderful trailer park world.
My favorite characters were Miss Grace Place ( Every single time I read that name, I just giggled, wondering how the author ever came up with it.), Mama Place, and Betty Ann Houseman. Poor dear! There was such warmth and love (and a bit of lust) in all three of those characters, and Vera Jane Cook portrayed them perfectly. Then there was also Mrs. Bean talking in verse all the time. What a stroke of genius Cook’s part. Oh, and I also loved Miss Dorothea.
One of the very best things about Vera Jane Cook’s writing is how she magically turn words into touch — into feelings. For example, talking about a little boy, Chelsie, “I felt him wrap himself around me like gift paper on a birthday box.” And about one of the several villains in the book, “He got meaner than a bumble bee shooed off a flower.” And, “She curled up there every day just as happy as a fly on buttered toast.” “I felt as high and as spry as a bumblebee let loose on a sunflower…..as effervescent as champagne on New Years.” And so many, many other wonderful similes.
This book is filled with delightful characters, charm, warmth, love and last, but certainly not least, wonderful humor.
In closing, I will just say that I ADORED the book, and look forward to reading many books from a superb writer.”- Arlene Uslander, Author
My favorite characters were Miss Grace Place ( Every single time I read that name, I just giggled, wondering how the author ever came up with it.), Mama Place, and Betty Ann Houseman. Poor dear! There was such warmth and love (and a bit of lust) in all three of those characters, and Vera Jane Cook portrayed them perfectly. Then there was also Mrs. Bean talking in verse all the time. What a stroke of genius Cook’s part. Oh, and I also loved Miss Dorothea.
One of the very best things about Vera Jane Cook’s writing is how she magically turn words into touch — into feelings. For example, talking about a little boy, Chelsie, “I felt him wrap himself around me like gift paper on a birthday box.” And about one of the several villains in the book, “He got meaner than a bumble bee shooed off a flower.” And, “She curled up there every day just as happy as a fly on buttered toast.” “I felt as high and as spry as a bumblebee let loose on a sunflower…..as effervescent as champagne on New Years.” And so many, many other wonderful similes.
This book is filled with delightful characters, charm, warmth, love and last, but certainly not least, wonderful humor.
In closing, I will just say that I ADORED the book, and look forward to reading many books from a superb writer.”- Arlene Uslander, Author
“Grace Place tells us her tale with a beguiling and often insightful sincerity. The characters are just a little south of normal, and this facilitates a wonderfully original story and storytelling. The pace is sedate, the plot winds and weaves in all the right places. This is a book that draws you in; it’s bold and blunt and makes no apologies for being so. It’s a southern fried fairy tale. Loved it.”-Ralph Hartman, Author
About Vera Jane Cook:
Vera Jane Cook, writer of Award Winning Women’s Fiction, is the author of The Story of Sassy Sweetwater, Lies a River Deep, Where the Wildflowers Grow, Dancing Backward in Paradise and Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem.
Jane, as she is known to family and friends, was born in New York City and grew up amid the eccentricity of her southern and glamorous mother on the Upper West and Upper East Side of Manhattan.
An only child, Jane turned to reading novels at an early age and was deeply influenced by an eclectic group of authors. Some of her favorite authors today are Nelson DeMille, Calib Carr, Wally Lamb, Anne Rice, Sue Monk Kidd, Anita Shreve, Jodi Picoult, Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Her favorite novels are too long to list but include The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, Cheri and The Last of Cheri, The Picture of Dorian Grey, Wuthering Heights, Look at Me, Dogs of Babel, The Bluest Eye, The Art of Racing in the Rain, Body Surfing, Lolita, The Brothers Karamazov, She’s Come Undone, Tale of Two Cities, etc., etc., etc.,
Vera Jane Cook’s Website: http://www.verajanecook.com/
Vera Jane Cook on Twitter: https://twitter.com/verajanecook
Vera Jane Cook on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vera.j.cook
Vera Jane Cook on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vera.j.cook
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