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First pages

The Tale Of Mother Mojo

Mother Mojo hailed from way out on Beaver Bluff, overlooking the live oak meadow down on Crazy Woman Creek. She grew up in a mill house general store that her grand father had build way back before the Civil War. She never met her grandparents, but her mother mentioned them to her frequently during the course of her child hood. Back then things were really good, she told her. There was always plenty, lots of fine company, and never a dull moment. They were the best of times, she would lean back, smile, and say.

Situations had changed for her mother, for reasons that could never be explained. Her father was always hunting deep down in the swamps behind the old mills house, or gone far away into town seeking work with the merchants. The fact of her father's absence left her mother in charge of the mill house general store and her duty to the mill of grinding the dried corn into grist for her customers. Many of the elders in the surrounding area mention themselves as kids hiding in the bushes as her mother walked past, unknowingly smoking a pipe while they watched, and uttering spells in English or an unknown language of which no person living had ever heard. These utterances seemed to be a prayer of some sort, with the bizarre name of Sucellos mentioned at various points in her ritualized chant. This periodic event occurred with more frequency after the passing of her father.

Time passed, and Mother Mojo the child learned the art of killing hogs and curing ham. She learned how to grow and dry beans. She learned that dried Yuopon leaves made a brew superior to coffee, when one could not find the time to make the long ride into town. Many customers actually craved the ground up powder, claiming that when they mixed it with ground up coffee, there was even more improvement in the resulting conclusion. She learned how to raise tobacco and render it into some of the best smoking and chewing tobacco to be found anywhere. Her customers would come to love her for it.

Down by the creek was a clay bank cave, and inside that cave was a time honored liquor still. Here her mother taught her all about fermenting mash, and running that mash through the still. What exited the thump keg at the drip spout was some of the smoothest shine in all of Cooter Woods. This smooth swamp tea fetched the highest demand in the entire county. People came around in the middle of the night from miles around just to sample it, for a small fee, of course.

A few of the people who came around were very interesting. Mother Mojo would recall their faces with fondness, as the years rolled by. The ones who dropped by in broad daylight were the same old boring ones that everybody seen all the time, and knew everything about. It was the ones who dropped by in the dark of night who were always the most interesting. Most of these people were long time married men from wealthy families, who were held in high standard by those in the surrounding community simply because they had good connections and loads of money. Every now and then the preacher from town would drop by all dressed up in a cloak and hood, and very timidly ask for only an innocent “sip,.” which he would grasp with hands that trembled to the point of spilling the cups contents. Almost always he would wind up buying a half gallon of pure straight shine, or even more.

In the spring of the year when the thunderstorms came around, usually around midnight the local politicians would ask for a “pint” or a “cup.” The town Mayer and the county manager were forthright in their requests, asking for a “gallon” or “three”, for medicinal purposes, or for trade in case of hard times. Once the first taste was taken of this silky smooth liquid that kicks like a mule, virtually no person would ever refuse from that time forward.

There were certain rules that Mama Mojo learned to follow religiously from her mother. The first rule was to never consume one's selling stock. This rule applied to all commodities sold. That is why they grew a separate garden for selling vegetables, and for eating vegetables. This same rule would extend to smoking and chewing tobacco, as it did to drink. Never consume from the same batch as one sold from. Should a person violate this one cardinal rule then he would surely wind up destitute, she was curtly informed.

The next rule was to never let one's right hand know what his left hand is doing. In simple wording, never allow any people to know exact specifics in all areas of one's life. If the reality is extremely positive, the feign the opposite. If money flow was thick in one's life, then feign the opposite. If one was selling liquor and having plenty of customers, then never allow any person to know by one's word of mouth. In other words, always keep personal business to one's person. Violators of this cardinal law were certain to have trouble invited upon them from the outside.

The last and final primary rule of surviving as the owner of a grist mill general store was to always listen intensively to the customer's request, and keep the customer satisfied no matter what. Never allow a customer leave on unsatisfied terms, her mother kindly informed her. Listen to the customer, then tailor make one's commodities to suit the customer's requests; especially if these requests were made in earnest, or in situations were the customer and the store owner were on individual terms. Splendid examples of “individual terms” would be those made underneath some shroud of covert trust. Violations of this law would eventually lead to complete public disregard for the business enterprise, causing the business to die on a limb.

There were certain elements in one's personality that must be maintained, if one is to be a successful store owner, she was informed. One of these elements was confidentiality. Underneath a shroud of secrecy, commodity owners can learn of both customer habits and deep repressed personal desires. By learning what it was that customers desired most, a commodity owner could discover what commodity it was that she needed to access in order to satisfy a specific need. The more in secret the need was to be held, then the higher the price that it could fetch. Once the customer was confident that the supplier could be trusted to remain quiet even under pressure, then he would always be on hand with the requested cash upon this habit or special need being satisfied. Violators of this confidence would be certain to both invite trouble in from the outside upon the store and themselves, and simultaneously kill their business enterprise with the passing of time.

The another element needed in one's personality for success as the owner of a general store, was one of confidence in one's own ability to make a stand for herself, when the occasion arose that she needed to. There was a fine line in maintaining this air of confidence and reflecting it back down to the customer. If the store owner appeared too hard, then the customer might feel intimidated in approaching the business. If the store owner appeared to soft, then the customer might feel that he could get away with taking advantage of the owner's generosity, or intimidating her into giving away her product or service for little or even nothing at all.

Mama Mojo learned all of these lessons in how to conduct a thriving enterprise very well, displaying potential strong talent at a very early age. Other aspects of her education from her mother were to be creative, and to use what nature had provided all around her, and within her, as she searched for her success in life. If she would live her business life by these cardinal rules and this basic philosophy, then she would always be in abundant supply without ever suffering from shortfalls of any type.

Many of her mother's patrons were both famous and very wealthy. Some were nationally known politicians and business owners. These people greatly admired her mother for her industriousness. What they adored her for mostly was her quality of product and the service in general that she provided.

The local preacher was a man who also owned the church in which he pastured. He would preach long sermons on the importance of the congregation giving alms to the church, then take the money and start up profitable business enterprises of a variety in sorts. He would not steal the money, of course; he would always replace it as his enterprise earned the money. By carefully cataloging the money that used and that which he earned as “church money,” when tax time arrived he could take advantage of his tax free status in his church, and all of that consequential money would be his to spend, free and clear. In less than a year the money that he used to start up his enterprise would be replaced inside church coffers, for use in some other project. All that he was required to do was to up grade his church in some sort of manner, and he could write the next years earnings off as well. The church was always in need of painting, some sort of carpentry, heating and air repair, or something.

There was one particular gentleman who would come around from time to time, that Mama Mojo would pause to reflect back upon in future years. He may have been forty five at the time, Mama Mojo was never quite sure. Mr. Woodrow was how Mama Mojo was instructed by her mother to greet him, since it was clearly evident in his personal composure that such a title was what he loved to hear himself referred to by those around him. The adoration for this greeting was apparent in his general mannerism and the way that he carried himself upon hearing it.

Usually on the weekend he would saunter down the long dirt road in his old pick up truck, making a special trip just to investigate what he referred to as the “exotic” commodities that their enterprise had for sale. Mama Mojo instinctively knew that he was seeking “exotic” commodities when he showed up in his suit and bow tie, rather than the faded denim blue jean coveralls that he usually wore. She would be dutifully laboring behind the counter when he opened the heavy wooden framed door, that pulled a string leading to a small bell on the wall near the cash box, stepping up from the cinder block step to enter the wood framed room of the old general store. A scent like magnolia lemon flowers floated heavily in the air as he walked up.

“It sure is a beautiful day, Gracie,” he would say with a smile of anticipation. Gracie was the nick-name that he had chosen to call her. Mama Mojo didn't particularly like this name, she only tolerated it for the purpose of getting his money.

“That it is, Mr. Woodrow. If the sun was to shine any sweeter it would certainly get the best of us both. What may I do for you today, sir?,” she would ask as she busied herself organizing product parcels into the boxes before her, forcing herself to smile as she went about her daily chores.

“Well,” he would say, as he walked up close to the counter where she worked. “Maybe a handful of that cherry candy there.., if you think that I could have it.”

As Mama Mojo leaned over the display counter between them both to grab his request for the candy, his eyes would flicker up and down…,with that same wiry smile easing over his face again.

“How old are you now, young lady?,” he asked.

“I turned of age last week,” Mama Mojo replied.

“You know.., where I come from a woman who is of age is a full grown woman.., and to tell you the truth there Gracie, you have been lookin' more grown by the day now for the past several months...”

There was a spell of silence as he reached out to take the cherry candy . He continued to smile broadly, as he reached out with heavily freckled sun scared hands that began to tremble.

“Well how much do I owe you there, young lady?,” he said, strangely and abruptly sounding as if he were suddenly almost out of breath.

Mama Mojo forced herself to smile.

“Well, a dollar should just about do it.”

With a trembling left hand he reached out to her, dropping a carefully folded up bill into the palm of her opened right hand.

Mama Mojo smiled, then replied,

“well sir, we do thank you there for your business today. We hope to see you around soon.”

He struggled to breath as he continued to smile.

“Well .., uh, if that is not enough, then just let me know. I was thinking about dropping by this afternoon. Will anybody be home then?”

“If I am not, then certainly mother will be,” quickly snapped Mama Mojo who busied herself packing cartons and arranging them on the counter between them. Every now and then her eyes would flicker upward into his direction.

He slowed in his breathing, then appeared to force himself into remaining calm.

“To be honest about it, while I don't mind speaking to your mother.., I was hoping to say a word with you, there Gracie.”

Mama Mojo cautiously smiled a calm friendly smile at the statement.

“Drop on by and see. That's about all that I can say at the moment.”

Suddenly the smile eased back across his face once more again.

“That I'll do, sometime maybe..,uh, after nine or so,” he said as though hesitating in giving a specific time as he began walking out the heavy wooden door.

“We might be around the mill house since the store will be closed by that time, should you decide to come around,” replied Mama Mojo, now slightly laughing to herself. Her mother would glance at her speaking to Mr. Woodrow, then simply glance away as she picked up a straw broom to commence sweeping the floor. Eventually she would step out the back door or the building.

As he eased on out the door and made his way down the steps, Mama Mojo would step into the room behind the counter and the curtain. When she unraveled the bill that he had handed her, all was just as she had thought in presumption; since the identical pattern had unraveled out in exactly the same fashion a number of times ago in the past. The bill was a hundred dollars rather than only one, and it was certainly no mistake.

Mr. Woodrow had a secret need, and he didn't mind paying for this need to be satisfied. Doing so was already a simple matter, as far as Mama Mojo was concerned. What astonished her most was how well he adored what she did for him. The affect on him was almost like a hexing drug. She couldn't believe it as she found herself frequently laughing in silence at the thought. She had started out at fifty, now it was one hundred dollars that she had requested, and received without hesitation. She had already calculatingly determined that she would boost her fee up to more than five hundred dollars, just as soon as good ole Mr Woodrow made an additional enhancement request, of one sort or another. She never even had to change what it was that she did, just change the setting in which it occurred at Mr. Woodrow's request.

By now what ever it was that he could have asked for was only second nature to Mama Mojo anyway; and while she didn't mind the action, she really did love the money. Her feeling of pride came with the amount of hard cash money received for the talent in what she did. Mr. Woodrow was loaded with plenty of it, and didn't seem to mind paying it out. Matter of fact, he would have literally fulfilled any request that she could have ever made in his anticipation for the possibility of having this special need gratified, simply at her asking.

A while back Mr. Woodrow's wife of twenty years, Elsie, had passed. He was all alone inside that great big colonnaded 14 room mansion house of his sitting up high on the hill by the river running just on the outskirts of town. He had asked Mama Mojo a few weeks prior if she would like to visit his place and stay there with him for a while. He had promised her the moon and the stars on a silver platter. He even said that he would pay her a splendid monthly salary, in amounts far more than she could ever make there at the grist mill general store working with her mother. She was considering it, but he had yet to sufficiently answer her sole question when she asked him. She loved pausing to look up into his face and ask him, when she was busy emptying carton contents while down on her knees. He seemed to really love it when she asked during these types of moments, more than she enjoyed asking at such an inappropriate time.

“ Well what would your wonderful congregation have to say about all of that? Are you in need of a closet doll baby, Mr. Woodrow?

Just as soon as he answered her question right and she moved into that house with him, she was going to find where that huge pile of money was that this man had stashed, and just lay down and wallow in it! She would get into it with his permission, too. That's how crazy these simple favors that she did could make a money laden man who was otherwise intelligent, so she had already discovered now for a number of years.

True to her mother's instruction, it would be one of her many secrets that she would keep to herself. Not even her own mother would ever know the complete details; that way she would keep on milking this man's bank account until another who was more wealthy came along. When the day came that Mr. Woodrow had finally answered her sole question, she moved on inside that mansion with him. She soon discovered that she could negotiate a base salary, then get a boost with each new request for a change of scenery as she repeated the same old favors that were only second nature to her.

She began with an offer from him that netted her some fourteen hundred dollars a month, cash. That much was her base salary. By only charging him a separate fee for each change of setting, that fourteen hundred dollar a month amount transformed into more than three thousand dollars. Sometimes his body motions indicated that he might be perturbed as he gave thought to the money amounts in silence to himself, but when nighttime came she knew just what trick was needed that would completely readjust his entire attitude toward her and the idea of handing her the requested amount. This tactic of approach worked with an unerring consistency every time.

She possessed the general appearance of a developed, somewhat native innocence. Soon she was a girl who had developed into an exceedingly attractive, very well developed young lady. Mr. Woodrow proudly flew her around on business trips with him to many far away places. All that she was required to do was to sit beside him at the conference table. He proudly introduced her to his wealthy associates her as Mrs. Gracie Mae Woodrow. She hated the nickname with all of her heart, but she was being well paid to pretend that she didn't, so she forced herself to smile in a feign of perfect contentment.

By the time that she was in her late teens she had traveled to Paris, Berlin, Beijing, Hong Kong, Madrid and Barcelona, just to name a few. While she was in Barcelona, something had commenced to change. Mr. Woodrow began leaving her all alone inside their Rambla apartment rather than asking her to accompany him, way too many times. She would put on her best ruffled ankle length dress and sun bonnet, then proudly stroll down the Rambla in his absence. She never argued with Mr. Woodrow, but always politely informed him of her desire to sight see around that beautiful city by the sea. Mr. Woodrow always understood her situation, and had no problem in allowing her to do so.

She had begun to attend mass in the Rambla cathedral. She soon met a new accomplice. His name was one Shane Berlitz, he had informed her. She immediately recognized the name of Berlitz as being that of an associate who attended the business meeting with Mr. Woodrow in Hong Kong. Shane had informed her that this associate was his uncle, a brother who himself and his father was very close to. The family name originated from a business dynasty out of Saxony, Germany, he had politely informed her, but the general tendency was for family members to know who one another were.

As of late She seemed to be running into Shane more often while on her walks out on the Rambla. He was always inviting her to have lunch with him at one crystal diner or another, or asking her to accompany him at some sort of opera or theater. She found herself enjoying his company with more frequency, and simply could not help but feel that she was anticipating meeting up with him.

She continued to solve Mr. Woodrow's need for certain types of vice, but new thoughts had been running around in her head, of late. She informed Mr. Woodrow of the fact that she had been bored while he was away on business, and she had a desire engage in her own enterprise. Mr. Woodrow agreed, informing her that he would help her get established in any way that he could.

Soon she found herself as the proud owner of a high fashion clothing shop, right there on the Rambla in Barcelona. Shoppers could not even bother entering inside if they did not possess either an unlimited credit card, have ten thousand dollars cash in their immediate possession, or be able to prove that they had at least fifty thousand dollars cold cash in a savings account somewhere. She still received thirty five hundred dollars a month in cash, from Mr. Woodrow. All that she had to do was drop by from time to time and prepare his clothes, cook his food, and provide him with that special form of vice that he so adored her for, and that was about it. Once in a while he would ask her to accompany him on some out of town trip for pleasure of business, but all of it was happening with a diminishing rate of occurrence.

Her clothing business was doing fabulously. Soon she was raking in three times her salary rate earned by being in company with Mr. Woodrow. She had taken her monthly earnings with Mr. Woodrow and invested them into a variety of properties in both Madrid and Barcelona. To her joy and astonishment, Shane whole heartily approved of every move that she had made. She had more than tripled her financial intake with Mr. Woodrow, with not a cent of it originating from a source standing outside of her natural possession. Her beauty of body and eloquence of native personality, not to mention the skill learned with the power of her mind, combined with her raw determination in general was what had made her so successful. As her association with Mr. Woodrow increasingly dimmed in the new lime light, this new brightness with Shane began to shine into a fresh brilliance in it's place.

Before the passing of the next year the income from the clothing shop totaled more than five thousand a month. The rental income from her small apartments into which she had invested equaled more than thirty five hundred dollars more a month. Her total take in her business and properties equaled around a residual nine thousand a month. That amount of income sure was far superior than that of a mill house general store manager. Her mom should certainly be very proud of her spectacular accomplishments!

By now virtually all of old man Woodrow's wealthy associates had developed a healthy interest in her well being. Every time she turned around one was offering for her to accompany him to the latest opera house, performance stage for drinks and dinner, on his dime of course; or maybe on a weekend jet trip to some Mediterranean resort out on La Palma island. The pay in doing favors on the side was very generous as the localities were lavish. She earned some three thousand dollars cash from the La Palma resort adventure alone, with all expenses paid. What shocked her most of all was how much all of these men appeared so spellbound with only a glance upon her form, and virtually hypnotized when she so willingly did what ever it was that they requested, just as long as they didn't mind paying her requested fee.

Mama Mojo remained close friends with Shane, who was her primary golden squeeze. She thought well of Shane and began spending weekends with him in Milano, Italy, inside of three months from the time that she met him. He enjoyed keeping her body rocking, but couldn't seem to keep up with her pace of running. When he realized that he was slacking, he would roll over and gently lay his opened palm on the top of her head, rubbing it as he gently pushed. Like an instant reflex Mojo got the message, calculatingly swapping with him to get a return on the favor that she had just dealt out. While Shane failed her in keeping pace, he returned favors just as unhesitatingly as she gave them out. Not only that the entire weekend package was all on his dime, and he appeared more than happy just to have her by his side. He, himself, was very attractive to her, but not enough to compel her into allowing him an advantage in her. Her mind was to mercenary for such a situation to ever occur.

In the end after sipping rose wine from a set of crystal, while both sets of joules might have wound up dripping to an equal pleasure, it was only Mama Mojo who wound up with her wallet fat to the tune of three thousand cash for only three or four nights on the job. All that she had to do for a hearty raise was to simply cry baby a little bit when it got close to bed time.

Shane and Mama Mojo were somehow made for the each other. If he knew of her side gigs, he never let on that he minded. All that he ever said about anything was “what ever makes you happy, my love.” Eventually Mama Mojo gave up side gigs completely, totally devoting herself to Shane. She appeared really contented to live part of the year in Berlin, then part in Aspen, Colorado, and another third in a resort up in the mountains of Switzerland, with no luxury being spared.

She was perfectly contented to ride the roads in the latest Ferrari, dressing in the best of designer dresses, eating the finest of meats with the most exquisite of rose wines. What more could she have ever asked for? What was most astonishing in regard to Mama Mojo's personal situation was that she had accumulated all of this wealth due to the assigned value on skills that she almost naturally was in possession of the ability to perform, and the beauty of a body that she was born with. There were absolutely no connections with elements from inside the surrounding world. Mother nature had provided her with everything that she needed to succeed! This reality allowed a liberty and resulting pride in Mama Mojo that few individual people could ever relate to.

She was true blue to the finest detail, but lived according to the whim of the moment. She remained true blue simply because her whims led her to be so. There had been no other persuasions that readily rang her bell. She only utilized her skills to gratify those most secret of desires in her man, Shane, because the whim of the moment motivated her to seek satisfaction of her own secret desires simultaneously. Mama Mojo was around eighteen by now and there could have been literally no trick that Shane could have ever intimated a desire for, that she hadn't practiced many thousands of times over by now. She was also highly gifted at negotiating due compensation for her skills and services, and good old Shane sure didn't mind trading.

Life was great for Mama Mojo, soon she had her first son, then her second, then three, four, five and six. All of this was part of her general plan, since she could now take Shane for twenty percent, per child, before taxes, should she herself ever decide to exit out of this relationship; and she was at liberty to exit out at any time. In four years, half of his estate was beginning to sound better to herself as the paused in silence to give the matter thought. Shane was a fine man, but there was no thrill any longer to being involved in the relationship with him. Mama Mojo still was in possession of a body that turned the heads of deep pockets with protracted handles, dressed in the most elegant of double breasted suits though, and she was well aware of this fact.

A little cry babying to Shane allowed her to be the proud owner of an exclusive high classed Vegas strip joint. All of the Johns were required to prove that they were in possession of at least a three hundred thousand dollar bank account. The female entertainers were required to be in possession of a blemish free body. She set herself aside from the other female patrons, performers, and general clientele, by dressing up in the costume of a high rolling old time western gambler. This outfit caressed her well proportioned hour glass form in such a manner that it was rendered as tempting as a million dollars worth of golden checks.

All of the really big money glanced around with very noticeable slobbering joules as she swanked on passed; she was very studious about noticing it out the corner of her eye, as she ambled the floor of her enterprise making various quantitative evaluations in regard to her business and general profit margin. Big money alone was not what interested her at this stage of her still yet young life, it was the wealth of potential experience that a potential target possessed. He had to have money and love new exotic adventure for her to spend any time speaking with. Simply speaking, she was tired of being bored, and was seeking a new secular thrill.

In time it was bound to happen when she kept her mind open to the possibility, that Mama Mojo met a true mucho man, a high roller like herself, who owned a Vegas Casino, with some family connections leading him into the money and business operation. At this stage of her life, she could handle it all; his urges, him, his money, his power, his family, and their methods of procuring wealth. That fact of being was attractive to her, in a thrilling sense of the word, to say the least.

The man told her that his name was Andre'. She called him Andre' The Giant, for reasons that are better left off the page here, but readers can get the general idea. He was a huge man, however; huge in body, huge in family and personal wealth, huge in the type of business that his “family” engaged in. He was in possession of connections, allowing her to take Shane to court in a divorce settlement, hand her 20 percent if his every earning in court mandated child support payments before any type of tax extractions, 10 percent in alimony, and collect lavishly on the value of half his entire world wide estate. He eventually wound up paying her out just to hush her up, and keep her out of the allying courtroom.

By age 25, Mama Mojo was doing very well in finance, business, and in life generally speaking. All of this newly gained wealth she invested out into a number of new enterprising estates. Her monthly income amounted to more than 20000 dollars. Andre' The Giant added a healthy addition to her monthly intake, while always keeping her very satisfied in number of different ways. What she really craved, however, was tantalizing exotic adventure. Any urges of nature by now were sold old hat, that the matter never received a second thought.

All the way through life she had noticed that if she kept her mind opened to the possibilities for anything, somehow over the course of time it would materialize. While Andre' was out of town engaging in family business, she had met an extremely well dressed man who called himself Trevor. She thought that he had told her that his last name was Trent, but she was not quite certain about it, and she was reserved about asking. He had told her that she had an exquisite body like a native born Venus, and an outstanding personality to go right along with it. He asked her what it was that she presently sought most of all in life. Her reply was glamorous adventure.

Trevor continued by asking her to tell him about her life thus far, without skipping any details; he wanted to hear it all. She told him about being born at the mill house down by the live oak meadow on Crazy Woman creek. She told him all about her many relationships, the wealth, the exotic locations. His reply was that she had already lived three lifetimes of experience outside of any lived by average people. What in the world was it that she thought was missing, he inquired?

She replied that she had actually considered being a movie star, and thought about moving to Hollywood. The problem was that when she visited Hollywood, it appeared far more like a town that had lived high once upon a time, but had also lived to witness its own passing. She was honestly disappointed, she politely informed Trevor. Trevor's eyes suddenly lit up.

“Well I have just the proposal that you have been looking for!,” he said. All that she had to do was meet him at apartment 303 on Benton Woods lane out on Millionaire Boulevard right next to the famous Vegas skyline on the edge of town. Come Saturday morning around 1000 hours, she could audition for a skit shot, and that there was a great chance she would make the cut. He felt her possibility for success deeply inside his bones!, he told her with glee. He promised her 2000 dollars cash for what he had described as a simple shoot. She replied that 2000 was good for a start, but that she couldn't promise the amount to be a holding value.

Saturday morning rolled around and she motored on out to the boulevard, soon finding the apartment. She knocked on the door, and another well dressed man opened it. He had developed muscles and a tattoo of a fire breathing dragon on his right arm, but other than that, nothing else was readily noticeable.

“You must be the one that they call Eleanor ?,” he asked her.

“My present fiance' Andre' got hung up on calling me by that name,” she intimated with a smile, “so I just allowed it to ride since it made everybody feel good.”

“You have a fine smile,” he said to her as his eyes quickly flashed up and down her form. She had seen that look before. She knew what was running through his mind.

“Yeah..? I am aware of that, but what you are looking at only comes with the right price,” she snapped as she began to laugh as if she was only being sarcastic.

 “Tempt me some more,” he replied, “and we might begin to talk money.”

They both laughed. Mother Mojo's face suddenly firmed up.


AUTHOR Q&A

About me

The author is an international ESL instructor. He has been a writer now for over thirty years. His latest works were nonfictional and include the titles, "Reflections On The Loss Of The Freeborn American Nation," and "Stairway To Tyranny," by Algora Publishing. He has also published three fictional novelettes with a company called Just Fiction Edition.

Q. Why do you write?
A.
I write because there is a euphoria found in creating living, breathing, portraits of art that allow people to enter into other worlds. Writing is my drug, in more direct words
Q. Is there a message in your book that you want readers to grasp?
A.
Yes there is a message in my work. That message is to live life to it's fullest, live for the thrills in life; and when circumstances don't work out, shift gears and move on to the next gig. Last of all, always follow your heart without worrying what the opinions of others might be.
Q. When did you decide to become a writer?
A.
I decided to become a writer just after high school. I have been fully dedicated to the development of my craft, since at times writing has been the only gig working that I had going.

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