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I was surprised by how many of you were interested in this story. Here is the second chapter. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. JD. ********** The car ride was painfully quiet as we made our way toward my high school. My father was driving and to say he wasn’t happy with me was a vast understatement. Mom was sitting next to him and looked like she hadn’t slept much at all last night. I knew they were worried about me and I could certainly see why. I skipped school and football practice the day before, something I never did. I didn’t get home until late and I smelled of alcohol when I finally did show up. Oh yeah, I also forgot to bring pop’s car home. He lent it to me for the first day of my senior year. I’m sure my reaction when I walked in didn’t help. I think I stood there with a stupid grin on my face the whole time they lectured me. I was so happy to see them that I could barely follow what they were saying. In the middle of my father’s rant I hugged him. Mom was next. She returned. .." he said, his jaw hanging open. "That dumb bitch didn't even wait for her card. Christ!"He glanced down at the name on the charge-plate. It read LORRAINE HOLZMAN. Ed stared at the card, puzzling over his strange exchange with the girl. For some reason he found himself vividly recalling that strange talisman that hung from her mirror, and although he still felt it was all rubbish he nevertheless was drawn to the strange shape of the thing and to the intensity of belief that the girl seemed to have. A compelling idea began to take hold of him.Maybe, he thought, maybe I ought to find out more about this damn group. After all, if Marion decides she's going to get involved, the only way I can stop her is if I know first-hand what a bunch of baloney it is. Yeah, that's it. I'll return this chick's card in person and find out what the hell's going on with this Vallus thing... Still sprawled on the carpeted floor of the incense-laden room, Marion had fallen into a light sleep. As she.
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She was stupid, passed it. Her boss, the owner, was forty-five, a single woman and we became lovers, very quickly. The editor was fired and I got her job. Now I am the Editor in Chief of four publications, soon to be five. Don’t print that bit, it’s a secret.’ Suddenly she stood and I may have gasped because she was much taller than pictures of her suggest. She was wearing a knee length pencil skirt and her legs were perfect, all the way down to fine ankles and beautifully shod feet. She came and sat opposite me, crossing her legs elegantly. ‘You’re freelance, correct?’ I nodded. ‘Are you good?’ I nodded again. ‘How much do you earn?’ ‘I thought I was the interviewer.’ ‘How much?’ ‘About forty a year.’ She laughed. ‘Well, either you’re not that good or you don’t have ambition. But I had you checked out too. You used to live with a lawyer, Susan Stein. She died. She left you money, enough to buy your flat. People say you’re good, that you deliver and that you’ve done more than a few.

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