Talking “The Trumpets of Dawn"


Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the twenty-third post of my serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To read more about the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com.



Rather less demonstrative that Violet, Roscoe offered a gesture to his new love that she’d be more comfortable with. His fingers found hers, latching on, so simple and yet so intimate. Phillipa ducked her head but couldn’t hide her schoolgirl blush.

He said to her, “There’s sunshine in your smile. You know that’s a herald of good things on the horizon.”

From the phone, Violet waved us over frantically. “This is Kate,” she said. “And the news is not so good.”

We learned that Alan Loggins’s campaign headquarters was not, at the moment, a happy place. Turnout was down among both Loggins and Masterson supporters. Paltrune supporters, however, had been turning out since polls opened. It’s true that the diehards vote early, and most voters hit their polling places after work, and we still had about an hour until that might happen. But there’s something else that plays a big role on election day.

Weather.

Apparently, as of twenty minutes before, the skies had opened up over Speroton. No rain was forecast, and here in Applewood there wasn’t a cloud. As we gathered around Violet and the phone, we heard Kate’s panicked voice come through:

“You guys have to get over here now,” she said. “We need you to knock on doors, offer rides, hold umbrellas, whatever it takes so people don’t just stay at home. And if you can get anyone else to come along, we could use the help.”

After all the work we’d put in over the summer, talking to people, educating folks about what was at stake, it seemed impossible anyone would sit this one out. And if all the effort and donations and time we’d thrown at this wasn’t enough, maybe it was a lost cause. Maybe we’d all have to concede that tonight.

As we left the café, Phillipa announced to customers and her employees, anyone within earshot, that we needed help, and she left the address of Alan’s campaign headquarters at the front counter. But you could see the looks on people’s faces: it was getting late. Dinner needed to be fixed. Kids needed help with their homework. Nighttime had fallen back an hour just a couple days ago, so it would be dark soon; and who wanted to leave a mild evening to go a town over where storms--on a couple fronts--were churning?

No, this was going to be up to us and the people of Speroton. Now if we could just figure out how to pull it off.

“Keep smiling,” Roscoe said to Phillipa, hope still lit in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll be able to bring the sunshine along.”


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Talking “The Wacky Fringe"


Welcome to the intro video and an excerpt from the twenty-second post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.




One Saturday morning a couple weeks back, we were all canvassing one of Speroton’s neighborhoods for the Loggins campaign. Violet had split off from her canvassing partner because, in Violet’s words, “her shoes were from 1993 and I doubt they were even in style then.” (Note: They weren’t from 1993. Maybe her partner just got the shoes at a really good sale, and maybe her partner thinks it’s stupid for anyone to care what shoes look like as long as they’re comfortable, especially when all you’re doing is walking door to door. Okay, yes, fine. It was me. I’m the one with the 1993 shoes. Whatever.)

But, as Violet told us all later that day back at Confictura, I wasn’t the only one offending her fashion senses that morning. When Mona Wilkinson answered her door, Violet introduced herself, and fought the instinct to shield her eyes. Poor Mona looked like a walking brick with fringe. She wore all red, from her fedora, to her long, baggy sweater (made longer by said fringe), to her wide-legged pants. In the middle of Violet’s spiel about Loggins, Fashion Furby, from Violet’s purse, took one look at Mona through its black-framed glasses and asked, “What happened to all your curves, young lady?”

Speroton, like Applewood, is of course another small town in Connecticut, which means they’re just as used to haunted things as we are.

Mona explained to them both, “I saw a movie about Coco Chanel. Her whole look was androgynous. Straight lines, ‘boyfriend’ cuts. It’s all inspired by her vision.”

Violet, after her obligatory curtsy at the Almighty Chanel’s name, said, “Oui, but you are tall and so slender. You do not want to show this off? You are a model. There are ways to wear the straight lines, but a woman never wants to hide all her femininity. I can give you a little advice, if you’d like.”

As always, Violet’s genuine way of seeing people’s most flattering attributes won the day. Mona smiled bashfully, and invited Violet in for coffee. Twenty minutes later, Violet was in front of Mona’s closet, or “the fringe and fur factory,” as Violet put it later. Practically every piece screamed so loud it was all Violet could do not to cringe and take cover.

She gave Mona a crash course in pairing complementary, not matching, pieces: straight-leg pants with a longer sweater; a faux-wrap blouse, cinched at the waist, with the wide-legged pants. “Et, we wear only one, eh, statement piece at a time. Too many statements all at once means you won’t be able to understand any of them clearly. And let’s examine maybe not wearing monochrome outfits.”

All of Violet’s advice, along with one example outfit she put together for Mona, went into her To-Go that week, which I’ve posted here. While Mona was changing, and Violet was in the kitchen finishing her coffee, Furby whispered to Violet, “She’s going to invite you. Don’t go. It’s dangerous.”

Violet didn’t have to wait long to find out what Furby meant. Mona walked into the kitchen, hand outstretched. “Here,” she said. “It’s an extra VIP pass to Paltrune’s rally today. My friend from work is trying to sway me. I can’t make up my mind between him and Loggins. You have to come with me; it’s my way of thanking you for your advice.”

“But I am firmly behind Loggins,” said Violet. “And, besides this, I live in Applewood. I cannot vote in Speroton.”

“I’ve heard his rallies are legendary. You never know what’s going to happen. You keep your phone handy, you might just catch a scuffle, and then you can send it in to Channel 2 News and they’ll play it.”

“Well,” said Violet, “who can miss carnage and their fifteen seconds of fame all in one neat package?” Violet's sarcasm is dry as sand, so poor Mona just nodded and smiled at the comment. Really, Violet was happy to finally get the chance of seeing what commonality an undecided saw in both Loggins and Paltrune.

Quietly, from Violet’s purse, Furby mumbled, “Uh-oh.”


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