As a teen mom, already ass-branded by one husband both domineering and dumb as meat locker beef, Elaine stutter-stepped to independence via jobs typing letters and dialing phones for a series of mouth-breathers who believed a woman's place was under the desk spit-shining their assets. A couple of decades later she had, by god, scratched out a role in the corporate testicle festival where she earned fat, man-sized paychecks. Bought herself some respect and vindication. But her personal life was a dispiriting trail of ...
Read More
As a teen mom, already ass-branded by one husband both domineering and dumb as meat locker beef, Elaine stutter-stepped to independence via jobs typing letters and dialing phones for a series of mouth-breathers who believed a woman's place was under the desk spit-shining their assets. A couple of decades later she had, by god, scratched out a role in the corporate testicle festival where she earned fat, man-sized paychecks. Bought herself some respect and vindication. But her personal life was a dispiriting trail of relationship roadkill. Her one faithful love walked on four legs and woofed for her breakfast. Desperate for a peek at her future Elaine consulted an astrologer-psychic who fanned out her Tarot cards, did her California woo-woo thing and assured Elaine she would someday be blessed with the kind of love about which stories are written. But with this caveat: "Not until you're ready." Enter Jake Kingston. Internationally acclaimed surgeon with a 100-acre ranch in the wine country, two Ferraris in his several garages, and enough love-life failures to make them as compatible as a Brazilian wax and a can of whip cream.
Read Less
