Friday, December 16, 2016

Friday's Film Adaptions: A Garden of Cucumber by Poyntz Tyler

William Montague Buckmaster is the head of Miss Victoria Custis Woodhull's household staff. She was bequeathed the home in 1914 by her father, S. Taylor Thorndyke Woodhull, but is completely broke. Buckmaster began robbing people to support the household during the Great Depression, and the entire household is involved in shoplifting, with Miss Woodhull notoriously unaware as she works on a dictionary for bad spellers called Inquire Within. To this end, she hires a secretary, who is also a bad speller, Phyllis Langdon, who isn't even sure how to spell her first name.

Claude Renfrew Fitzwilliam, head butler for Mrs. Van Wyck, has fallen in love with Juliet Blake Armistead, a maid in the Woodhull household, and, Mrs. Van Wyck being in a similar situation to Mrs. Woodhull, is about to take a $2.13 an factory job in Flushing in order to marry her. Miss Woodhull and and Mr. Buckmaster have been the closest things she has had to family since her parents died, and Mr. Buckmaster offers Mr. Fitzwilliam a position on the household staff. Mr. Fitzwilliam, being a former Boy Scout, is quite morally minded, and needs to be convinced that what he is doing is not so bad, and the fact that Mr. Buckmaster gives away illegally appropriated Bibles to the bereaved certainly helps.

C. Chatsworth Garland, B.A., B.D. is the head of the Platypus Patrol of the Boy Scouts of America, and as a member of the Woodhull staff, their antics must be consistently kept hidden away from the boys, or presented in a way such they do not appear to be crime and theft.

Jean Jacques Pierre de Beauchamp is the household chef. He is an anarchist who placed a bomb in the food of the First Minister of the Third Republic, but anisette sauce leaked into the bomb and caused it to fail. Now he wants to get caught in a relatively minor crime in the United States so he can't get extradited back to France and spend the rest of his life in prison.

These are only the key members of the staff of Miss Victoria Custis Woodhull 's mansion at 964 5th Avenue in New York City.

When an aging philanthropist goes broke, her butler robs from the rich so she can give to the poor.
Release Date: December 20, 1967
Release Time: 102 minutes

Dick Van Dyke - Claude Fitzwilliam
Barbara Feldon - Juliet Nowell
John McGiver - Albert
Edith Evans - Miss Victoria Woodworth
Harry Townes - Mr. Nowell
John Fiedler - Mr. Morton Dunne
Anne Seymour - Grimsby
Norman Fell - Oberblatz
Cecil Kellaway - Buckmaster
Stephen Strimpell - Byron Casey
Helen Kleeb - Mrs. Mortimer
Paul Reed - Prettikin
Albert Carrier - Pierre
Nelson Olmsted - Simmons
Dennis Cooney - Assistant D.A. Elliot Adams
Noam Pitlik - Charles
Anthony Eustrel - Garland
Sam Waterston - Oliver
Billy Halop – Restaurant Owner (uncredited)

Author Bio:
Poyntz Tyler was educated at the Agassiz School in Fargo, North Dakota, where his father was the Episcopal bishop, the Episcopal High School in Alexandria, Virginia, and the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. He was on the debate team in high school. He worked for various magazines and newspapers, as well as for Westinghouse, United Cerebral Palsy, and the U.S. Army. He lived on East 57th Street in New York City in 1960 and claimed to be an honorary Sioux. His 1960 novel, A Garden of Cucumbers was the basis for Delbert Mann's 1967 film Fitzwilly, starring Dick Van Dyke. The novel was republished as Fitzwilly Strikes Back as a tie-in with the film.



Journey to Dawn: Step One, Breathe by Reily Garrett

Title: Journey to Dawn: Step One, Breathe
Author: Reily Garrett
Genre: Ménage Romance, M/F/M
Release Date: December 10, 2016
For those who have teetered on the brink of oblivion…

One out of six, Abrielle never thought herself a statistic until her idyllic life shattered one night in a dark and frozen alley. Assaulted and discarded to the street’s detritus, she fled the city in an attempt to outrun the horror and pain of humiliation. Her new existence consisted of fear, anger, and shame.

Through endless nightmares and cringing from every shadow, life continued to deliver difficult and exhausting lessons. The recovery process is not a linear transition, but fraught with triggers and mental minefields she must navigate to restore a semblance of normal life.

After two years of painstaking progress, Abrielle returns with her therapy dog to face the two men who’d loved her, praying they can all find closure and move forward with their lives.

This story revolves around one woman’s ascent from the hellish nightmare of sexual assault.

“Hello, Abby,” Morgan murmured, his greeting issued from lips that seemed a little firmer, the lines surrounding his mouth a little deeper, yet his eyes penetrated everything in their path, dissecting, evaluating. Some things never changed.

The tone said it all, declared what her mind couldn’t comprehend. That deep voice could seduce anything between heaven and hell, destroying months of mental preparation to remain neutral. The intonation released anxiety’s hold around her libido one syllable at a time until undeniable warmth invaded every cell in her body. The conflicting emotions equaled sitting at the devil’s side as flames licked up one’s nether regions, all while he fed small slivers of dry ice, which summed up her physical responses, burning both inside and out.

Nothing could stop her gaze from bonding to the dark eyes that haunted her sleep, the scattered, unconscious fantasies where she reveled in Morgan’s caresses even as her other partner drove her lust to uncontrollable heights.

All those pipe dreams had vanished one night in a cold, filthy alley.

“Hi, Morgan. You look…good.” If anything in the world could resuscitate her battered soul, Morgan was one of two that stood the best odds. But that opportunity had sailed long ago. She used to describe his looks as dark and dangerous—black hair, blue eyes, a stubborn jaw that reinforced the strong angles of his face. Then she’d learned new, horrific, and painful meanings of the terms.

Stepping up beside him, the other half of her lost life offered a sincere, heart-melting smile. “Hello, sweetheart.” Like Morgan, Finn didn’t make a move to enter her domain—as if aware of the changes she’d endured. Sandy blond hair accentuated dark, emerald eyes that turned stormy when heated with desire. Now, they held emotions she couldn’t disentangle, something unfathomable fringed with accusation that sliced through air thickened with anticipation. If they raked her over the coals, it was nothing less than she deserved.

Both stood over six-foot-two, able to cocoon her with a sense of security with their mere presence. Searching their gazes, her men, the ones she’d known and loved, were still there, but now tempered with a steadfastness that declared her determination inconsequential.

Security, that most coveted prize she’d thrown away in her misguided attempt to outrun terror and shame. However, she was no longer a submissive, anyone’s submissive, and she had the scars to prove it.

As much as Morgan’s self-confidence screamed dominance, she didn’t fear him. Like Finn, he echoed a time when she had taken their presence for granted. “Hello, Finn.” Jellied legs wouldn’t sustain her weight, despite how slim and toned she’d become through exercise and an inability to properly eat. She remained seated and indicated the chairs opposite her desk.

“Thank you.” In tandem, both men strode in and sat with even more self-assurance than she remembered.

“Before you say anything, I want to apologize…”

“For running away when you needed our help? Or for breaking our hearts?” Finn was the first to list her sins.

And this is supposed to be the easy part of recovery. “Actually—both. I know I should’ve done more than leave a note. But, well, I couldn’t. I was scared and confused and hurt.”

“Scared we couldn’t keep you safe?” A thread of Finn’s anger bled through his disbelief.

“We didn’t keep her safe, we failed. That’s why she ran.” Morgan closed his eyes as pain washed over his expression. Two fingers covered his mouth as if trying to suppress an old argument and emotions bubbling under the surface of his restraint.

“Look. First, it wasn’t your responsibility to protect me. I failed. My arrogance and stupidity landed me in that position. I’m sorry I ran, but nothing I can do will change the past. I needed time to heal.”

“If you were healed, you’d be in vet school. It was your dream.” Morgan accepted Crystal’s sniffing welcome before reaching under her head to stroke her chest. “She smells Lexus.”

“Who’s Lexus?” Their new submissive? Abby’s wary glance flicked from Morgan to Finn. An all-encompassing dread filled her stomach. Knowing some great upheaval approached at the speed of a freight train didn’t help one prepare for the devastation. She’d known this was coming.

“Lexus is our Bernese Mountain dog,” Morgan replied, his sad smile confirming an understanding of her thought’s direction.

“Things change, Abby. We get that. We’ve changed, too. Come to dinner with us and talk. You used to love the little restaurant down the highway before Saunter’s Cove. It’s quiet, and we can watch the late surfers while we eat.” Morgan’s tone threaded concern with the subtle command.

“Um, Crystal—not all businesses welcome service dogs...” She didn’t remember seeing canines by the cozy tables under the brightly colored awnings.

“She’s welcome to join us. They won’t have a problem getting along. Lexus is well socialized. The owner at Lucca’s Café loves dogs.” Morgan squashed her refusal before she’d given it voice. “You owe us that much, Abby.” Morgan’s innate strength flooded the room to surround her in swathing comfort.

Unlike Cami, Abrielle’s scar wasn’t visible unless she wore deep V-neck shirts or unbuttoned her collar, both remnants of a past life. Still, self-consciousness forced her to fiddle with the necklace around her throat, disguising her need to ensure adequate coverage.

As if understanding her impending refusal, Finn stood and ambled around her desk while maintaining eye contact. That same intensity used to scrutinize her every breath during a scene, watching her for signs of increased stress. “I know you’re not afraid of us, sweetheart. We just want to take you to dinner. No strings attached. We need to see for ourselves that you’re all right.”

“You’re going to want…” With two dominants in the room, one standing almost behind her, Abrielle’s words faltered. She merely nodded permission before Finn’s knuckles barely skimmed her shoulders in the lightest of touches, as if he could absorb her shame into his strength, so she couldn’t breathe it deep into her lungs with every inhalation.

A quiet gasp at the contact before heat, so much wonderful heat, invaded to the very depth of her spirit. She sighed as her lack of control saw her head tilting into his touch.

“We want nothing but to take you to dinner. We’ll keep it casual. We need to see that you’re in one piece and on a healing path.” Morgan’s grin widened with her obviously weakening reserves.

She hadn’t relaxed her guard in the presence of a man for two years. Now, she could barely focus as Finn’s strong fingers probed the tight muscles of her shoulders and neck, reminding her how often he’d done so after a scene. Though time never dissolved the horrific memories completely, it could dim and keep them from throwing her world off-kilter.

“If you tell me to stop, I will, but I know you’re enjoying this. Nothing is going to be the same as it was, but it doesn’t mean life can’t be good again, sweetheart,” Finn whispered close to her ear as if to avoid breaking the mesmerizing spell he weaved through his resistance-melting massage, one stroke at a time.

Author Bio:
Reily’s employment as an ICU nurse, private investigator, and work in the military police has given her countless experiences in a host of different environments to add a real world feel to her fiction.

Though her kids are her life, writing is Reily’s life after. The one enjoyed…after the kids are in bed or after they’re in school and the house is quiet. This is the time she kicks back with laptop and lapdog to give her imagination free rein.

In life, hobbies can come and go according to our physical abilities, but you can always enjoy a good book. Life isn’t perfect, but our imaginations can be. Relax, whether it’s in front of a fire or in your own personal dungeon. Take pleasure in a mental pause as you root for your favorite hero/heroine and bask in their accomplishments, then share your opinions of them over a coffee with your best friend (even if he’s four legged). Life is short. Cherish your time.



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Little Love on the Prairie by EM Denning

Title: Little Love on the Prairie
Author: EM Denning
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
Release Date: December 11, 2016
Selene Hawes is no stranger to running away. She ran away from Black Creek four years ago, and now she runs back to it.

Clint Porter spent four years trying to forget her. When she shows up out of the blue, it feels too good to be true.

Secrets, revelations, and unexpected danger can make or break their relationship. Can he believe she's back to stay? Can she trust him with her heart?

Can life on the prairie heal all open wounds and make true love blossom?

Chapter One

The prairie grass was an endless shimmering sea. I was usually not so conscious of the sun, but today it was a scalpel in my brain, and sunglasses only softened the pain a little. Thankfully, darkness wasn’t far off. I whizzed past a dozen more sun-faded billboards advertising hotels and restaurants at the next town. I wasn’t staying in the next town, though. I was going home. I’d crammed everything I could into my Honda Civic, emptied my bank account, quit my job and left no forwarding address.

Exhausted, I stopped at Tim Horton's for an extra-large double-double so I could keep my eyes open. I’d been up for eighteen hours, and had at least another four or five to go before I was home. I spent the drive cursing the monotonous ocean of boring prairie grass and swearing at my stupid self. No more guys. No, I couldn’t swear off the whole gender. I was almost positive there was still at least one nice guy left out there. Almost.

No more assholes. No more control freaks. I made a mental list of all the things I wanted to avoid in the future. No more love. Love was stupid. Love was a trap. It grabbed you by the heart, then when you weren’t looking, it punched you in the face. I glanced at myself in the mirror and frowned. My sunglasses only covered some of the brilliant purple that surrounded my eye. I looked back at the road. Two more hours until I’d be home.

My mental list continued. Relationships were bad news. I should try to stay single for a while. I’d decided that when Jay had punched me in the face. I needed some time to myself. Some time to find myself, figure out who I was and all that other cliché shit. Basically, I needed time to drink myself into oblivion, cry myself stupid and eat my weight in chocolate as I examined all the shitty choices that led me to this point in my life.

The destruction of my life was so swift and complete I half expected Jay to call my cellphone any minute. Except I’d thrown my phone out the window four hundred miles ago. I’d watched it hit the pavement, then explode into a million pieces. I could hear Jay in the back of my mind, yelling at me, screaming at me. The vein on the side of his head bulged whenever he yelled.

You can’t run away from your problems, Selene.

I touched the tender skin on my face. “I’m not running away from my problems, Jay. I’m getting rid of them.” I removed my sunglasses and dropped them onto the passenger seat. The sun was gone, and the last shimmers of daylight vanished with it.

An hour later, I rolled into Black Creek, population just over three thousand. My final destination was a farm a half an hour past the other side of town. I pulled into the gas station and thanked my lucky stars it was a self-serve. I slid my sunglasses back on and got out to pump my gas.

Forty dollars later, I jumped back in and turned the key. Nothing.

Panic. I turned the key again. Still nothing. I suddenly hated that I’d tossed my cellphone out of my car and smashed it on the highway. I’d have to brave going inside to call for help. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and hoped my long, red locks would draw attention from the bruise I tried to hide.

If the kid at the counter noticed it, he was nice enough not to say anything. He handed me a cordless phone, then checked out my tits. Fucking horny teenagers.

“Do you have a phone book?”

If I was a better person, I wouldn’t need to look up the number. I’d remember it because I’d have called to say I was coming, which would have meant calling at all. I hadn’t in the four years I’d been gone.

The kid passed me the phone book, and I found the number fast enough. I’d swallowed my pride when I’d resolved to leave Jay and come back here. Three rings later, he answered. His voice hadn’t changed. He didn’t sound any older. I found myself wondering if he’d aged at all since I saw him last.

“Hello?” he repeated.


Robert wasn’t my dad. My real one had died when I was two. Robert was the guy my mom married when I was fifteen. She’d died when I was nineteen. I’d left shortly after.


“Yeah, it’s me.”

I heard him breathe out as if he’d been holding his breath for four years and was just exhaling now. “How are you, kid? It’s good to hear from you.”

I hesitated, took a deep breath and screwed up the courage to speak. “I need a favor.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Can you come get me? My car died. I’m at the Esso on Baker.”

“You’re in Black Creek? Jesus, Selene, what are you doing all the way out here?”

I didn’t want to explain on the phone in a service station with a horny teenager staring at my tits. “Can you pick me up? I’ll explain it all when I get home?”

I bit my lip to keep my emotions in check. There was a silence, not a long one, but long enough to make me worry that I’d made more huge mistakes.

“I’ll have a tow truck to you soon.”

“Thanks, Robert.”

“I’ll have the coffee on when you get here.”

“Can you make it strong?”

“How strong?”

“Can you turn it into whiskey?”

“That bad?”

I heard the concern in his voice. I’d have a lot of explaining to do later.

“That bad. See you in a bit.”

I handed the phone back to the kid, who just now noticed my black eye.

“Holy shit, lady. Somebody hit you?”

I scoffed. “No. I walked into a door.” I sneered and walked out.

Author Bio:
E. M. Denning is a writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and her animals and anything cute and fuzzy. She was born a hopeless romantic and when she’s not writing romance, she’s probably reading it. She loves love.


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