Welcome to Charity Sunday for March. Today, to honor Women’s History Month, I am supporting the League of Women Voters, a non-partisan education and advocacy organization which has its roots in the U.S. women’s suffrage movement, more than a century ago.
You would think that after a hundred years, our right to vote in the U.S. would be secure. Unfortunately, nothing is further from the truth. The SAVE Act, currently being deliberated in Congress, will if it passes effectively strip large numbers of people of the right to vote in November’s critical mid-term elections. The proposed law would require levels of proof regarding citizenship and voter eligibility that will be difficult or impossible for many individuals to satisfy. Furthermore, the law will disproportionately affect women, since they often change their names due to marriage, invalidating their birth certificates and even their passports as proof of identity.
LWV is one of the organizations mobilizing opposition to this undemocratic and restrictive proposal. I’ve already sent messages to my senators; LWV will encourage others to do the same.
For each comment I receive on this post between now and the next Charity Sunday, I will donate two dollars to LWV.
For my excerpt, I’m sharing a bit from my MFM romance Wild About That Thing. Ruby Jones, an unhappily divorced single mother, is trying to make a success of her fledgling New York blues club. But the world keeps putting up obstacles.
She’d probably be one of the folks who’d be disenfranchised by the SAVE Act.
Excerpt
The crowd erupted into claps and whistles as the Travellers finished their number. “Thank you kindly, ladies and gentlemen.” A decade in New York hadn’t erased the softness of the South from Zeke’s speech. “Welcome to our first open mic night here at the Crossroads. Hope you brought your axe, your sax or your harp—if you didn’t, well, hell, you can borrow ours! Everybody gets the blues sometimes. This is the place to let it all out!”
Fresh applause greeted Zeke’s invitation. He stood up there on the platform—his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans jacket, his axe hanging around his neck—and grinned like the country boy he used to be. At six-foot-one, with the solid build of a halfback, Zeke was an imposing figure. He’d broken up more than one drunken brawl for her over the past two years and he had a temper that could be scary. To Ruby and Isaiah, though, he’d been nothing but kind. Whatever success the Crossroads could claim was largely due to him.
“To kick things off tonight, I want to invite a very special lady to join us here on stage. She’s been through some hard times, friends, and she knows the blues. It’s in her blood, passed on from her daddy, Jimmy ‘The Harp’ Jones. When she sings, she spills her soul. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Ruby Jones, the lovely owner of the Crossroads Blues Bar!”
Applause filled the club. Zeke’s invitation hadn’t been a surprise. They’d discussed having her warm up the crowd, and of course, she’d been performing since she was a kid. Nevertheless, his effusive introduction made her feel self-conscious. Ruby wished she’d worn something a bit more glamorous than her usual jeans and tailored shirt.
She picked her way between the tables, headed for the stage. Zeke held out a big hand. When she grasped it, he swung her onto the platform, and quite neatly, into his arms. The crowd roared.
Zeke brushed his lips across hers. His distinctive scent engulfed her—clean sweat, Jim Beam and Ivory Soap. It was like turning on a movie—she instantly remembered the last time he’d been inside her. His blond stubble grazed her cheek. She saw him in her mind’s eye—body suspended above hers on powerful arms as he buried his cock in her pussy, fucking her with a smooth, steady rhythm while he scanned her face, focused on her pleasure. She felt again the way he stretched and filled her. The seam of her jeans teased her suddenly swollen clit. She wondered if Zeke could smell her growing dampness. Hell, what about the rest of the band?
“Stop it,” she whispered, pushing against his rock-hard chest.
Zeke released her with obvious reluctance. “I love her,” he told the audience, eliciting a chorus of hoots and whistles. Aching, hungry and guilt-ridden, Ruby knew he meant every word.
She smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse, noting in passing the tautness of her nipples, and took a deep breath. “Good evening,” she said into the microphone. As always, the amplified sound of her low alto startled her with its depth and richness. “I’m so glad to see you all. I hope you have a great time—that’s why I’m here, to make that happen if I can. Like Zeke says, the blues is in my blood. I can’t get away from it. I just gotta give in and let it out.”
She turned to nod at Zeke and the other musicians. They picked up the intro to Bessie Smith’s famous lament.
“Once I lived the life of a millionaire,
Spending my money, I didn’t care.
I carried my friends out for a good time,
Buyin’ them bootleg liquor, champagne and wine…”
The audience was as silent as a few dozen folks crammed into a low-ceilinged bar could be. Ruby dug deep and let the pain flow out into her song.
“Nobody knows you when you down and out
In my pocket not one penny
And my friends I haven’t any…”
Zeke and Jojo gave her solid backing, keeping it simple and strong to avoid drawing attention away from her vocals. She didn’t need to think—she’d learned this song at ten years old. She could sing it in her sleep.
If this sounds like something you’d like to read, you can purchase it as a stand-alone title, or read it as part of my ménage-themed boxed set Triad, free on Kindle Unlimited.
Please, be sure to leave a comment! Every one supports free and open democracy.
