So, About Sierra...
A lot of you write to
ask about the next Sierra novel. I mean, where is it? What happens
with Moose? And that hunky detective, John? Most important...what
happened to Sierra Lavotini, amateur sleuth and top-notch exotic dancer?
Well,
the truth is, St. Martins, the publisher, didn't choose to continue the
series. They hold the rights to the Strip series, which I think
means-Until the series goes out of print, we're stuck. I can't write
more Sierra stories. At least, I think that's the case.
Hmmm...I
wonder if that means I couldn't even write an on-line novel-ette?
Because you see, I know what happens with Moose and Sierra...
Book Number Five- if it ever happens- will be called "Landing Strip."
It would start like this...
Chapter 1
The idea for my personal best routine of all time came to me just after
I found out we were all about to die. Isn’t that just the way it always
goes? You think you got life by the proverbial tail only to have it
spin around and bite you in the ass. Welcome to my world.
My
name is Sierra Lavotini and I am an exotic dancer and the headliner at
the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club, in Panama City, Florida, the capital of
the Redneck Riviera. Actually, that’s only part of the truth. In
reality, as of one month ago, I am now also the owner of the Tiffany
Gentleman’s Club. I am the first female I know of to actually own and
manage a strip club, a responsibility I do not take lightly. It is the
reason I was willing to risk my life by taking some of my best girls on
a charter flight to Las Vegas.
We were heading out to attend
the annual Adult Entertainment Convention, held every year over the
Labor Day weekend. I figured the girls might oughta see their
competition on a more global level so they could more fully comprehend
my intentions for the Tiffany. You see, the Tiffany is not your average
strip club. No. We have standards- solid gold, world-class type
standards.
You don’t see no bimbo working a pole in the Tiffany
Gentleman’s Club. What you get in my club is a quality act,
choreographed and specifically designed to harden your dick and loosen
your purse strings. That’s why I was leaning back in my seat, eyes
closed, envisioning my new number when “Big Moose” Lavotini interrupted
my nirvana by re-inserting himself into my life.
I was
channeling my inner-child and trying to stave off the terror I feel
every time I strap myself into a twelve-ton steel bullet with wings and
try to believe God really intended for humans to hurtle themselves up
above the clouds and into Her personal space.
I was miles away
from reality, mainly naked, holding a see-through umbrella and dancing
across the stage of the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club in an
artificially-created, but still effective, pouring rain. The only thing
standing between me and my customers was a little rubber ducky and a
smile.
I was dancing to “Singing in the Rain.”
As far as dancing goes, Gene Kelly never had it so good- but then, he didn’t have the tits that made Panama City famous.
I was just working out the grand finale, a little spin and a toss of
the duckie, when I heard his voice. It’s not something you forget, not
even after three months of silence.
“Good morning, ladies,” he
said. The microphone took the depth out of his voice, but not the sexy
timbre, not the “I-know-all-about-you” tone that mocked and teased,
flipping my stomach over and into a little tailspin that signaled
trouble.
My eyes flew open, locking onto the illuminated
“fasten seatbelt” sign and zeroing onto the closed cockpit door. Just
as soon as that sign went out and I could untangle my Rosary beads from
the death grip they had on my fingers, I was going to kick some serious
pilot ass.
Of course, that’s probably why God picked that one
moment in time to try and kill me. It was karma, pure and simple. Live
by the wicked thought; die by the airplane that had no business flying
into God’s turf in the first place.
God, I miss her!!!
Thanks for listening,
Nancy
Apparently quite a few of you miss my girl, Sierra. Thank you so much for all your kind comments and emails!