As if my life weren't busy enough, I decided to give my mystery series a boost by producing short fiction podcasts. It's getting there - it's definitely getting there! Still learning how to use the audio editing software and am realizing how hard it is to soften those b's and p's when I'm talking. I'll have to get a little bitty pop screen for my microphone headset and then take up a collection (strategically timed around Christmas!) for a proper microphone and all that.

Dang, it's fun, though! Those two troublemakers, Maggie and Della, now have their own podcast, facebook page and blog. Will they stop at nothing?

http://maggieanddella.podbean.com/

And on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Maggie-and-Della-Mysteries/133475391787?ref=search

Ridiculously long site address, isn't it?

Bunch of over-zealous baby boomers, if you ask me. There's no stopping them now. Sigh...

I'm proud of this, and am putting it out on the airwaves, wherever it will go. It's a video I produced to accompany the Maggie and Della mysteries. I'm still puttering around on the second book, but hope to make more progress on it a) once my consulting website is done and b) after a local writing group starts up again.

I dunno...this life stuff gets complicated.

Well, thank you for the comments. Yes, this will be a very intense story. I'm fortunate in that I've never been the recipient of such abusive treatment, but I know women who have - or have read about them. The trick will be balancing the many different twists the story will take. There will be several plot lines all, hopefully, running in sync with each other.

I'll put up one more chapter now, to give you an idea of the initial flow. It'll also introduce a few of the main recurring characters in the Maggie-Della series. I'd love your comments, as usual!

Oh...for more info: www.maggie-della.com

The website is a bit of an experiment. Part of it is commercial of course - to sell the first novel in the series - but other parts are a bit more whimsical. I'm trying to give Maggie and Della "voices" and identities of their own, via characterizations and blogs.

Anyway, here's chapter 1:

The Ties That Bind
by Margaret Daniels

Please note: This book is COPYRIGHT 2008 by MDM Publications!

Chapter 1: Mt. Auburn Hospital, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Alice DesChamps sat and waited. She curled a two-year old Time Magazine in her hand and stretched against the hard plastic chairs of the Emergency Room. It was late and she was tired. They'd brought the woman in hours ago, in a condition that required immediate and intensive care. So much for dinner tonight with Maggie and Alex. It would have to wait - everything would have to wait. She stood up and walked around the spartan room: a dozen chairs with low tables interspersed and a television playing a bit too loudly in one corner. And magazines, like the one in her hand, at least two years old. She smiled, sat down again and tried not to fall asleep.

A door opened from the hallway and a slender, white-haired man emerged into the waiting room. "Ms. DesChamps?" he asked to the room, turning his head and smiling when Alice stood to greet him. He was dressed in green scrubs and walked over to her with swift, sure steps. "You're Alice DesChamps?" he asked.

"Yes," Alice replied. "And you're...?"

He smiled and extended a hand. "Ed Sheppard," he said. "I'm the attending for your case...uh..." He checked a clipboard. "Allison Lavery. You're the custodian in charge?"

"Yes." She handed him a card. "Is there some place we can go and talk?"

He slipped the card into his pocket and gestured back towards the hallway. "Sure," he said. "Follow me. I need to finish up her paperwork anyway,." They started down the hall.

"Is she alright?" Alice asked as they walked.

Dr. Sheppard hesitated. "Well," he started and then stopped when they reached a small office. He escorted Alice into it, then quietly closed the door. "It's not pretty." He pressed a key on the computer and the monitor opened onto a series of windows. He began to type as he continued. "She's gone up to surgery, that's what took so long. She'll recover, but she won't be comfortable for a while. Can you make arrangements for care beyond this visit?"

Alice nodded. "Yes," she said. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts' Department of Social Services was an unforgiving bureaucracy, but she'd been in it long enough to know how to manage it. "I'll make the arrangements."

"Good." He turned his back to her for a moment, excusing himself before he did so. He began to type from his notes. "She has a daughter?" he asked.

"Yes," Alice replied, rubbing at dark-circled eyes. "Did she talk to you?"

"Very briefly. Do you know where she is?"

"No." Alice shook her head. "We think he may have taken her with him after he finished with the wife."

Ed Sheppard stopped for a moment and swung around to face Alice. "Shit," he muttered. "How long ago?"

"They're still investigating. A while, though."

"I'm sorry." He meant it. He'd been an Emergency Room doctor long enough to know what that might mean. "Will you keep in touch, let me know if they find her?" Sheppard scribbled a cell phone number on the back of a note pad and handed it to Alice.

"When will she be out of surgery?" Alice asked. "I'd like to see her."

"I wouldn't try to talk to her for another 24 hours or so," he advised. "After that, I'm sure it'll be fine."

She imagined a face blackened and cracked with bruises, smashed teeth, broken bones and pain beyond reckoning. She knew this case, knew this woman. She wasn't surprised she'd taken him back, only appalled at the inevitable consequences. She rubbed her eyes again.

"You must be tired," Dr. Sheppard said, smiling softly. "There's not a whole lot more to do here. I'll have my report for your office and for the police in a few hours. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep. I have your card. I'll give you a call if anything changes."

She stood up, feeling raw and exhausted. "Thank you, Doctor," she said and left the office. Her cell phone beeped as she entered the waiting room. She flipped it to her ear. "Alice DesChamps," she said mechanically.

"Hi." It was Maggie. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything? I just wanted to check in, make sure you were okay." Alice had called frantically from her car en route to the hospital. Alex had answered the phone. "I understand," he had said immediately. "Don't worry about us. We'll give you a call later." This was the call later.

"Hey, girl." Alice smiled and shrugged into an overcoat as she talked. "Sorry to bug out on you like that."

"No problem. More lasagna for us."

"I'm on my way home. I'm ready to drop."

"I'm sure." Maggie knew better than to ask what had just happened. Alice couldn't tell her and Maggie didn't need to hear about these types of things anyway. "Can I treat you to breakfast tomorrow?"

"That would be lovely." After today, that certainly was true. "Bring Della?"

"Don't know about that." Maggie sounded uncertain and Alice wondered if there were something on her mind. "I'll ask her anyway. Can't say if she'll want to."

"Well, just us then. Ask her, though. I could use some humor at this point." Della was one of the funniest people Alice knew. She couldn't stay down around her.

"I'll give it a try," Maggie replied, after another slight hesitation.

"Everything okay with Della?" Alice finally asked.

"I think so," Maggie replied. "She may just need a break from the routine."

"She and me both," Alice said. "I'm heading home. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She signed off and reached into her purse for her keys. Faint streaks of light began to show in the sky. She looked up at the early dawn, then down at her car.

The world was fucked sometimes.

I'm slowly making progress on the second Maggie-Della mystery, The Ties That Bind. The theme centers on family violence and family relationships. I've been mulling over chapter 12, and have two possible versions of it.

I think I'm going to take a chance and post excerpts from the novel, or perhaps serialize it and let folks read along as I write. I'd like to know what you think about this developing story.

Anyway, here's the Prologue. Warning - there are some graphic descriptions of violence here. Don't read on if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable:

Family Ties
A Maggie-Della Mystery
by Margaret Daniels (that's my pen name)

Prologue:

Bitch.

His hand slammed into her face, snapping her head back. She crashed into the wall behind her but didn’t fall.

Slut.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her forward towards him. You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing behind my back?

I haven’t… She knew what was coming next.

Shut up. He grabbed her arm, pulled her behind him up the stairs and into the bedroom. Why do I have to keep doing this? He threw her onto the bed. Huh? You tell me why, bitch.

I’m not... That was no use. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.

He grabbed both her wrists and twisted them. This is my bed. This is my house. You do nothing here that I don’t tell you to do.

I’m sorry, I’m…

Take your clothes off. She hurried to comply.

Turn around on your stomach. He reached for a belt, strong leather with a gleaming buckle. He bought it just for her. This is what I do to sluts. He raised the belt, brought it down on her back again and again. He felt his erection, beat harder as he got harder. There were wide red welts on her back, below the neck line. He was careful about that.

He was ready. She was crying, not too loud or he’d give it to her worse.

Turn around. She turned and lay down on her battered back. She knew what was coming next. She spread her legs. Get it over with.

He pulled off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. His erection was pushing hard at his briefs. He took them off, carefully. He was ready to go. He mounted her, pushing in and out, breathing heavily. She lay quietly beneath him, each thrust digging into the welts on her back. He was ripping her. She had never learned how to lubricate on demand. Finally, he came. She felt it - an angry, invading army entering her womb. He lay on top of her, his full weight smothering her. He was breathing hard, exhausted.

He raised himself up slightly, rested his head between her breasts. Her hands came up slowly to stroke his sweating hair. Get off me. Get off me. Hurry up. He rubbed his face in her breasts, languidly, his breathing getting slower and slower. He pulled off of her and looked down with satisfaction at his blood-stained penis.

He stood up slowly. She rolled over onto her side, off her back. She start crying again, softly, this time to let him know who was the boss.

He got dressed. I’m hungry. Make me something.

Damn. I just heard that one of the Maggie-Della Mystery draft contributors suffered an ocular stroke and is now blind in one eye. That makes three of the writers/readers for the series blind in one way or another. Granted, the stories focus on blindness and its relationship to truth, although that's only one theme among many. Still, I wasn't expecting to hear from this person to say that she was now "visually impaired."

This person is an extremely dedicated, Southern-style, writer. She's skilled at her craft and I always enjoy reading her stories, even though my style is quite different from hers. She had some wonderful insights of her own to offer regarding my writing. I met her on a site for writers called EditRed. A lot of my stories are there, too.

This makes a second strike for the Maggie-Della clan this week. Another contributor lost a friend and co-worker to an unexpected heart attack. This person had just given birth to a baby and died shortly afterwards. This contributor works in a hospital (she's the inspiration for the character Kay Miller in the second novel, still being written). She'd worked with the recently deceased woman for 7 or 8 years there. She was devastated by it.

All I've had to deal with this week is a slight head cold. It kept me out of work today, although I was well enough to get some work done from home. So, not bad overall. But, then this happens to two other people in the same writing "community." Sometimes life rears up and kicks you on the head. Then, on other occasions it'll rear up and kick a friend's head. In both cases, it hurts.

Here's a question for all you writers: what's your technique when it comes to creating a character and making that character come to life in your readers' eyes? Are your characters based on real people? How do you create their personalities?

To get this query started off, here are some things I do:

1. Start with a real person. Incorporate their personalities into the fictionalized character.

2. Start living vicariously through them. I end up fantasizing about their adventures, or misadventures, shortly after I create them. The more I think about my characters and talk about them with others, the more real they become in my mind.

3. Get a photo. If it's a character based on a real person (like Della), then get a photo of them that best represents their alter ego's personality. If it's a totally made-up character, I browse photos after I've established a sense of identity. This technique helps me better imagine the character. Here are some examples of what I mean:

Meet a co-writer of mine, one of many. He's the blind fellow being walked by the dog and his name is Dan Huhn, originally from Texas and now living in Missouri. Take a look at how he walks, the swagger, the nonchalant cigarette at his lips. Then there are the tinted aviator glasses, necessary in his case since (like Rosie/Della), Dan has RP. This makes eyes painfully sensitive to light. Look at the way he holds the dog's harness, with fingers partially wrapped around. He's a confident man, firmly in the middle, with a wife behind him and a dog ahead of him. He's part of a community and he makes community where he goes. He's easy-going, yet there's an intensity to him that draws you in.

His counterpart will be Dan Sexton, the blind head of computer systems at Boston City Hall in the Maggie-Della mysteries. He's a high ranking official who likes to set his own pace. He's quick witted and confident and has adjusted to his disabilities in ways that Della has yet to. Dan will have a lot to teach Della.

See what I mean? This dude's ALIVE. And don't you just love that dog? Maggie immediately wants to pet him.

4. Incorporate a little bit of myself into each character. In some way or another, even with co-writers, all of the characters are extensions of me. I can externalize my fears, my hopes, my deals, my anger. They all become people and I can let myself go through them, at the same time maintaining the "neutral narrator" persona of Maggie.

So, what do you all do??? Let me know!

Of course, you all know I'm a writer and I certainly hope you've had the chance to check out some of my stories, particularly the ones I've worked on with Rosie. The most enduring of these little series, of course, are the Maggie-Della mysteries and I'm hard at work on the second novel.

I got a wonderful call from my sister-in-law, who ordered a copy of Family Secrets (the first novel) for herself and finally sat down to read it during our recent snow storm. She called to let me know how much she liked it and, in particular, how taken she was by Della. My sis-in-law is also disabled, due to earlier brain surgery that left her weak on one side of her body. She and I spent a long time talking about the relationship of Maggie to Della, and how well the first book was able to explain Della's world, in all its happy and sad moments, to sighted readers. She was really fascinated by it, and could very strongly relate to a lot of Della's frustrations, since so many of them were also her own.

At the same time my husband and I had begun our holiday shopping in Arlington, choosing to patronize local business here rather than send our money on its way out of state, or even out of country. We ended up in a charming little gift shop a stone's throw from my house and dropped a few bills there on Hanukkah and Christmas presents. The owner, also a fellow Arlington Chamber of Commerce member as am I - thanked me for my business and chatted a bit. Later I put in an email to the the Chamber, talking about my decision to patronize local business this year for a lot of our holiday shopping. My little scribe ended up in the Chamber newsletter, with my friend's business featured in bold-face, along with other places Aram and I had visited. A few days later I was checking my business email when in popped a thank you from the gift store business owner. I was really touched by it. It felt really sincere and personal.

So, where is this all leading? Well, I don't normally write Christmas stories but I had some time to kill on Sunday as it howled outside of my door. Somehow, my conversations with my sister-in-law and the small business owner in Arlington converged and I ended up spending the day writing a story and incorporating Della. I keep fictional blogs on the Maggie-Della website, so I put it up there for visitors to read. But, somehow, the themes that came out in the story seemed appropriate for this blog as well. What do we take for granted when it comes to our senses, what do we cherish, and why?

I really enjoyed writing this story and I hope you have as much fun reading it:

http://maggie-della.com/maggiesblog/

By the way, the blog and the site in general are as accessible as I can make them. You can hear the story, as well as read it.

Let me know what you think!

I've been out of the loop on Vox, but at least have been keeping up with the other blogs. Among other things, I've been working temporary full-time as a tech contractor and that's taken up a lot of time and energy. I've also published my first book (!) on LuLu.com, Family Secrets:

http://www.maggie-della.com

This is my first shot at a full length, serious treatment of the Maggie and Della characters. There's an excerpt and other links, along with two regularly-updated blogs, one by Maggie and one by Della.

Actually, I'm working on another short story now. In mid-November I ended up flying down to Baltimore to help my friend Rosie get a functioning computer. We went to Micro-Center (there's also one in the Boston area) and they actually built one for her. Rosie was ready to kill me for coming down to Baltimore like that, but it was something I felt I had to do. My husband was 100% behind me all the way. Got to love that guy!

Anyway, I fictionalized it and hope to have it up here soon!

Happy holidays, too.

There is a real-life Della. Her name is Rose Milholland and she lives in Baltimore. We chat by webcam all the time - fortunately she has enough sight remaining to see me on camera. Otherwise, she's blind from retinitis pigmentosa, the same disability suffered by Della.

Rosie's a total whack job and a great lady. She's probably the funniest person I know. Overall, she's a great model for Della. Della Isabella, by the way, is the name she gave to her computer (a Dell computer).

And Maggie? Well, c'est moi!

So now you've met us both! 

Here's another Maggie-Della story, part of which is based on an actual occurrence (not the surgery!). Della's real life counterpart was recently selected to be one of six people who would receive stem cell implants as part of a study to see if these cells could regenerate damaged retinal tissue. I was extremely happy to hear this and suddenly the story below popped into my head.

After she read it, Della's real life counterpart just rolled her eyes and wondered how safe it was for her to tell me anything anymore!

It was a miracle. Years and years of painstaking research and work: clinical trials, playing politics and appeasing multiple constituencies. Then, finally, a breakthrough. They were ready to begin the testing phase, but only a select few were chosen for this important, groundbreaking work. Six people would be chosen for stem cell research studies, only six out of a blind population of millions. And, the miracle part, I knew one of the lucky few: my friend Della.

They were just in time as far as I was concerned. In her early 60s by now, Della had been totally blind for about a year and was really getting crabby. Alex and I had long since removed any breakables from her immediate vicinity, particularly after I spent one afternoon in the Emergency Room being sutured. Della apologized, of course, but my flowers never quite recovered from their unplanned trip across the room. No, by the time they were ready for the study to begin I would have driven 2,000 miles in the back of a pickup truck to get her to the hospital. Fortunately, Boston was a medical hub and a short subway ride was the only transportation necessary.

The surgery went smoothly and Della was up and about in no time. They removed her bandages about a week later and we all waited for the magic to unfold. At first, nothing. Then, slowly, Della began to notice a tightness in her eyes, followed by small visual disturbances. Good: we were making progress. Della was hopeful, almost happy. As time went by her field of vision began to expand. She wiggled her fingers beneath her eyes and could see them. She laughed and then she cried. We all cried together, patted Della on the back and raised countess toasts in her honor. I never had so many hangovers in my life, We even poured little shot glasses of Diet Coke for Della. She burped up a storm.

”Well,” her eye doctor said to me one day as we made casual conversation. “Our Della is doing quite well. I’ll bet she must enjoy seeing her reflection in the mirror after all these years!” He was an old-fashioned guy. Of course the first thing a woman would want to see was her reflection in the mirror. Forget the finger wiggling: that was kid stuff. I mentioned that I didn’t think Della had any full length mirrors and wasn’t sure she’d thought to look in them. Perhaps she didn’t want to. After all, who wants to see themselves 10 or more years older? “Nonsense!” The doctor announced and called Della into his office. He wanted to be the first to see the look on Della’s face as she beheld her own image once again. I wasn’t so sure of this strategy, what with no emotional preparation on Della’s part. But, the doctor would have no truck with that and happily marched Della to his full length mirror and then told her to open her eyes in front of it.

Della raised her eye lids slowly and looked. Her mouth dropped open and she just said, “wow!” She looked at her face and rubbed her hand over her hair. She looked at her eyes, sparkling and bright and started to smile. “Wow!” she said again.

Then she looked down.

I think that doctor may still regret his decision. Maybe that’s why he left the country so shortly afterwards, but we’ll never know for sure. In any event, we’re not saying. Della’s gaze went down to her chest and the next thing we heard was her screeching “Oh my God! Oh my God! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Alex and I were on the other side of the office and the doctor had just sat at his desk. In a split second we converged on Della, thinking that something had gone horribly wrong. Had she suddenly gone blind again? Had something else frightened her? Was she alright? “Della!” We cried out in unison. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Della’s answer to this was another ear-piercing “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! Noooooooooooo!” She stood at the mirror with a look of horror on her face.

I was the first to reach her and I grabbed her arm as she nearly dropped to the floor. She was groaning and clutching her chest in agony. Heart attack? “Della, Della!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

”Oh God!” she shuddered. “Can’t you see it?”

”See what, sweetheart? See what?”

Then Della told us what was wrong. “My BOOBS!” she screamed.

Huh? I looked over at her in total bafflement. “What? Your what?”

”What happened to them?” she wailed, then started to cry. “And I’m FAT!”

Of course. It finally hit me. Della hadn’t seen herself in years. Not in the mirror and not in any other way, either. She wasn’t 20, or even 40 anymore. She was 62. Our bodies change and the poor woman had been given no chance to prepare herself. “Della, Della,” I tried to calm her down. “Sweetie, it’s okay. You’re not fat! You’re just not 30 years old any more. You’re fine, you’re fine! And your boobs...uh...” That might be a bit more difficult. That woman had a pair on her.

”Oh my God!” she said again. “What the hell happened? How the hell did I get these things? And why are they way down there?” She pointed to her stomach.

I glared at the doctor, now staring sheepishly at the floor and turning various hues of red. “Oh Della, don’t worry about that. It just...happens to some people. You know, breasts sag a bit as we get older.”

”Sag?” Della screeched into my ear. “Sag? For Christ’s sake I look like someone grafted a pair of dachshunds to my chest! When did this happen, Maggie?”

I’d never known Della to be any smaller, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that. She could see well enough to aim and I was the closest person at hand. I avoided the question and patted her arm. “Now, Della. It’ll be fine, really!” I really hoped the novelty of seeing her reflection would shortly overcome the shock. I took another look at Della’s face - mouth hanging open in surprise - and rather doubted it. “I mean, you can get them reduced if you want.”

“Hmmmmm.” Della looked down at her chest again, then over at the doctor. “Might do that. And after that I might attach the leftovers to somebody else here. Good God, doc, you could have given me an advance warning before moving me over to the mirror! The last time I saw this I had brown hair. I was a size 6, for cryin’ out loud!” She held a breast in each hand. The doctor looked discreetly away. “And these puppies were perky.” She let them fall. “So help me God someone’s walking home bowl-legged tonight and it ain’t Alex.”

“Well, uh, I can recommend a good plastic surgeon,” the eye doctor continued. “Good man. Colleague of mine.”

Della pinned him with another look. “Alex,” she said. “Get on the phone with your buddies at Mass General and find me a plastic surgeon. Make sure it’s no one my eye doctor knows.”

Alex grinned like a pumpkin. “And I know just the person!”

Alex was right. A week later Della and I sat in the office of one Dr. Eleanor Fitzgerald, who looked Della over and just shook her head. “My, my, I’m surprised you don’t tip over when you walk,” she observed. “Actually, I started my career with the same surgery I’ll recommend for you.” Then she looked over at me. “I can schedule you for an enlargement at the same time if you’d like.”

 I looked up at the doctor, eyes narrowing as a suspicion crossed my mind. “Did Alex put you up to this?” I asked.

“Oh, no!” she said, too quickly.

Right. Alex was going to be camping out in the back yard for the next week. “Just concentrate on Della. I have other ways of making my husband happy.”

Dr. Fitzgerald opened her mouth to speak. “Not another word,” warned Della. “Or I’ll tie these around your neck.”

The doctor smiled and scheduled Della without delay. “I do very good work,” she said. “Heavens knows, I certainly understand what’s it feels like. The backaches, not being able to sleep on your stomach. It’s really terrible. So,” she said after a moment. “Are we ready?”

Della nodded resolutely and we were off. The surgery went smoothly and Della was up and about in no time. Dr. Fitzgerald had done a good job. Unfortunately, our happy recovery scene was marred by the unexpected visit of Della’s eye doctor, who looked her over disapprovingly. “Hmmmmm,” he observed. “I must say I don’t approve of this kind of thing. Takes the curves right out of a woman.” Della and I both stared at him, wondering which one of us was going to kill him first. Me, probably, since Della was still in bed and recovering her eye sight. I didn’t want her to miss, even if she was taller.  “Now, my wife,” he explained. “Could fit a TV dinner tray on her chest. In fact, she often does. Do I think it’s ugly? No. It’s beautiful. It’s the way nature intended. And, nature is doing her job. We have three lovely children and I owe it all to that real estate.” Then he looked over at me and shook his head sadly.”I suppose you’re trying to emulate your short friend here. Now look, friendship should only go so far. If I were you I’d contact your plastic surgeon and reverse the process – maybe even add in some. Believe me, it’s the best thing to do.”

Della glared up at him from her bed, arms comfortably down at her sides for the first time in years. “Oh?” she said. “And you’re the expert on this because…?”

The good doctor smiled and gave us both a patronizing glance. “Now you may think I’m an old fashioned guy, but nature is nature. I don’t have to be an expert. I just have to see how the two genders were created. Really, what could be more obvious?”

I really had enough at that point and ushered the gentleman out of Della’s hospital room. She was scheduled to return home that day so I helped get her to my car. She was fuming and steaming all the way, finally exploding by the time we arrived at her townhouse on Beacon Hill. “I’ll kill that bastard!” she roared. “My God, for the first time in longer than I can remember I’m comfortable. I can see my feet and it’s not just because of the eyesight. I feel normal! What the hell is wrong with that?” She raised her arms menacingly. “Let me get my hands on that son of a bitch. I don’t care what they do to me afterwards.” She exhaled and plopped down loudly on the couch.

“Relax, Della,” wishing there was something I could do. Why did men still think this way? Every girlie magazine I passed showed women with breasts practically off of the magazine cover. We were supposed to enjoy this? What gave? “It’ll be fine.” I gave her a hug, carefully, since she was still a bit tender.

Della looked increasingly upset. She had her pride and the fool had hurt it. I thought for a minute, then an evil thought crossed my mind, warming me to the cockles of my belly. “Oh, yea!” I said, half to myself. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

“What?” Della asked.

“Never you mind, my dear,” I said and flipped open my cell phone.

I refused to say anything more about the matter. “Della,” I told her instead, “We need to make up for some lost time. You and I are going on a sightseeing tour and we’re starting right now.”

Della screwed up her face and gave me a familiar look, one that said ‘if I didn’t know better I’d say you were nuts.’ Then she crossed her arms over her greatly reduced frontage and waited. “Yes?” she inquired.

“Never you mind,” I said again. “Just pack.”

We started in Maine, at Acadia National Park. Della’s not a walker or lover of nature per se, but there was something there I wanted her to see. We spent the day browsing shops in Bar Harbor, then stopped at a trendy restaurant for lobster. Then I piled her into the car and drove, only getting out about a half hour later. I reached my arm in and helped her to her feet. She scratched her head. “Maggie,” she said. “What in the name of God are we doing here out in the middle of nowhere?”

I smiled. “Look up,” I said.

The inky sky was filled with stars, so many overhead that I almost felt dizzy. Thousands and thousands of stars blinked in the night, twinkling against the backdrop of evening sky. You couldn’t see this in the city. There were too many lights. You had to go out, away from anybody and a national park was the best way to do it without serious travel to other parts of the world. Della’s mouth dropped open as she looked and then her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Maggie,” she said. “I had no idea.”

It was an amazing sight, even for me. I felt naked underneath them, so many thousands of stars. I had to look down at the ground before I lost my footing and fell.

We stayed in Maine for a few days, taking in views of the Atlantic as it crashed into the New England coastline. From there we went to New York and caught a few shows. Then we took trip to DC to visit the Smithsonian Museums – more for my sake than for Della’s. Since we were in the neighborhood we spent some time in Baltimore, too. Della wanted to see everything: every crack in the sidewalk, every blade of grass, every shop window, every museum exhibit. As her sight improved so too did her desire to drink in every texture, color and reflection all the rest of us took for granted. Everybody except Della, that is.

We got back a few weeks later. Della thanked me for a wonderful trip, but I said that she wasn’t finished yet. Ed Sheppard had been waiting for her and wanted to take her away for two weeks, just the two of them. He didn’t say where, just winked and got Della onto the back of his Harley. I watched them speed away.

Meanwhile, my plot continued to hatch with my co-conspirator. We had all the pieces in place and our confederates joined in with an unexpected zeal. Things were going exactly as planned. All we needed to do now was to wait for Della and Ed to come back home.

That happened about two weeks later. Della and Ed were tanned and happy looking. “Hey!” Della exclaimed as we sat together at my house after dinner. “Damn, my night vision’s getting good. I couldn’t see a thing before, but now…”

Ed raised his hand, expecting the worse and he got it. “Now, Della…” he started.

“Hot damn! I really like this being able to see who I’m f…”

“Now I’m sure these folks..” Ed stammered but Della was way out in front of him.

“And, you know what? It looked EXACTLY the way I thought it would, just based on the feel you know. And then when I moved down there and started…”

Ed buried his head in his hands. Alex took the opportunity to start coffee and dragged a red-faced Ed into the kitchen with him. “We’ll be right back!” he announced. “Somebody shove an éclair into that woman’s mouth, will ya?”

I shook my head. Men brought out the worst in Della. I wondered how often she and Ed actually made it out of bed. Must have been an interesting two weeks. Alex and Ed returned shortly afterwards and I suggested that Della might want to find another topic of conversation. “Besides,” I told her. “We’re going to have a guest tonight.”

“Oh?” she said, then noticed the look on my face. She gave me another one of those looks. “And you’re not going to tell me, right?”

I grinned and nodded. At that moment, the doorbell rang and a very satisfied Dr. Ellen Fitzgerald waltzed into our living room. She carried something under her arm, wrapped in plastic. “Victory!” she declared.

Alex had a puzzled look on his face. “Excuse me?” he said.

“It worked!” she declared.

“What worked?”

Dr. Fitzgerald took a nearby seat. “A little medical experiment,” she explained. Then she looked over at me. “Actually, it wasn’t even my idea.” She winked and I grinned, ear to ear.

“So, it really worked?” I said.

“What worked?” Alex asked, totally flustered by now.

“Our final present for Della!” Ellen Fitzgerald announced. “And I have to say I’m quite proud of myself.” She took the parcel from underneath her arm, a publication of some kind, and dropped it onto the coffee table.

“Hmmm,” Alex mused. “And you got it published already in the New England Journal of Medicine?”

Dr. Fitzgerald waved her hand dismissively. “No, no!” she exclaimed. “Someplace much better. The National Enquirer!”

We all peered at the article lying face-up on the table: “He’s Got A Pair!” The article blared. Underneath the headline was a picture of Della’s eye doctor, looking extremely nonplussed. “Man boobs extroardinaire!” the caption beneath the picture read. And, yes, there they were: two large protrusions from his chest, barely held in check by a shirt with straining buttons. “They said it couldn’t be done!” The article started, “But this man proved them wrong.”

Della’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding!” she screeched. “How the hell did you do that?”

“Sneaked female hormones into his morning coffee,” she said. “His entire practice went along with it. They thought he was some kind of dick head anyway. Well, now he’s got more than that. All his doctors – who also happen to be my colleagues, and all of whom owe me favors – told him there was nothing they could do. He’s stuck with them.”

Della’s mouth went to her hands. “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh lordy! How long will he have them?”

“Until he learns what it feels like. I even asked a few male friends of mine to give them a squeeze from time to time.”

Alex and Ed took one look at each other and hurriedly left the room. I had a feeling they’d be camping out for a while – and not drinking coffee anytime soon.

Della picked up the paper and gave it another look. “Well, well. You didn’t by any chance figure out how to make a man pregnant, have you?”

“Still working on that. I’ll let you know if there are any breakthroughs on that front.”

“You know, though, Della,” I observed. “You may never see Ed again. For that matter, I may never see my husband again either. They’ll probably both go on diets and start working out at the gym.”

Della nodded and shrugged. “Well,” she said. “We’ll just have to say we lost them both to science.”

“Works for me,” I said. “Anybody want coffee?”