Starting From Scratch

Starting From

Scratch

Georgia Beers

STARTING FROM SCRATCH

© 2010 BY GEORGIA BEERS

ISBN (10) 0-979-92546-0

ISBN (13) 978-0-979-92546-7

THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY BRISK PRESS, NEW

YORK, NY 10023

EDITED BY KATHERINE V. FORREST

COVER DESIGN AND LAYOUT BY TAMI BOX (
www.tamarabox.com)

FIRST PRINTING: JANUARY 2010

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND

INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE

USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR

DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY

COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM

WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHORS OR THE PUBLISHER.

___________________________________________________

Books By Georgia Beers

Novels

Starting From Scratch

Finding Home

Mine

Fresh Tracks

Too Close to Touch

y Neighbor’s Wife

Turning the Page

Anthologies

Outsiders

Stolen Moments

e Milk of Human Kindness

Georgia Beers

website:
www.georgiabeers.com

Acknowledgments

is book has been a long time coming, and I have

many, many people to thank for helping me get it into your

hands, so bear with me…

First and foremost, my undying thanks and affection

to the lesbian reading community, to each and every one of

you who checked in on me, visited my site and my

Facebook page, sent me an e-mail, kept asking when the

next book was coming, plugged my appearances, spread the

word, and generally stayed in touch with me. Your letters,

encouragement, and enthusiasm kept me going when I was

wavering badly. I offer my sincerest and most heartfelt

gratitude, and I know it isn’t nearly enough. I hope this

book rewards your patience. ank you from the bottom of

my heart.

ank you to my wife, Bonnie, the one who loves me

unconditionally, despite my flaws (and there are many, I

know). What a long, strange trip the last three years have

been. Who’d have thought we’d end up right back where

we started and be ecstatic about it? ank you for helping

me keep my chin up, and for not letting me languish,

rocking in a corner and wailing about the injustices of the

world. You pulled me up, sat me at my desk, and got me

back to work with all the love, support, and understanding

a person could ask for. Peter was right: we
are
powerful

together. Heart. Always.

To my fellow authors and friends in the lesbian

publishing world: Ruth, Katherine, Jamie, KG, Joanne,

Karin, Rachel, Lori, Cheryl, Ann, Smitty, Jane, Catherine,

Toni, Tarsha, Andi, Sheri, Susan, Lynn, Cathy, Kat, Cate,

Linda, Gill, Cheri…the list goes on and on. You are the

people who grabbed my arms and pulled me from the

quicksand on those days when I thought maybe it was

better to just stop struggling and let myself sink. I owe

each of you a debt of gratitude for never allowing me to

give up, for helping me to stay strong, and for making me

understand that the best solution was to simply keep

writing. And to that tiny handful who would have liked to

see me fall apart and disappear completely, to those few

who would prefer to splinter this amazing community in

the name of power and greed rather than help it stay

cohesive and strong by working with others to make it so:

shame on you.

My eternal love, admiration, and gratitude to my

editor and friend, Katherine V. Forrest, an icon to me in

every sense of the word. When I asked her for guidance,

and admitted that I was slightly embarrassed to do so, she

said to me, “Hey, this is a sisterhood. We’re here to help

each other.” After months of wondering if I was stupidly

naïve in expecting my fellow lesbians to just be…
better
,

Katherine echoed my internal thoughts and renewed my

faith in my community. is
is
a sisterhood and we
are
here

to help each other, and I know that one day, I’ll be ready,

willing and able to pay it forward to a younger writer who

asks for
my
help. e lesbian literary community couldn’t

ask for a kinder, wiser, more genuine role model than

Katherine V. Forrest. ank you, Katherine, for being you.

To Tami Box, my WebDiva/cover designer

extraordinaire, I bow to your creative brilliance. You make

me look good, but more importantly, you make me look

professional. My website rocks and you surpassed my

wildest expectations by a long way for the cover of this

book (with which I am crazy in love!). You are a true artist.

To JD Glass…what can I say? Life is so strange and

the separate paths we started out on that ultimately met

and united have been—for each of us—long, difficult,

often lonely, and hard to navigate. But I have to believe we

ended up on the same road for a reason and your

friendship has grown to mean so much to me. Words are

not enough to thank you for your love, support, willingness

to listen, and clarity of advice.

To Susan X Meagher, I cannot begin to express my

thanks for putting your time, money, and faith into my

work. You gave me an opportunity with Brisk Press that

any other writer would
beg
for, and I will do whatever I can

to make all the effort worth your while. Mucho, mucho

gratitude to both you and Carrie for your hard work and

easy attitude.

To my Awesome Proofing Trio, Stacy Harp, Steff

Obkirchner, and Jackie Ciresi, this one took a long damn

time, but that doesn’t mean your efforts were any less

important. ank you guys so much for spending your days

off reading my stuff. Your dedication and honesty keep me

grounded and your friendship means everything to me.

And Steff: the trailer for this book rocks harder than I

can begin to put into words. You amaze me over and over

with your creativity, your generosity, and your love. I’m

lucky to have you. ank you.

To Dr. Holly Raschiatore Garber, my friend of (gulp!)

thirty-six years, for helping me look like I know what I’m

talking about when it comes to medical details.

To my friend, Denise Ash, for the crash course in

bank management.

To my sister, Lauri Whitney, and my friend, Tanja

Atkins, for letting me pick both your brains (sometimes

endlessly) about what it’s like to be pregnant and then be a

mom. You were both very patient with me, and I so

appreciated your help and direction.

Finally, to Jaclyn, Frankie, Allyson, Anthony, Alexis,

Joseph, Isak, and Emerson, for showing me that whether

I’m being a godmother, an aunt, or a babysitter, this non-

mother actually
does
have a little bit of maternal instinct

(who knew?). I love you all.

Dedication

To my maternal grandmother, Madeline DeRosa Pacilio, the

strongest woman I know.

In memory of my beloved aunt, Joyce Meredith Beers, a woman

before her time. I miss her every single day.

CHAPTER ONE

“I want to speak to your manager. Now.”

Uh-oh.
I glanced toward the counter at the panic-

stricken expression on the face of the young bank teller.

ose were never happy words. e poor kid couldn’t have

been more than twenty-one and his forehead was already

shining with sweat.

“Certainly, sir,” he said, and his voice cracked like

Shaggy’s in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. “I’ll be right back.”

e man who’d uttered the fateful phrase was older—

maybe sixty-five—and judging by the way he tossed his

checkbook to the counter and sighed loudly, he was not

pleased by having to resort to going over the kid’s head. Or

he was just a jerk. I wasn’t sure which, so I took an

exorbitant amount of time filling out my deposit slip at the

little rectangular desk in the middle of the lobby in order

to find out. My stalling tactics paid off, because a minute

later,
she
walked by. Elena Walker, branch manager,

stunningly attractive specimen of the human female, and

woman of my dreams…or at least my fantasies. I only

knew her name from the nameplate mounted next to the

door of her office, which I passed during each visit.

I was always surprised that she didn’t move in slow

motion with a mysterious breeze blowing her hair in some

sexy-chic fashion, she was that beautiful. Tall—a good

Georgia Beers

three or four inches taller than me—with dark, silky hair

cut just above her shoulders and styled in that sort of hip,

flippy look that I believe only professional hairdressers

know how to create. Olive-toned skin that looked tan all

year round and caused me to speculate on her ethnicity

(Latina? Italian? Greek?). Today’s business suit was navy.

Simple. Elegant. Sexy.  e raspberry blouse beneath the

jacket gave the outfit a fun splash of color, making up for

any stuffiness the simple style of the skirt might conjure.

Of course, stuffiness was the last thing that came to mind

when you got a look at her legs. Long, shapely, strong. I

wondered absently if I was drooling on myself, though I

didn’t care enough to stop staring.

Rather than go around the counter, she walked right

up next to Mr. Irate Customer, introduced herself, and

shook his hand with a smile. All I had to do was see a

teeny, tiny glimpse of his face to know he was immediately

smitten with her.

“Hey, get in line, buddy,” I muttered softly and with a

grin.

Elena kept her voice low, probably figuring the entire

bank didn’t need to know Mr. Irate Customer’s business.

Or that he was angry. I didn’t hear what was said, just the

murmuring of voices, but the conversation didn’t last long.

Within two minutes flat, she had him smiling and

thanking her. Sweating Bank Teller Guy looked relieved at

his stay of execution.

I jerked my eyes back down to my own stuff as I

realized she was headed back to her office and would be

passing me. I didn’t want her to think I’d been staring.

“Morning, Ms. King,” she said with a smile as she

passed me. I looked up in surprise and caught the wink she

2

Starting From Scratch

threw at me.  e color of her eyes made me think of

melted chocolate. “Have a great day.”

“You, too,” I replied lamely, wanting to slap myself in

the head for missing an opportunity to open some kind of

dialogue with her.
She knows my name. How cool is that?

I finished my business and floated on a cloud back to

work, wishing I had more reasons to be out and about in

the bright and sunny spring weather, and at the same time,

wishing I had more banking to do. But it was a very small

branch and I figured it would be noticed (and possibly

thought of as creepy) if I ended up in there four or five

times a week. Plus, I preferred to be somewhat stealthy in

my ogling. Elena Walker didn’t need to know I was

seriously crushing on her and had been since I’d opened

my accounts there six months earlier. I did have a
tiny
bit

of pride.

Back in my office, I was very happy to see that the

muffins I brought in earlier were almost gone. It’s not

really an office, more of a really large cubicle that I share

with Josh Bacon, one of my best buds and the creative

writer to my graphic design at T. Harrison Jones &

Associates.

“Hey, Avery,” Josh greeted me, not looking up from

his keyboard as he chewed. “Your muffins suck, by the

way.”

Feigning prim-and-proper shock, I asked, “And just

what would you know about my muffins, mister?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I snorted. “What’s that, your third one?”

“Fourth.” He stuffed the last bite into his mouth and

reached for a huge volume of
Roget’s International esaurus