The Twentieth Century Fox

By Gail McFarland

Margie Wilson is definitely a woman of her time. When her husband makes a break for freedom, Margie decides that her time is now. She's determined to transform a new inner and outer self. When she wins a gym membership, personal trainer Justin Gray has his work cut out for him. Is he ready for Margie, The new Twentieth Century Fox?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail McFarland
• Release date: Sep 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466150737

Gail McFarland

Gail McFarland was once the girl known for never failing to get an 'A' in Honors English. Today, as proof that the smart can also be sassy, she is the published author of more than 100 short romantic confessions and short stories, numerous ebooks, and ten popular contemporary novels including: SUMMERWIND (BET/Arabesque) THE BEST FOR LAST(BET/Arabesque) WHEN LOVE CALLS (BET/Arabesque) BOUQUET with Roberta Gayle and Anna Laurence (BET/Arabesque) DREAM RUNNER (Genesis Press) DREAM KEEPER (Genesis Press) WAYWARD DREAMS Genesis Press) LADY KILLER (LULU Books) ALL FOR LOVE (CreateSpace Books) DOING BIG THINGS (CreateSpace Books). Best known for her contemporary romantic novels, Ms. McFarland is a contributing member of The GA Peach Authors. Ms. McFarland is also a dedicated wellness/fitness advocate. She is currently an active fitness instructor, health coach, wellness consultant, and community health volunteer. A native of Cleveland, Ohio, Ms. McFarland now makes her home and place of literary creation in Atlanta, Georgia.

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The Twentieth Century Fox

Gail McFarland

Copyright 2011 by Gail McFarland

Smashwords Edition

Other Titles by Gail McFarland:

Genesis Press/Indigo:

Dream Runner

Dream Keeper

Wayward Dreams

Lady Leo Press:

If Ever

Can A Sistah Get Some Love (Anthology)

BET/Arabesque:

Summer Wind

The Best For Last

When Love Calls

Bouquet (Mother’s Day Anthology)

LULU Books:

All For Love

Lady Killer

Smashwords Ebooks:

All For Love

Lady Killer

Once (or Twice) In A Lifetime

This Side of Forever

Heart of Justice

If Ever

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and 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.

For information, address: P.O. Box 56782, Atlanta, Georgia 30343.

Author websites:

www.http://fitwryter.tripod.com

www.http://fitwryter.com/books

This story is dedicated to all my sisters and friends, the ones who know that the Twentieth Century owes its fame to more than marches, moon landings, and miniskirts. Born in the century that begins with ‘19’, we are the fullness of the revolution and the enticing pathmakers for generations yet to come, and we’re glad to claim the title due our continued Fabulosity.

So, to all of the Twentieth Century Foxes out there:

Holla!

The Twentieth Century Fox

Gail McFarland

Chapter One

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Just another hot, late afternoon in Decatur, Georgia.

A simple thought, it came easily, as Margie gripped her tote. The weather really was hot, shades beyond the warmth expected this time of year — a little annoying, but what could you do? The scent of honeysuckle and fresh grass rode the sizzling spring air, radios blared beyond the open windows of cars at the traffic light, and Margie’s breath whooshed in and whuffed out.

Have mercy, she thought as she backhanded moisture from her cheek. The bus is late and David is going to beat me home. I’ll finally get there and he’ll be stretched out on the couch with the television on and a can of beer resting on his belly. Her breath whooshed again, and she looked down at her shoes. Dave’s being there, right where he always was, meant that getting the orange crayon marks off her new white sandals would have to wait until after she got dinner, did the dishes, and cleaned her kitchen.

Why did he have to go and use orange?

Looking up, hoping to see the bus wheezing down the road, two questions dawned on her. Whatever possessed little Donté Benson to decide to color her shoes—with her feet still in them—orange, no less? And, wouldn’t it be nice to come home to a man who was glad to see you? One who appreciated you for all that you really were?

Well, that was three questions, wasn’t it? And Margie was no closer to being able to answer them when the bus finally arrived. Believing that she could live without answers, she stepped up behind a girl with low-cut jeans and a high-cut top. The girl had a tattoo stretched across the taut brown skin above her jeans—The Only Fox.

Margie’s eyebrows went high and her lips pushed together. Now how is she going to call herself that? Like she’s the only one, ever? Humph. Maybe in the twenty-first century… The girl swung her hips up on the bus and the silvery rivets in her jeans grabbed light, punctuating her steps, and holding Margie’s eyes.

I used to have a butt like that, all high and round and tight. A brick house, that’s what they used to call me. Back in the day, I could have worn an outfit like that and stopped traffic – if I wanted to. If it was my choice. Her steps faltered and she gathered herself. When did I stop believing I had choices?

Hoping nobody saw her near stumble, Margie held onto the railing beside the door and stepped up on the bus. She slapped her Transcard against the screen next to the pot-bellied driver and ignored his flirty, gold-toothed grin. That’s a leftover smirk. He can’t get that girl’s attention, so he thought he would try me. Margie rolled her shoulders back and lifted her head. Damned if I’ll be the Next Best Thing.

Determined not to be touched by second-hand greeting, Marjorie dropped her eyes. She made her way down the aisle behind The Only Fox and tried not to notice a second and then a third gold-flashed smile when working men moved their feet and bags from her path. One of the strangers grew bold enough to tap her wrist. When she looked down, he pressed a bent business card into her hand and smiled.

Now, when did I become the gold-tooth magnet? The card was damp, like maybe he’d kept it in his shoe. Margie tried not to shudder. Instead, she inclined her head politely and kept walking.

Call me, he whispered to her back, and winked at the man sitting next to him.

She ain’t gonna call you, the second man muttered. She’s too fine for the likes of you. Foxy woman like that, you already know she’s got a man.

The man who’d extended the card chanced a look back, got an eyeful of Margie’s shifting, rounded hips and sighed. A man can dream, he said just loud enough for her to hear.

So should a woman. And for most of a moment, Margie did just that and it left her hungry. I remember when I used to dream about Dave’s hands on my body, about loving him more than I ever thought anybody could love anyone. I remember when I used to dream of being so full of him that I couldn’t remember where I ended and he began. Somewhere deep inside, at her very core, she felt herself swell and quiver.

I even remember before that, when I was a girl, too young and inexperienced to have a name for the man who could make my skin burn and my nerves twitch. I knew what I wanted, even then. The deep, invasive answering throb made her breath hitch. More than just the melting of hard into soft, I wanted to love and be loved in return – just didn’t know it would be so hard to get it and keep it.

Behind her, the man sighed again.

Why are strangers more interested in me than the man who shares my bed – used to share my bed, she corrected. I may not be The Only Fox, but it sure would feel good to go home knowing that I could count on being a loved woman.

The thought caught her off-guard. She’d never put it into words before, and the truth surprised her. That’s all she really wanted, to be loved—to have someone touch her and smile, spend time with her and care. And that hadn’t happened since… She dropped onto the hard plastic seat, let the card fall from her fingertips, and turned her face to the window. She couldn’t remember the last time anything like that had happened between her and Dave.

As it was, Dave was sleeping in their bed while she slept in the small second bedroom at the back of the house. It wasn’t worth the argument or the effort to put him out of the bed, so she had just moved herself. Now, he was coming and going without saying much more than, Where’s the clean laundry? and When’s dinner?

And I’m sittin’ on a hot bus with orange crayon all over my white sandals, looking forward to a night of… what? She had trained herself not to say, ‘being alone.’

The girl with The Only Fox blazoned above her butt stood to change seats. She swung her hips down the aisle, knowing that all eyes rode her ass. Wonder if anybody appreciates her uniqueness? Wonder if she knows that it won’t last forever? Wonder if she knows that one day, sooner than she can imagine, walking like that is going to hurt her back?

Now that was just mean, Margie told herself. I’m pretty sure folks go to hell for thinking mean little thoughts like that. She watched the young woman settle herself. Just because I’m sitting here wishing I was going home to warm arms, some imagination, and a celebration of something I haven’t had in a while is no reason to think ugly thoughts. Maybe she’s got a man who treats her like she matters, one who makes her feel like The Only Fox.

Wish I had one.

Margie tightened her hands on her purse and her library book. She pressed her lips together and thought about what went on in the book. It wasn’t exactly a fairy tale, but the heroine… now that was a woman who got it right – and often. Sex and heat and fire and passion, all the stuff Margie had thought she was going to grow into when she’d been a girl; then she met David Wilson. And Dave had taught her to respond to deep breath-stealing kisses and feathery touches that made her hot and wet and kept her doing his bidding.

He was a real good teacher, Margie remembered. Then he decided that it was too much work. Conversation, comfort, sex, and contentment all fell victim to Dave’s abandonment. Maybe I could have overlooked that if he had been kind about it.

That was another one of those thoughts Margie hadn’t meant to have. Dave never hit