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Here is installment numero tres of my story, “Garage Sale Addict”. If you haven’t read “Garage Sale Addict, Part 1” or “Garage Sale Addict, Part 2“, you may want to start there. Otherwise, this may not make sense.
And, here is my disclaimer one more time-because I’m insecure about my skillz as a writer. I mean, does a real writer use “z’s” at the end of her words?
Disclaimer: I am nervous about sharing this. Instead of me being able to use words like “crap” or my made up favorites like “goody-ness”, what I’m about to share will be held to a higher standard. Because it’s part of my hidden soul-my personal writing projects.
Who knows if this will ever go anywhere-but it’s fun to write and to dream. I’d love to hear what you have to say, or maybe I won’t.
Garage Sale Addict (Young Adults)
Story Premise: Recently dumped pet photographer, Rosayln Jones, hosts a garage sale to purge her life from the memory of her extremely wealthy ex-boyfriend. News travels fast in a small town and the mayhem of the day proves to be a temporary distraction from her pain.
Rosalyn hopes to regain the excitement and holds another sale the following week. Selling off her own personal items, she is soon disappointed in the lackluster response.
Rosalyn becomes increasingly addicted to the garage sale “high” and convinces herself to purchase designer items to sell at a loss in hopes of creating new excitement for herself and her customers. However, she soon is under investigation for what the Department of Homeland Security is convinced is some sort of smuggling or counterfeiting ring.
Chapter Two-Part 3
The alarm sounded all too soon, scaring her awake. Throwing on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, Rosalyn started the coffee pot and stepped outside into the dark morning air. In a stupor, she fumbled to unlock the car door. A frail voice called to her from underneath the carport.
“Excuse me, Miss. But will you be opening anytime soon?”
Rosalyn whirled around to see a tiny grandma of a woman with an armful of paper bags.
“The sale starts at six. I will open at six. Not earlier. Not later.” She slid inside the safety of her car, while the old woman frowned back at her with folded her arms. Rosalyn glanced at her watch-5:15.
Seriously. Crazy. people.
Backing out of the driveway, Rosalyn noticed a peculiar amount of parked cars-with engines running-lining her street. Each vehicle’s inhabitant drank out of some sort of thermos or travel mug, and stared at her as she drove off.
She said a quick prayer that her house would still be in one piece when she returned.
Rosalyn made it home in ten minutes with three long johns for Bonnie and a sprinkle cake doughnut for herself. The line of cars on her street had grown, housing more thermos drinkers. A group of ladies had camped out on her lawn, chatting and laughing. She turned into the driveway, threw ‘Molly’ into park and opened the car door.
Someone on the lawn yelled, “There she is!” and rushed towards her, with the group trailing closely behind. Car doors flung open and the thermos drinkers jumped out.
She placed a car key between her fingers as she had been taught to do in self-defense class. Bonnie pulled into the driveway seconds later, jumped out, and ran to her friend’s side.
“Listen up, people. The sale starts at six am, and if you don’t like it, you can leave.” Bonnie shouted.
A massive groan rose up from the crowd.
“Come on, what’s thirty minutes?” A man wearing a fisherman’s cap yelled from the doorway of his car. Several others emphatically agreed.
“Six o’clock, people. No sooner.” Bonnie yelled, then turned to Rosalyn and mouthed the word ‘Go’.
The two bolted for the front door, Rosalyn unlocked it while Bonnie held the box of doughnuts.
“I thought we might be stoned for a minute there.” Bonnie laughed, sliding down next to Rosalyn, their backs against the door.
The knocker on the door pounded against the wood.
“Go away!” Bonnie screamed.
“Can you believe this? I had some couple knocking on my door at four this morning.” Rosalyn stood up and poured them both a cup of coffee. She grabbed a couple of napkins for their doughnuts and they tiptoed into the living room. The two women stepped over mounds of purses, golf clubs, books and DVD’s to find a suitable place to sit and enjoy their breakfast.
“Maybe I should just give it all back to Kyle and call off the sale.” Rosalyn drew in a sip of coffee, throwing a satin pillow on the floor and sitting down.
“No way. He gave you this stuff. He wouldn’t want any of it back; in fact he brought you back the few items of yours he did have. And Ros, do I need to remind you that he dumped you?” Bonnie took a huge bite from her doughnut, perching herself on a giant brass elephant.
“You’re right. I guess it doesn’t hurt to make a few bucks off a broken heart, does it? I’ll see this as a return on my failed seven year investment.”
A rumbling could be heard outside. Bonnie leaned over, pulling down one of the slats in the mini-blind with a clean finger.
“Ros, come here.” She whispered, taking another bite.
Rosalyn peeked through the window alongside her friend.
A group outside had set up folding chairs, spreading out across the lawn and into the driveway. A local news van had parked behind Bonnie’s car; half in the driveway, half in the street. A reporter bustled through the crowd with a cameraman following him.
“Why is the news here? This is a garage sale.” Rosalyn stepped back from the window.
“If you advertise it, they will come.” Her best friend whispered dramatically.
“What time is it?” Rosalyn scanned the chaos surrounding her inside of the house.
“Ten till six.”
“Help me organize this stuff better. In case that reporter comes in here, I don’t want my house looking like this on television.” Rosalyn slurped down her coffee.
The two sprang into action, grouping shoes together on the bookshelves, separating the clothes by seasons, stacking all the purses on the dining room table and pulling in a card table for the candlesticks and other knick-knacks. Standing up the three sets of golf clubs, Bonnie announced the time had come.
“Do you hear that?” Bonnie whispered.
“What on earth?” Rosalyn mumbled, listening.
“It’s six a.m., let us in! It’s six a.m., let us in!,” The crowd chanted on the lawn.
Rosalyn breathed in deeply and unlocked the front door. The crowd cheered, abandoning their lawn chairs and fighting their way to the front of the line.
“The door has opened and I am getting the first glimpse of the ‘Garage Sale Lady’ just behind that screen door.” The news reporter announced into the camera from the middle of the lawn. Rosalyn smiled and waved to the reporter.
“I should have put on some mascara.” Rosalyn whispered to her friend.
“I should have worn something better than black sweatpants with a navy hoodie.”
“Well, too late now. Should we let them in?” Rosalyn stood up straight, surveying the crowd.
“We should have done this outside. You know that feeling at the top of a roller coaster, right before it plunges a hundred feet down scaring the living daylights out of you?” Her friend furrowed her brow.
“It won’t be that bad. We’ll manage.” She winked at Bonnie, excitement coursing through her body. Rosalyn opened the screen door and held her hands high in the air. The crowd calmed themselves, waiting for her to speak.
“The garage sale is open for business!” Rosalyn yelled heavenward, inspiring another cheer.
The reporter jumped ahead of the line, pushing the microphone under her mouth. “What is it that you do, Miss…?”
“Miss Rosalyn Jones. I’m a pet photographer. My business is called ‘Mutt Shots’.” She smiled into the camera, grateful for the free press.
“And this is your house, correct?” The reporter’s hair reminded her of cotton candy; only brown instead of pink.
“Well, my grandmother gave it to me.” She shooed the reporter off to the side, allowing the anxious customers to file past them.
“How can you, a simple pet photographer, living in such a moderate house, have so many expensive items? The people want to know.” He leaned in, smelling like Old Spice.
“They were gifts.” Rosalyn didn’t feel like telling ‘the people’ about being dumped.
“Gifts from whom?” The camera seemed closer than before.
“From a friend. That’s all I’m going to say.” Rosalyn spun around, looking for Bonnie. Her friend hopelessly tried to mediate a fight between three women over the same purple Lucca bag.
“Ladies, I have more here.” Rosalyn called out, pointing to a pile that had been neglected on the dining room table. All three women shrieked, deserting the purple bag, claiming their new finds.
“Are these really the prices?” A woman covered in leopard print raised her sunglasses for the first time.
“Yes. Everything must go.” Rosalyn left the pack of women, searching the room for Bonnie.
Her friend stood between two men politely discussing who would benefit more from the golf clubs.
“This is mayhem.” Bonnie stepped towards Rosalyn and opened the lid of a coffee can she had been using as a cash box. A stack of money filled it almost to the brim. “You’re going to be left with nothing but money.”
“That’s the best way to start over.” Rosalyn grinned.
A white haired man held up the crystal porcupine from the other side of the room.
“How much is this?” He yelled over the pack of women still fighting it out at the table.
“Ten dollars.” Rosalyn called back to him, picking her way through the buyers.
He met her half way, slapped a ten-dollar bill in her hand, and dialed a number on his cell phone.
“I got it, hon. It’s an original, just like you said.” He tucked his new possession in his coat pocket and hurried out of the house.
A steady stream of people came and went for the next couple of hours, each demanding attention and rejoicing in their purchases. Rosalyn sold three television sets to a family that had just moved to town. The town librarian purchased the mahogany dining room table, along with the glass coffee table, end tables and lamps. She had brought her three sons and cleared out her purchases as soon as the transaction had been made. Rosalyn’s couch-being the only thing originally hers-offered her and Bonnie temporary moments of relief.
Several Chang belts and Van der Hoessen bags later, the room emptied out, save a dog-toting woman eyeing the brass elephant that sat in the corner. The woman tapped on the elephant’s head, turning the piece from side to side.
Rosalyn looked at her watch-nine fifteen. Bonnie retreated to the bedroom to do a money count, leaving Rosalyn with the customers.
The brass elephant had been deemed a ‘can’t live without’ by the dog-toting woman. The umbrella stand went home with her as well.
“Just made another $85.” Rosalyn whispered once Bonnie returned.
“That brings our grand total so far to…are you ready for this?”
Rosalyn nodded while taking five more dollars from a man who ‘needed’ a silver monogrammed lighter with her initials on it.
“The total is $6,583.72. The seventy-two cents are from me. I paid you back for the doughnuts I ate.”
“Are you serious?” Rosalyn choked on her third cup of coffee for the morning.
“Yeah, you didn’t need to buy me a doughnut.”
“No, I mean about the six grand.”
“You had a lot of stuff. ‘Had’ being the key word.” Bonnie added the five-dollar bill to the coffee can.
Rosalyn sighed, running her hand along the empty shelves that once held silver knick-knacks and first edition novels.
“You ok?” Bonnie picked up the only remaining crystal figurine; a translucent ballerina with a red rose in her hair.
“Sure, the room just feels so empty.”
“You still have this.” Her friend waved the figurine in front of Rosalyn’s face. “And why exactly, did he give you this, Ros?”
“He said ‘because of the rose in her hair’.”
“Oh.” Bonnie paused. “Did he call you ‘Rose’?”
“No, not once.” Rosalyn smiled.
Her friend giggled and set the ballerina back on the shelf.
“You ain’t buyin’ that, are ya?” A short man in an oversized polo peered from the kitchen doorway and into the living room.
“No, I’m not. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was left.” Bonnie positioned herself between Rosalyn and the lumbering man, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to be gone.” He approached the two ladies cautiously, palms up in front of him.
“Forgive her. She’s rather protective.” Rosalyn moved around Bonnie to address the man. “For twenty dollars, it’s yours.”
“Sold.” He grabbed the figurine as quickly as he could, laid a twenty in Rosalyn’s hand, and wobbled out of the front door.
“It feels so cleansing to get rid of all this stuff. And I loved seeing people light up when they buy it.” Rosalyn stuffed the bill into the coffee can.
“That happens when they score something for one-fiftieth of what it costs.”
“It’s a great fresh start, don’t you think?” She glanced around the room.
“You are definitely back to square one. You sold almost everything in your entire house. Hello, hello, hello….” Her friend pretended the room echoed back to her.
“I heard a group of women say they found out about my sale at their salon. People were talking about my sale.” Rosalyn smiled.
“News travels fast in this town, I guess.” Her friend shrugged.
“And a couple told me their Friday night babysitter called them about my sale.” Rosalyn whispered, then continued pacing the room. “I was on the news. I have never been on the news. Me! Rosalyn of ‘Mutt Shots’ was on the news.”
“Woah there, little filly. Settle down.” Her friend grabbed Rosalyn’s shoulders.
“I wonder if this is how Trump feels when he buys new real estate.”
“It’s a stretch, I know. But today was fantastic. It was just what I needed.” Rosalyn grinned from ear to ear.
“Well, let’s make sure there aren’t any more men lingering about before we call it a day.” Bonnie let go of Rosalyn’s shoulders.
The two made a quick inspection of the house, ensuring no other customers remained.
“I locked the front door. Now, let’s order some pizza. I’m exhausted.” Bonnie pulled out her cell phone.
“I feel like I could run a marathon after all this excitement. But, pizza does sound good. My treat?” Rosalyn extracted a couple of bills from the coffee can.
“I hope your sudden wealth doesn’t make me a charity case.” Bonnie started to dial the Pizza Shack.
“Why whatever do you mean, dah-ling?” Rosalyn pointed her nose to the ceiling while prancing through the sparse living room.
“Rosalyn is that a Mrs. Fitzhugh impersonation? And if so, shame on you.” Bonnie shook her head, but a giggle escaped from her mouth.
“I know, I know. I need to forgive the Fitzhugh’s.” Rosalyn quit prancing and stuck out her bottom lip.
“And…?” Bonnie asked.
“And Twig.” She grumbled.
“Well, that’s a start. We’ll work on it. Now, let’s get some pizza. I’m starving.”