Helena Handbasket’s left hand steered her Daddy’s Caddy while her right hand stroked the Smith & Wesson 38-calibre 5-shot Airweight laying on the leather upholstery beside her. Her Daddy presented her with the gun on her 16^th birthday. A smile slipped past her set lips as she remembered ripping away the gold wrapping paper and red ribbon, lifting the box lid to behold the glittering silver handgun nestled on pink satin.

                “Oh Daddy!” she’d squealed, throwing herself into his arms, “it’s exactly what I wanted! I just can’t wait to shoot it!”

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                “I know, I know,” Daddy growled, gently extricating himself from her grip. “Whoa, look at the time, gotta go.” He made a hasty exit. Even Daddy knew that his Baby Girl was a ticking time bomb with flame-colored hair. He trusted her to use the gun to defend herself. He did not, however, trust her to make mature decisions about who she needed to defend herself against. He also knew that his Baby Girl, as much as she loved her Daddy, blamed her Momma’s frequent fainting spells on Daddy’s long ongoing affair with the woman he was headed out to meet, Betty Didd, or as Helena referred to her “Daddy’s Fucking Floozy”, DFF for short, which Hel pronounced Diff.

                “What’s the Diff?” Helena muttered resentfully as Daddy fled, but then she brightened as she imagined showing off her new little friend to her old friends. “A true Southern lady wants those country boys to know she carries her own ‘protection’, after all.” Her Revlon Crimson Ember-lipsticked lips curled up into a wicked smile.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Good news: I wrote a book!

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I will publish one chapter per day in this space, just like an old-time serial. I hope to provide a little entertainment, some light amusement for these dark days.

So, without further ado, here is CHAPTER ONE of HELENA HANDBASKET:

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Fiery Southern belle Helena Handbasket went looking for her errant beau, pistol clutched in one elegantly manicured hand. Her shy galpal Laura Mercy rode shotgun.

                “I’ll put a bullet right between his lying eyes!” Helena yowled as her Daddy’s Caddy purred down the Possumslaughter Highway toward Squalor Holler. “If I find him laying up with that sorry bitch Perra Cabrona I’ll shoot her too!”

                “Oh, Hel,” Laura sighed, using the childhood nickname. Turning from her extreme closeup in the passenger seat visor mirror where she’d been touching up her Revlon Fainting Rose blush, she shook her blonde head sadly. “’Twon’t do no good. Once a man strays he’ll never behave, even if you do kill him.” Laura held a low opinion of men in general, having been left at the altar by three would-be beaux who turned into won’t-be husbands. “You cain’t change a man.”

                “Oh yes I can,” cooed Helena. “I can change him from livin’ to dead.”

TO BE CONTINUED…