I lieu of the D Files this week, we bring you an introduction to Letty’s upcoming novella, Powerhouse

By Letty Livingston

I have to put the search for Bea’s daughter Sam down for a

minute in order to let you in on a huge announcement.

Meeting Tyler in The D Files led to an Internet buzz. We, here are MTLS [my true love story] and The Trues, had to answer the calling and are presenting some more about “the man formerly known as Tyler,” Bea’s ex-husband who had returned to Philadelphia after twenty years of being in the dark.

Well, as we all know, names are changed in The D Files and Tyler is not Tyler. He is not Peter Parker either, but for the sake of the publishers’ need for protecting the privacy of the people herein, Tyler of Confessions of an Ex-Stripper is going to be called Peter Parker. He is going to be the leading man in a brand spanking new novella Powerhouse.

I am going to let you meet Peter and the other players, along with some of the other juicy details of the novella that will unfold in front of your eyes, including but not limited to desperate yearnings for love, fetes of daring and desperation, espionage and counterintelligence, sex, more sex, and murder. Yes, murder!

Click below to continue reading…

Meet some of the main Players via excerpts from Powerhouse the novella:

Peter Parker (Leading Man):

Peter loved living in Manhattan. Growing up in the Bronx, it was always a fantasy. Having lived in his dream city for just over three years, he spent the first two apartment hopping with various women around the city—a beautician on the upper west side, a performance artist/dominatrix down in the village, a Spanish stock broker up in Harlem, the list went on and on.

Fiona Facialonga (Leading Lady):

Fiona put down her Anatomy of an Ape Book and slid out of the hammock. She went across the room to the refrigerator. As she opened the split doors, the light spilled onto her long, lean, permanently tanned body. Being a combination of Polynesian and Italian, she grew into an amazing vision of beauty—long black hair with a gentle bend, which from no matter what angle seemed to be cradling her strong face.  She had wonderful, warm brown almond shaped eyes and black, thick eyebrows with a perfect arch. A long roman nose, full red lips, and a petite cleft in her chin finished her façade. Her jaw line was so precise and her cheekbones so high; she was a Sofia Loren crossed with Tila Tequila. At least that is what a scout from Ford models had told her.

That encounter took place about a year ago. Since then, at least after her first meeting at the exclusive modeling agency, she had been building herself an impressive portfolio of pictures and tear sheets. Doing runway work and print advertisements seemed to be paying off. She has been able to pay off all of her school loans, buy the mini-loft that she was now graciously sharing with her boyfriend Peter (for about a year now), and she was banking a lot of money in hopes of opening her own veterinary surgery center, as soon as she could get the degree.

She reached into the cool compartment and pulled out a bottle of pineapple juice, lifted the container to her mouth, and took a long refreshing swallow. The light from the open refrigerator door enveloped her long, naked torso. Her small, firm brown breast seemed just buds as she leaned back and drank. Long sinewy arms stretched from her bare trunk like tender young branches reaching toward the sky.

Pineapple juice always seemed to do the trick for her whenever she was stressing out, whether it was school, work, family, or Peter. It brought her back, back to her home, her paradise in the sun.

The door to the apartment suddenly swung open. Peter tiptoed in as he noticed the refrigerator light on.  He put down his jacket and walked directly to the thermostat on the wall.

Max (Supporting Lead Man):

Max, no small puppy himself, stood at six foot one inch, and weighed in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds.  But Max’s weight was distributed differently than his soon to be opponent’s. Max was always a big boy – a chunky child growing up in the safety and snowbound tranquility of northern Sweden.

Sundsvall, a little town tucked safely in the snow about a hundred miles from Stockholm, the capital of his frozen homeland, was the place Max spent most of his peaceful childhood. He could remember bright winter nights when the sun never set, sitting on momma’s lap as she sung sweet Swedish songs, slowly lowering his eyelids and slipping into slumber.

He turned the small handle attached to the film spindle on his HassleBlad 100, an old knocked about camera, which was the tool of Max’s study. It also being the only thing Max had of his father’s, except the bad memories. Max’s father was a gambler and a drunkard who seemingly, for no apparent reason, just up and left one day.

The feeling of being left alone, abandoned in the snow, left to take care of his mother, only the two of them in the home. He was only five he didn’t know how, he had no male role model to show him how men deal with life or to watch the relationship between man and woman grow as his parents spent a lifetime together. None of this had he had.

Max loved his mother with all his heart but there was something he needed to discover which he couldn’t find in his own small town. Departing for America was the last of many attempts to leave home.  First, to Stockholm. Not far enough.  Then Prague. Too much like home. Then to the south of France for a summer.  Something was still missing.

Max decided to come to America to follow his dream of being a professional photographer – a paid voyeur.  He loved the idea of watching someone through his lens, then when he had created a mood for this image in his mind, push and click. The world, in his control, no one to say he wasn’t good enough. And there was no better way to get girls to take their clothes for you.

“Ah naked girls. Always better in front of the lens. Never have to worry what to say, what to do, if I’m good enough, big enough…  In front of the lens I have the power, I have control, there are no what if’s in front of my lens…”

Max finished rewinding his roll of film, content that the images he captured would develop wonderfully. As he raised his big, blue, bloodshot eyes the locomotive of a man headed toward him.  Max could not look away. The image he had just captured, strong, graceful, frozen in time in front of his lens, was now headed right for him.

Max met eyes with the charging man of steel, they were gray and piercing, staring into his. The face he saw, clenched with anger, jaw line and cheekbones razor sharp, his black hair streaming in his wake, as he got closer. His Roman nose flared and his full lips set askew as if he were about to let out an ancient war cry.

Max could not help but see this approaching animal as a vision of beauty, sheer strength, and raw power in its essence.  What an image, he wished he had loaded his camera again. The raging man stopped right in front of Max.

Those are the main characters. I am going to introduce some of the lesser players later in the week. We still have to select a day when Powerhouse will be posted on the regular, allowing you to make a date with Peter Parker something to look forward to. Next Tuesday, you can expect to get back on the trail of Sam. Help Bea to find the child she gave up all those years ago.

Until then, send your questions in to me at help@letelttyhelp.com. All submissions are considered for publication and all names are kept in the strictest of confidence. If you want to read some dating and relationship advice be sure to check out my other column, Let Letty help at http://www.fixmylove.com/blog/let-letty-help-102/.  Please include the links to The d Files, Powerhouse and Let Letty Help on your Facebook page and Tweet it to your peeps!

Lotsa Luv

LL

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