[bookshare-discuss] Re: Angela Hunt Wish List Request
- From: "Shelley L. Rhodes" <juddysbuddy@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <bookshare-discuss@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 15 Sep 2007 14:14:37 -0400
It sounds great. North of Boston has one copy, I placed a hold but it isn't
back yet, is due next week I think.
So am on the list, if someone gets to it before I do, cool, smile.
Shelley L. Rhodes M.A., VRT, CTVI
and Guinevere, Golden lady Guide
juddysbuddy@xxxxxxxxxxxx
Guide Dogs For the Blind Inc.
Graduate Alumni Association Board
www.guidedogs.com
More than Any other time, When i hold a beloved book in my hand, my
limitations fall from me, my spirit is free.
- Helen Keller
----- Original Message -----
From: "Monica Willyard" <rhyami@xxxxxxxxx>
To: "Bookshare Discuss" <bookshare-discuss@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Saturday, September 15, 2007 10:58 AM
Subject: [bookshare-discuss] Angela Hunt Wish List Request
Hi. I've found a really cool book from Angela Hunt that sounds like it's
on a par with The Justice. Would anyone here be willing to check your
library and scan this if you can get it? I'll happily validate. It's
called The Elevator. Here's a description and then an excerpt from the book:
From Publishers Weekly
Prolific novelist Hunt knows how to hold a reader's interest, and her
latest yarn is no exception. As Hurricane Felix races toward Tampa,
three women's paths unexpectedly converge when they're marooned in an
elevator. The action takes place over the course of one tension-packed
day. Michelle Tilson is a smart, 33-year-old headhunter who is apt to
fudge the truth in the interests of more business. She's in a passionate
relationship with a widower, who's reluctant to introduce her to his
three children. Michelle's biological clock is ticking, and when she
discovers she is pregnant, she's ready to press for a commitment. When
Michelle boards the elevator to give her lover the news---instead of
fleeing the impending disaster---she's joined by office cleaner
Isabel Suarez, who has a frightening secret, and Gina Rossman, who is on
her way to confront her workaholic husband about his extramarital
affair. Trapped,
the women discuss relationships and faith, and make some startling
discoveries. Although the idea of characters stuck in an elevator is
nothing new, Hunt packs the maximum amount of drama into her story, and
the pages turn quickly. The present tense narration lends urgency as the
perspective switches among
various characters. Readers may decide to take the stairs after
finishing this thriller.
Excerpt from the book:
The Elevator
Wrapped in the remnants of a dream, Michelle Tilson opens her eyes and
smiles at the ceiling until she remembers the monster looming in the
Gulf. She reaches
for Parker, but the spot where he should be lying is empty and cold. She
pushes herself up, the satin sheets puddling at her waist, and looks
into the
bathroom, which is empty.
But a single red rose lies on Parker's pillow.
Of course---he's gone to the office. He said he might not be here when
she woke.
Groaning, Michelle falls onto his pillow and breathes in the sweet scent
of the flower. Typical Parker, the disappearing man. Here for a night,
gone for
a week. Most women would resent his inconsistency, but she's become
accustomed to his vanishing act.
She props her pillow against the headboard and leans back, surprised she
can feel so relaxed on a Saturday morning. Weekends usually depress her,
but despite
the hurricane warning she floats in a curious contentment, as though the
previous night's love and laughter have splashed over a levee and
flooded the
normally arid weekend.
Parker is good for her.The man knows when it's time to work and when
it's time to play,a lesson she's been struggling to learn.
She reaches for the remote on the nightstand and powers on the
television, still tuned to the Weather Channel. A somber-faced young man
appears before a
map on which a swirling bull's-eye is moving straight toward Florida's
west coast. Hurricane Felix, already a category four, has left Mexico
and is churning
toward Tampa Bay.
Michelle squints as her mind stamps the map with an icon representing
her condo at Century Towers. Nothing changed overnight; she's still in
the hurricane's
path.
At least she's well insured. Parker's made sure of that. She turns down
the volume on the television, then drops the remote and considers
closing her heavy
eyelids. She could easily sleep another hour, but Parker might call and
she wants to be alert if he does. He's already told her he plans to ride
out the
hurricane at his house, but who knows? This could be the weekend he'll
realize she ought to meet his children....
She eases out from under the comforter and reaches for the computer on
her nightstand.The laptop is always online, maintaining a quiet vigil as
it files
incoming e-mail and prowls the Web for prospective clients.
Michelle slides her glasses on, then clicks on her e-mail program and
checks the in-box: three inquiries from her Web site,
www.Tilsonheadhunter.com, a
note from her administrative assistant, four ads for fake Rolex watches,
three for cheap (and undoubtedly illegal) pharmaceuticals.
The spam gets deleted without a second look, but Michelle smiles as she
opens the Web mail.The first inquiry is from Don Moss, a Houston CFO who
has recently
lost his job with an oil company. He's looking for a management position
in the four hundred thousand to five hundred thousand dollar range and
he's willing
to relocate.
The second is from a local woman with a newly minted MBA and "a strong
desire to succeed."
The third e-mail is from a school principal who needs to move west due
to his wife's severe allergies. Can Tilson Corporate Careers help him
find a university
position?
Michelle clicks her nails against the keyboard as she considers the
requests. The CFO will get her full attention; he's probably good for a
fifteen-thousand-dollar
fee. One of her associates can coach the girl with the MBA on how to
create a résumé and urge her to attend industry conferences. She'll not
bring in much
money, but she should find a job within a few months. The principal
might be tough to place, but since he's probably been in education a few
years, he's
bound to know someone who knows someone in Arizona or New Mexico. He'll
land a job...eventually. Tilson Corporate will simply have to make sure
he exhausts
all his resources.
She moves all three messages into her Action folder, then opens the
message from Reggie. She sighs when she reads that he's taking his wife
and new baby
to Georgia to escape the storm.
I'll keep an eye on the news, he promises, and you can call if you need
me. I'll be at my sister's house in Marietta.
BTW---last week one of the counselors took an application from a young
guy who's looking for a management position. Nothing unusual in the app,
but I saw
him through the window and recognized him---he's a columnist for the
Tampa Tribune and he belongs to the gym where my wife works. Long story
short, Marcy
chatted him up and found out he's doing a story on employment agencies
who don't meet their contractual obligations. Looks like we're at the
top of his
hit list.
I pulled his file and left it on my desk---he's using the name Marshall
Owens, but he writes his column under a Greg Owens byline. You might
want to look
him up.
Michelle swallows hard as her stomach tightens. Her agency does find
jobs for clients, though not as often as their brochure claims. And
while their advertising
states that they typically place people in positions with salaries
ranging from seventy thousand dollars to seven hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, she
can't remember the last time they referred a prospect to a situation
worth more than eighty grand.
If she doesn't find an appropriate position for this columnist, he'll be
all over Tilson Corporate Careers. If any of their procedures arouse his
suspicions,
he might dig deeper and investigate her.
Reporters ask questions; they verify facts and check entries on résumés.
If she doesn't find Owens a job, he could crucify her.
She presses her hands to her eyes as dread whirls inside her stomach.
Only one thing to do, then---find the fake applicant a real job, and
pretend to be surprised
when he doesn't take it.
That part, at least, will be easy. She's been pretending all her life.
Isabel Suarez drives the vacuum across the carpet, her hips working to
a disco beat as Donna Summer sings in her ears. She maneuvers the
machine around
a desk chair that has rolled off its plastic mat, then stops to flip the
power switch. A candy wrapper has drifted beneath the file drawer, out
of the
vacuum's reach.
Unlike the others in this tidy office, this employee--- Waveney
Forester, according to the nameplate---obviously enjoys eating on the job.
Isabel crouches and pulls the crinkled wrapper from its hiding
place,then yelps when someone yanks the earbuds from her ears. Her
forearms pebble in the
sudden silence, but when she peers over the edge of the desk, she finds
she is still alone.
The speaker cord has caught on a drawer handle. Exhaling, Isabel
releases the cord, then dumps the employee's trash into the receptacle
attached to her
cleaning cart. A load of printed forms, typed pages and soft-drink cans
tumble into the bin, followed by a rainbow of cellophane squares---the
secretary's
guilty secret. Every Tuesday and Friday night Isabel finds dozens of
candy wrappers shoved to the bottom of Waveney Forester's trash. The
sight never fails
to make her smile.
Isabel returns the trash can to its hiding place in the desk's kneehole,
then lifts her gaze to the wide windows along the east wall. A
sprinkling of lights
still sparkles in the skyscrapers of Tampa's downtown district, a waste
of electricity no one seems to mind. The sun has begun to rise, but only
a glimmer
of light penetrates the cloudy eastern horizon. Carlos warned her to be
careful on the way home because a storm is on its way, a huracán.
Because her fellow custodians like to complain about the weather, Isabel
knows Florida has suffered many hurricanes in the last few years, along
with states
called Mis-sis-sip-pi and Lou-i-si-ana. She doesn't know anyone in those
places, but the people she knows in Florida are rich beyond
imagining.They complain
if their roof leaks---¿por qué? At least they have a roof. And homes.
And a government that hands out money and food to anyone who asks for it.
She presses her hand to the cool window and feels a shiver run down her
spine. America. Home of the blessed and the free. Home to runaways and
castoffs
and so full of people a girl could get lost forever...if she has reason
to hide.
A flag on a nearby rooftop snaps in the rising wind, but Isabel can't
feel even a breeze in this fortress of steel and glass. At this daybreak
hour, in
this towering perch, she can't help feeling safe. No one from México can
touch her here. Even if her enemy manages to track her to Tampa, she
will not
surrender. She has Carlos and Rafael now, and she would rather die than
lose them.
She catches sight of her mirrored reflection, gives herself a relieved
smile, and nudges the earbuds back into her ears. Leaving the vista of
Tampa behind,
she powers on the machine and hums along with Donna Summer as she
vacuums her way toward the executive's inner office. ** *
Tucked into the corner of a wing chair, Gina Rossman lifts her swollen
eyelids and stares at her unrumpled bed. The report, in a manila
envelope, still
rests on Sonny's pillow. She spent the night in this chair for nothing.
So much for dramatic gestures.
She lifts her head and glances at the clock, then frowns at the view
outside the bedroom window. The sun is usually brighter by
seven-twenty...but how could
she forget Felix? Destructive hurricanes are nothing new for Florida; in
the past three months Hillsborough County residents have anxiously
monitored the paths of Alberto, Chris and Debby. The local
weathercasters, who would probably lash themselves to a wavering
flagpole if the stunt would get them national
airtime, are positively giddy about the latest patch of weather heading
directly toward Florida's central west coast.
Sonny will blame his absence on the storm, of course. He'll claim he
didn't come home because he had to singlehandedly prepare for the
hurricane. He sent
his employees home Thursday afternoon, he'd remind her, because he
wanted to give them time to leave the...
Monica Willyard
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