Click here to read the first chapter of Embracing the Fool, Dawn Leger's new book.
Click the image above to read the exciting first chapter of Eagle Scouting,
a novel by Dawn Leger
Note that this book is intended for mature readers and includes scenes of violence, strong language, and sex.
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Now available: CHAPTER THREE of Eagle Scouting.
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In Flight....Chapter 1
Shortly after boarding the plane, a glass of single-malt whiskey on its way to her hand, Marta had been disturbed to discover the seat next to her was about to be occupied by a nervous—shaking actually—and extremely elderly gentleman. “I was upgraded,” he said, waving his boarding pass in Marta’s direction. “My first time on an airplane, and I get first class.”
“That’s nice,” she murmured, turning to look out the window while he stored his bag and jacket in the overhead compartment. Marta watched her own reflection in the glass, eyes falling in and out of focus, gazing sometimes at the scurrying airport personnel below and sometimes at herself, a woman who did not look her age at thirty-six. She had thick dark hair and slightly oriental, almond-shaped green eyes that were fringed with dark lashes under the curve of well-turned eyebrows and bracketed by sharp cheekbones covered with taut, unwrinkled skin. She flew weekly, sometimes more than once or even twice a week, some trips lasting less than a day. Always flying first class, she was a longtime member of the million-mile club—and the mile-high club, for that matter. She raised her eyebrow slightly when Denise, one of her favorites on the European circuit, leaned in to refresh her drink.
“Sorry, we’re booked solid today. You won’t be able to spread out this trip.”
Marta frowned and sipped her drink. It was bad enough that she was bound for Istanbul, a place she’d left a lifetime ago. Now she was forced to share her trip with an elderly seatmate who insisted on referring to it as Constantinople, despite almost a hundred years of being known in the world with the Turkish rather than Greek designation on maps. Although she’d vowed never to set foot in that country again, a series of mishaps had landed her in this seat on a first-class rocket to the past to discuss none other than the international trade in pasta.
“Pasta?” asked the constant Constantinopler.
“Precisely,” she replied, snapping open her laptop to circumvent further discussion of the topic at hand. After one partner contracted malaria (in New York City, no less, so who knew where that malady came from?), another had a skiing accident (this mishap taking place on the slopes in Vermont, but in early May, making it also suspect to Marta), and then the third and fourth were taken off the case to assist with the defense of an illegal nanny and gardener discovered working sans papers in the household of the firm’s managing partner, well, it seemed that the planets had finally aligned themselves in such a way to compel Marta’s return to Turkey.
“Short and sweet,” she told the travel agent. “I want to get in there, do the deal, and get the hell out as soon as possible.”
Marta was particularly rattled—and she never became rattled, particularly or not—by the prospect of returning to her homeland, a place she’d not seen since she left in 1985, at the tender age of twenty-one. Her colleagues were always vague about where Marta came from, although if pressed, the senior partners knew that she had arrived in their offices with a passport from Turkey, the ink barely dry on her Turkish law degree and the master’s from Columbia Law School. After a while, in typical New York fashion, no one cared where she came from, including her.
New York was the perfect place to get lost, to reinvent oneself, to make a new history. This was precisely what Marta had done. And now, all because of a stupid legal tangle over pasta that was verging on an international incident, Marta was going back there.