I’m very worried about the depiction of women on the screen. It’s gotten worse than ever and it’s related to their being either high- or low-class concubines, and the only question is when or where they will go to bed, with whom, and how many. There’s nothing to do with the dreams of women, or of woman as the dream, nothing to do with the quirky part of her, the wonder of her.
Red’s Hot Cowboy by Carolyn Brown!
Aside from futilely waiting for “Red” a.k.a. Pearl to show up in that white lacy nightgown during the entire book because she’s in it on the cover (unless she did in that scene I read while I was drunk on the plane and I don’t remember), there was no wait for anything else in this boudoir book: Wil Marshall shows up on page 8, smokin’ as hell.
My favorite part about this book was not how unrealistically able-to-have-sex-three-times Wil Marshall was after he and Pearl took 10 shots of Jack Daniel’s. Nor was it how chivalrous he really turns out to be after she gets a concussion on his stairs waking her up every hour so she won’t pass out and die. Nor how he gets away with calling her “Red” when that’s her most-loathed nickname of all time and (whaddya know?!) his mother coincidentally hates women with red hair. Nor is it Pearl’s cat named Delilah, or the fact that she has a penchant for helping out abused women. Nor is it the fact that they get married literally six weeks after knowing one another. No. It’s all the idioms. Or like… regional sayings. Or similes. Or whatever. They. Are. EVERYWHERE.
And they’re Southern. And I plan on incorporating all of them into my lexicon. Here are a few:
"Her eyes looked like warmed-over sin on Sunday morning."
"I couldn’t wait that long to hear the story from the horse’s mouth."
"I’m the last person to judge whether a man is worth the bullet to shoot him or not."
"A few marshmallow clouds moved across the sky as if they had nowhere to go and a lifetime to get there."
"Mesa’s comment worried through her mind like a hound dog with a fresh ham bone."
"If it purrs like a cat, catches mice like a cat, and runs from a dog like a cat, chances are pretty dang good that it’s a cat."
"A breeze couldn’t be bought, traded for, cussed up, or prayed for until Labor Day."
Anyway, Pearl runs the Longhorn Inn that she inherited from her Aunt Pearlita. Wil is a rancher. The electricity goes out in his ranch and he has to book a room at the Inn. Bow chicka bow bow. The next morning he’s fake-arrested on some mistaken identity hoohah and Pearl vouches for him in jail. Blah dee blah dee blah they get drunk and do it. 150 pages later they’re meeting each others’ parents. 5 pages later they’re getting married. Typical.