Excerpt: "I guarantee you, that within ten years I'll be our department's president!" David's tone brooked no argument."I'm sure the score of hopefuls in line ahead of you, would beg to differ," his friend and co-worker remarked. Age had mellowed his deep baritone.The elevator door opened on the fifth floor housing the cafeteria, and Debbie entered. Chin-length mousy brown hair framed her cheeks as she bent her head and raised her wrist to read the time on her watch. She was unaware that a smidgen of ketchup hung to the corner of her mouth. She'd lost track of time and gone over her 45 minutes allotted for lunch. No time to clean up in the rest room, only a quick swipe of her napkin across her lips and a hurried run to the elevators to return to the tenth floor and her cubicle and computer.David's voice from behind froze her into place. "Ben, I assure you those hopefuls won't stand a chance. I have them beat by education, seniority, presence and a well-kept list of any and all their mistakes, no matter how small or pardonable."Ben raised an eyebrow. "No Mercy, no quarter given," he said without surprise. "You'll mow down anyone who gets in your way.""Anyone?" Debbie asked.Both men started, becoming aware of her."No matter who you hurt?" she asked.David's ego demanded he answer, without noticing who was asking, except for the female voice. "Yes," he replied, "no matter whose or how many toes I'll need to step on."He waited for a rebuttal, or an argument, but none came. The silence made him look at the speaker. She looked familiar, but he wasn't certain from where. Not surprising. She wasn't much to look at. No one he'd want to remember. Except perhaps for her eyes. Mousy brown like her hair. He felt the urge to laugh. Those nondescript eyes were gazing at him with compassion. He was tempted to ask who she was, but the elevator came to a halt and the doors to the tenth floor opened. She hurried out."Hey," Ben nudged him. "We getting out?""Yes ... yes, of course," David said, stepping off the elevator. It was their floor as well. "Silly female," he muttered. "Who is she, do you know?"Ben shook his head. "No idea. But the tenth floor is your department. About the AuthorDorothy Paula Freda, is also known under her pen names Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose. Herbooks range from Fiction and Non-fiction Adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Poetry, Articles, Essays and How-to-Write Instructional complete with Lessons and optional assignments.Homemaker, mother of two grown sons, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line, Paula was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'" Paula further states, "My stories are sensitive, deeply emotional, sensual when appropriate, yet non-graphic, family fare, pageturners. My hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit, bring a smile to your face and your soul, and leave you filled with a generous amount of hope."
