It Aint' Easy Being Jazzy
Published: 12 Oct 2013
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Jazzy secretly wants to get back together with her ex-boyfriend, Curtis, so when he calls and reveals that he’s got something important to tell her, she’s got no idea that he’s about to propose—to her first cousin and bitter rival, Mercedes.
The annual family dinner is coming up, and fearing that she will spend the evening seething while Mercedes flaunts her four carat engagement ring in her face, Jazzy asks Reggie, an Adonis she met at the mall, to accompany her. As fate would have it, not only did Reggie and Mercedes used to date; that backstabbing, leopard print wearing cow is still carrying a torch for him! Revenge. It’s never been so sweet.
But falling for Reggie? Holy crap! That wasn’t part of the plan! She’s got enough on her plate as it is; restaurant shootouts, a neurotic boss, a mother who spies on the neighbors, and a sister and best friend with man problems that could land them on Jerry Springer. Who has time to fall in love? So when Curtis comes sniffing around again—this time, with an accusation that sends her blood pressure shooting through the roof—the one good nerve that Jazzy’s got left has just about run its course.
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Aint-Easy-Being-Jazzy-ebook/dp/B00FVAFA4A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1381837318&sr=8-1&keywords=quanie+miller
Quanie Miller grew up in New Iberia, Louisiana. She fell in love with reading at an early age and spent most of her time at the Iberia Parish Library discovering new authors like R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike (she was often found walking back home from the library with a stack of books that went up to her chin). She holds degrees from Louisiana State University and San Jose State University. She has been the recipient of the James Phelan Literary Award, the Louis King Thore Scholarship, the BEA Student Scriptwriting Award, and the Vicki Hudson Emerging Writing Prize. She loves writing humorous stories about strong willed, sassy women who can’t keep themselves out of trouble. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina with her husband and is currently, as always, working on another novel.
To find out more about Quanie and her works in progress connect with her online:
I heard what sounded like the crunching of leaves in the backyard, so I went around the house to see what was going on. And there was Mama. On her tippy toes, peeping over the fence. I said, “What are you doing?”
She said, “Shhh!” And motioned me over. “I think that heifer’s been stealin’ our coupons.”
“So why are you looking into her backyard?”
“I’m not looking into her backyard. I was eavesdropping. Her sliding door was open and I heard her in there talkin’ to somebody. I was hopin’ she’d say somethin’ that would give me probable cause to search her house.”
“First of all, please don’t do that because you will end up in jail. And second, I think this woman has better things to do than steal our coupons.”
“So what happened? The coupon fairy just all of a sudden decided to skip our house the last couple of weeks?”
I knew I wasn’t going to win that one. She had that look in her eye and the only person who could talk some sense into her was in Heaven. Daddy was probably having a good hearty laugh up there while watching me desperately trying to convince his wife not to break the law. I said, “Why don’t you go and visit with Grandma Dottie?”
“If you’re going to break the law, at least do it with the only person we know who can bribe the D.A.”
“Good idea.” She wagged her finger at me. “But I’m keepin’ my eye on her. I knew she wasn’t givin’ us cabbage soup out of the goodness of her heart. It was to ease her guilty conscience because she’s been sneakin’ into our mailbox and takin’ our damn Penny Savers.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m gonna crack this case. You wait and see.” She walked away and I just stood there rubbing my forehead. The last thing I needed was for my mother to get arrested, or worse, to be on trial for burglary. She would enjoy it too much. I imagined her up there on the witness stand, pointing to the prosecutor and shouting out like Jack Nicholson, “You can’t handle the truth!” She would pose for the cameras and sign autographs while Grandma Dottie sold “Free Ida” tee shirts outside of the courthouse. It would be too much. I knew I wouldn’t be able to change her mind, so I just prayed that if she went through with her crazy plan, she wouldn’t get caught.
I was so deep in thought—imagining the front page caption of the paper if Mama got caught trying to break into Ms. Patsie’s house: Woman tries to wedge herself in neighbor’s window. Big butt prevents her from being successful—that I forgot to be on alert for Ms. Patsie. My heart sped up and just as I was about to duck behind a bush, I heard, “Yoo-hoo! Jazzy!” I looked up and saw her sprinting from her porch to her front yard. “Hang on just a sec!” She dashed back inside and a few seconds later came rushing out with an enormous container that was covered in aluminum foil. Ms. Patsie was a very large woman. At least six feet with bananas for fingers and planks for feet. She looked to be in her fifties, but she was always “keeping up with the Bonqueshas,” as Mama called it. Or “dressing young”— big hoop earrings, halter tops, and skin-tight jeans like she had the body of a svelte twenty year old.
When I saw that container I almost turned around and ran, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So instead, I plastered on the fakest smile I could and said, “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me!”
She waved my comment away. “I know how much you love my cabbage soup! How are you?”
“I’m fine. What about you?”
“I’m okay. I’m gonna go down to Safeway and do some shopping. It’s double coupon day.” She winked at me. “You wouldn’t happen to have any extra coupons lying around?”
“We’re all out.”
“Shoot. Well, okay.” She took a deep breath and said cheerfully, “Don’t eat all that soup before Ida and Annie get some!”
I said just as cheerfully, “You don’t have to worry about that!” She went back into her house and I quickly ran to the backyard and dumped the container in the trash. I had never been brave enough to taste it. I only knew that I had tried giving some to Grandma Dottie’s dog, Tiny, and he had cried, “Roooo!” and then went running for his life.