Flamingo Place. Marcia King-Gamble
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DEAR JENNA ADVICE COLUMN
The Flamingo Beach Chronicle
Dear Readers,
Love sneaks up on you when you least expect it. And believe me, I’ve kissed enough frogs to know that not every one is a prince! Just because a man is tall, dark and sexy, and fabulously rich, doesn’t mean that he’s all that.
Take my next-door neighbor Tre Monroe. He’s a hunk, he makes good money (he even drives a Porsche), but the man is a D-O-G. Could it be that his playboy persona hides the soul of a romantic?
Keeping it real,
Jenna
P.S. Perhaps you can teach an old dog new tricks!
MARCIA KING-GAMBLE
was born on the island of St. Vincent—a heavenly place in the Caribbean where ocean and skies are the same mesmerizing blue. An ex-travel industry executive, Marcia’s favorite haunts remain the Far East, Venice and New Zealand.
In her spare time, she enjoys kickboxing, step aerobics and Zumba, then winding down with a good book. A frustrated interior designer, Marcia’s creativity finds an outlet in her home where nothing matches. She is passionate about animals, tear-jerking movies and spicy food. She serves double duty as the director of member services at a writers and artists institute in South Florida, and is the editor of Romantically Yours—a monthly newsletter.
To date, Marcia has written twelve novels and two novellas. She loves hearing from fans. You may contact her at [email protected] or P.O. Box 25143, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33320.
Flamingo Place
Marcia King-Gamble
To Emily Martin with heartfelt thanks. You’re the best unpaid assistant a woman could ever hope for.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Flamingo Beach, where the living is easy. Nothing ever changes here except for the population.
If you’re young and single, Flamingo Place, the fancy new condominium, is where it’s at. You’ll need to be over thirty though, and you can’t have children. Plus your income needs to be in a high bracket. Of course you could lie about that.
Flamingo Beach has just about everything to keep a body happy. We have restaurants, churches and beauty shops. Our inhabitants are friendly—notice I didn’t say nosy. We also have a florist. Yup, the mayor’s son and his lover are partners in a florist shop.
That, by the way, is how this story came about. Jen, the new advice columnist at the Chronicle, used a word to describe our florist and people got ticked. D’Dawg, a hot radio personality, jumped all over her, and the two went at it. Rumor has it they’ve since made up.…
If you’d like more information about Flamingo Beach, write to me at P.O. Box 25143, Fort Lauderdale,FL 33320, or e-mail me at [email protected].
Don’t be strangers now. Come down for a visit!
Marcia King-Gamble
Contents
Chapter 1
You say your son is queer! Maybe he’s a confirmed bachelor or simply set in his ways.
Thump! Thump! Thump! The damn boom box next door was driving Jen St. George crazy.
Determined to ignore the loud rap music emanating from her neighbor’s apartment, Jen continued to type. Her next door neighbor was the most inconsiderate person she’d ever encountered and by far the rudest.
Jumping up, Jen banged on the wall and yelled, “Can you turn down your music?”
When her request didn’t produce the desired results, Jen called to her assistant, Chere, “Turn on the stereo, please. Loud.”
Jen’s attention returned to the letter she was working on. She banged out words no sooner than they’d popped into her head. This was her tenth letter of the day, and she was exhausted from dispensing advice. The moniker love diva hadn’t been earned easily.
The script in front of her was beginning to blur and tiny black dots were popping out in front of her eyes. On any given day being an advice columnist wasn’t easy, but she loved her job and got immense satisfaction from helping people. Giving advice had made her a popular and sought-after teenager. It had felt good to be needed. Today it still did.
“Chere, where are you? You’re supposed to be turning on the stereo,” Jen called, her irritation at her assistant reflecting in her tone. Not that Chere would even get it.
“I hear you,” her assistant called from the vicinity of the kitchen.
Dear Jenna made a living as an advice columnist to the lovelorn. This career came with a huge responsibility. People trusted her to choose their life partners or help them dump an inconvenient