Bird of Paradise
Bird of Paradise
A Novella
Katie MacAlister
Praise for Katie MacAlister!
“
Katie MacAlister has an easy voice
that brims with wit and fun.”
—Mrs. Giggles from Everything Romantic
MacAlister has a “captivating voice
and charming storytelling skills [and] impeccable
style.”
—
Inscriptions Magazine
“
This story is a true romp. There is
much to laugh at when reading this book and much to miss when it is
over. A true ‘keeper.’”
—
RT Book
Reviews
“Sexy, feisty and
clever.”
—
Reader
to Reader
Originally published 2003 in the Heat Wave
anthology by Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © Katie MacAlister, 2003, 2012
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of
the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of
this book via the Internet or via any other means without the
permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please
purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not
participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted
materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Bird of Paradise
A Novella
Katie MacAlister
Praise for Katie MacAlister!
“
Katie MacAlister has an easy voice
that brims with wit and fun.”
—Mrs. Giggles from Everything Romantic
MacAlister has a “captivating voice and charming
storytelling skills [and] impeccable style.”
—
Inscriptions Magazine
“
This story is a true romp. There is
much to laugh at when reading this book and much to miss when it is
over. A true ‘keeper.’”
—
RT Book
Reviews
“Sexy, feisty and clever.”
—
Reader
to Reader
Originally published 2003 in the Heat Wave
anthology by Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © Katie MacAlister, 2003, 2012
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of
the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of
this book via the Internet or via any other means without the
permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please
purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not
participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted
materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novella was originally part of the Heat
Wave anthology, published in 2003. All three novellas in the
anthology—the other two were by Jennifer Archer and Sheridon
Smythe—were written to take place at the same location, and using
the same setting: a reality TV show.
Completists might want to have the anthology
so as to read all three stories together, although each novella is
a tale unto itself. Regardless if you read my novella, Bird of
Paradise, when it was originally published, or if you’ve been
waiting for it to be made available again, I hope you enjoy the
story of Hero, Adam, and Jesus the cat.
Katie MacAlister
Chapter One
“I’m with you on the need for the air horn
in case you are forced to slaughter innocent animals in the name of
sport, and I completely agree with the earplugs for the roller
disco night, but why in the name of John, Paul, and Ringo are you
packing this monstrosity?” Gemma held up a voluminous
purple-and-black beruffled, skirted, blousoned swimsuit.
Hero made a moue at both her friend’s words
and the object held before her. “You left out George,” she pointed
out.
Gemma waggled the swimsuit at her.
Hero sighed and took the garment, folding it
neatly and placing it back into the luggage. “You told me it was a
crime against nature to go to the Caribbean without taking a
swimsuit. That is a swimsuit.”
“I said take
your
swimsuit, Hero, not
your grandmother’s,” Gemma replied, much more acidly than Hero
thought warranted, but then, who was she to say? She was only
Gemma’s best friend. Clearly her opinion counted for little in the
Gemma scale of life. “That thing probably covers you from knees to
elbows. You’ll drown the first time it gets wet. It’ll suck you
right down to the briny depths. I know you think you’re too
Rubenesque for a bikini—”
Hero snorted at the
word
Rubenesque
.
She knew her friend was trying not to hurt her feelings by using
such phrases as
prodigiously
plump
, but really! Rubenesque?
“—
but that’s no reason to
hide yourself. You’re lovely. You should be proud of who you are,
not hide yourself behind all those layers of clothing.”
“I like my clothing,” Hero said with great
dignity that was lost upon the other woman.
“Well, no one else does!
Hero, when are you going to realize that despite being a few stone
heavier than you’d like to be, you’re still attractive?
Very
attractive?”
“Gemma, give it up; we’ve been over it too
many times before. I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I’m
not at all comfortable wearing the type of clothes you do. I simply
have to much flesh. An excess of flesh. Great, huge, vast stretches
of it, in fact, which I prefer to keep covered decently so as not
to frighten small children and the elderly. Now”—she held up two
dresses—”which frock do you think for the fancy dinners—the navy or
the ecru?”
Gemma plumped down on the bed next to the
suitcase and frowned. “Neither, they both look like something my
aunt Fran would wear to a convent in a blizzard during Lent. Hero,
I don’t like to duff you over this, but here you have the perfect
opportunity to look over a large herd of eligible bachelors, and
all you do is pack clothing guaranteed to keep you in purdah. You
deserve better than that. You’re going to a tropical island! Sun!
Men! Beautiful white beaches! Men in thongs! Fruity drinks and
pampering and fun! Men walking around with nothing more on than a
really nice tan and a wicked glint in their eyes! I want you to
promise me that you’re seriously going to look at the men you’ll
meet on Mystique Island.”
Hero silently shoved several pairs of lacy
underwear into the corners of the bag. “I shan’t be able to avoid
looking at them, they are an integral part of my article.”
“Hero,” her friend said in a growl. “You
know what I meant!”
Hero rummaged around in the
bottom of her wardrobe looking for a pair of sandals. “I do, but as
I’m participating in this ridiculous dating show solely to do a
story, Gem, I don’t feel your suggestion that I chat up the men in
an attempt to find a potential husband deserves any comment. You
know how important this article is to me. Besides, those men are
Americans. We both know what that means—oversexed, egotistical,
can’t-keep-their-willies-in-their-trousers types.
Not
the sort of bloke I’m
looking to tie myself to forever.”
“You’re half American,” Gemma pointed out,
removing the underwear and folding them tidily before replacing
them.
“My point exactly. Mum got tangled up with a
smooth-talking Yank engineer twenty-six years ago, and what was the
outcome of that?” Hero tucked a pair of beige huaraches into the
side of her bag and disappeared into the dingy bathroom to collect
various sundries.
“You,” Gemma called after her.
“Correct.”
“Your parents were married.”
“But Dad was never home! He wasn’t happy at
home; he wanted to wander the world. And now where is he? In
Arizona with his new bit of crumpet, leaving Mum heartbroken.”
“So heartbroken that when he left she said,
and I quote, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish’?”
Hero emerged from the bathroom to wave that
comment away. “That’s merely a protective device so she doesn’t
have to admit how hurt she is by Dad’s betrayal. Do you think I
look to pale? Should I use tanning lotion?”
“Hero, your parents were married for almost
twenty-five years. I think now is the time for you to get over
their divorce and admit your problem isn’t American men.”
“No, my problem is to
finish packing so I can make my flight to Mystique, thus ensuring
that I’ll have a story on how desperate Americans will do anything
to find someone to date, which will, in turn, keep Stephen from
giving me the sack and me from going on the dole because no one
wants to hire a blackballed tabloid writer.
That
is my problem.” She held up a
bronze bottle with a large yellow sun on it. “Yea or nay on the
tanning lotion?”
“Yea, you look whiter than a fish’s
underbelly. And as for the other, you haven’t been blackballed,
goose. You can’t really blame Stephen for putting you on probation
after that last story, what you did was very much over the
line.”
“Perhaps,” Hero mumbled as she flattened a
roll of toilet tissue and added it to her suitcase. One never knew
what one was going to find in the less civilized areas of the
world. It was far better to be prepared than be obliged to use the
local flora to tend to one’s personal needs.
“Perhaps?
Perhaps
your story
claiming that one of the royal family had an alien love child was
not so outrageous the outcry could be heard from here to John
O’Groats?
Perhaps
you didn’t almost lose your job, only hanging on because you
begged the publisher to give you another chance.
Perhaps
, Hero?
Perhaps
?”
Friends. There were times
when she really had to wonder why she was cursed with them. She
zipped up the sides of the suitcase and turned to face her oldest
and dearest friend. “What do you want me to say, Gemma? That I was
wrong to try to increase circulation and save Stephen from losing
his livelihood? That I was wrong to make up a story so patently
false that only an idiot would believe it was true? That I was
wrong to call those very same people mindless boobs on the telly?
Well, all right, I admit the last was not in the best interests of
either my career or the
Revue
, but the first two—no. Stephen
knows full well it was my story that saved his paper, which makes
it all that much more unreasonable that he should put me in the
untenable position of having to turn in a fascinating story that
will save my position without once using the words
alien
or
love child
. I ask you—can
it be done? I have my doubts!”
Gemma laughed and held up a lacy bra. “I
don’t have any. You forgot this. Really, Hero, such scandalous
smalls! For someone who looks so conservative on the outside, you
wear the naughtiest knickers and bras!”
Hero snatched the item and unzipped the
luggage just enough to stuff it inside. “If you’re quite finished
ridiculing my choice of undergarments, perhaps you’ll assist me in
applying the faux suntan. I can’t imagine it will fool anyone, but
I’d much prefer to not have the streaks and blotches that I’m sure
will happen if I try to do the backside of me by myself.”
