Free The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) by Suzanne Kelman Page A

talked about success as if it had kidnapped her firstborn child.
    “I have a plan. We’re going to launch an attack.”
    “Right on!” rallied Ruby, pumping an arm into the air.
    An attack? On a publisher? What was she going to ask me to do? Drive the getaway car?
    Doris paused as Gladys came back and topped off our water glasses, saying to Ruby, “No rabbit food today. Jim’s cooking, and he’s strictly a red-meat-and-potatoes guy. Shaping peanuts to look like little pork chops just isn’t part of his skill set.”
    Then Ruby nodded, as Gladys scuffled away again.
    Doris moved. “I’ve been calling them ever since I got the letter, and no one ever seems to answer the phone, so this is what we’re going to do. We’re going down to see that Shrew and Gavy person, and we are going to demand that he give me back Love in the Forest and that he writes us a nice, gilded rejection letter instead.”
    “And an apology,” added Lottie. “You know, for liking it in the first place!”
    Everyone nodded her own approval.
    “This time we need to act fast.” Doris seemed encouraged with determination. “Writing them a letter and waiting for their response is just not going to cut it. You all remember how long those can take to come back. Remember letter 133?”
    Everybody, except me, nodded in remembrance.
    “Letter 133?” I asked, tentatively taking a sip of my water.
    “Eighteen months!” said Lavinia with disgust.
    “Eighteen months after we sent in the manuscript before they finally replied!” added Doris. “No, we are going to hit this head-on.” She dropped an octave, as if she were about to share a deep dark secret. “I have been researching all about them on the World Wide Web.”
    All the ladies looked impressed.
    In between the food starting to arrive, Annie asked a question. “What if they refuse to give us a letter?”
    “Then,” said Doris, with a flourish of grandeur, “we will go to plan B!”
    “Plan B?” I asked in a tight voice, not really wanting to know what that was.
    Doris sucked on a piece of ice from her tea. “Ruby has agreed to chain herself to one of their toilets. It would be like the Occupy Movement. Except this will be handy in case she needs to ‘go.’ So, Ruby is on Occupy the Toilet Movement, no pun intended,” she said seriously, “and Ethel will be there as my right-hand woman.”
    Flora fluttered her white lashes nervously as she delicately sipped her water through a thin straw and spoke for the first time. “What about me? How can I help?”
    “I thought that would be obvious,” snapped Doris. “You’re the youngest in our group. If we need some womanly wiles to seduce this Gaveston fella, that will be your job. You’ll bring him around to our way of thinking by the oldest trick in the book.”
    From Flora’s expression, she hadn’t the foggiest idea what Doris was referring to.
    Doris became irritated. “You know, the femme fatale. A low-cut blouse and some sass.”
    I thought Flora was going to pass out on the spot. The blood visibly drained from her face, and she started to cough uncontrollably.
    “What I need from you all now is commitment and solidarity.”
    Ruby put her fist in the air again, like a salute, and they all followed. Doris’s was the only fist still in the air when Gladys arrived back with the last of our order. As she placed down Doris’s food in front of her, she quipped dryly, “Can I get you some greasepaint to go with that patty melt, Rocky?”
    “Just some ketchup,” replied Doris curtly.
    I must admit this had all been immensely entertaining, but it was time for me to gracefully step off this carousel ride and go back to the real world. I was actually grateful for my daughter’s emergency. It was about to come in really handy. As soon as Gladys left the table, I started on my exit speech. “I don’t think there’s really much I can do to help your group,” I said, winding up gently.
    “Nonsense,” Doris replied through