The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe - Willow & Tara Forever

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 Post subject: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 11/16/2019
PostPosted: Fri Aug 02, 2019 6:57 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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Joined: Mon Aug 04, 2008 10:37 am
Posts: 487
Topics: 5
Location: New York
Title: Honeysuckle Rose .... but was toying with the idea of calling it 'Pushing Up Daisies'
Rating: PG13 - NC17
Summary: Takes place in New York City, 1944. Tara's father is dead and she suspects foul play. Distraught, she contacts a private detective to investigate.
Updates every Saturday

Chapter 1


…earlier today, Secretary Stimson announced that a reshuffling of Army personnel will place five to six million fighting men overseas by the end of the year. Furthermore many of the officers over 38 will be placed on the inactive list … and finally, it is with a heavy heart that I say, New York City is shining a bit dimmer today as one of our stars fade away. All of the Big Apple is buzzing at the news that James Michael Maclay, famed owner of ‘Le Beau Cosmetic Company’ which was founded right here in New York City was found dead in his home by his eldest child, the glamourous Tara-Rose Maclay. Mr. Maclay is believed to have succumbed to a heart attack early Friday morning. The deceased was husband to the late Margarete Rose Maclay, who passed away due to complications during childbirth in 1926 following the birth of their youngest child. Mr. Maclay is survived by daughter, Tara-Rose, and son, Donald. This morning, the beloved Mr. Maclay will be laid to rest next to his wife at Green-Wood Cemetery. Tara-Rose Maclay is slated to take full control over her father’s business, LBCC and the entire family estate. She has some big shoes to fill but New York has every confidence in this little lady. This is truly a sad day in our great city.

This is Daniel Osbourne signing off. I leave you know with Duke Ellington and John Coltrane’s “In a Sentimental Mood”.

WPOV

I was tempted to turn off my Victrola radio as I stood in my small studio apartment in my undershirt and slacks, slowly pouring myself another glass of bourbon on the rocks. The news on the war had been bleak and I didn’t really give a crap about some dead blueblood and his family’s so called problems. Unfortunately, it was my job to know what was happening with New York City social set; sometimes they came to me to solve their rich blueblood problems, and hell, they paid damn well. Automatically, I filed the names away in the drawer of my mind reserved for useless bullshit I‘d probably never need. I sat down at my desk, unfolded my copy of the New York Times and eagerly spread it out in front of me. I quickly found the sports pages and began studying the baseball section intently as I tossed a tumbler of Wild Turkey with a practiced flick of the wrist. The ring of the telephone prevented me from reaching my goal; finding the score of the Yankees game would have to wait.

I reached over lazily and picked up the receiver, “Rosenberg,” I say just as lazily, once the black plastic met my ear.

“Is this Rosenberg Investigations?” a husky feminine voice asked.

“Yeah, that’s right girlie,” I drawl out as I chuck the newspaper onto my desk.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Ira Rosenberg, please.”

“You and me both, kid.” I replied as my brows drew together in suspicion. “But you’re about two years too late. The old man went belly-up on a job a long while back.”

“Oh,” her voice held a distinct note of disappointment. “Are you his receptionist?”

“You could say that,” I keep my words short and precise, not keen on giving away too much.

“I would like to speak with the Detective in charge then,” she demanded, her tone verging on annoyance.

“You’re speaking with ’em,” I replied back snidely. “The name’s Red.”

“Red?” she asked dubiously. “Well, are you taking new cases, Mr. Red?” she inquired, obviously unaware of my proper title.

I had to smirk at that. A broad in this line of work was rare but not unheard of. Take Jeanie Halliday or Miss Marple for starters. We were few and far between, the lot of us. So when a Jane or Jobbie called for service, they were always in for a surprise when they caught sight of my mug.

I chuckled softly into the receiver at what I imagined this dame’s reaction would be upon meeting; only stopping when she spoke again. “Well, are you?”

At her words, I purse my lips together in thought and relax back in my chair. “Could be,” I allowed nonchalantly as I leaned back and propped my sock clad feet up on the desk. “Depends on the case. As a general rule, I don’t decide to take a case until I’ve met the client,” I answered, grateful again I had made that personal policy. Anything could be a set up, you can’t trust anybody.

I heard her sigh. “Perhaps if you knew with whom you were speaking with, you might reconsider,” she returned.

Well La-di-dah! “Look doll, I don’t care if you’re Veronica fucking Lake, no dice. We meet first. Why not come to my office? That’s usually how this works,” I offered. My eyes darted around the room and noted the several pairs of shorts and socks hanging up to dry only ten feet away from my desk.

“No thank you,” she retorted and I sighed with relief that I wouldn’t have to hurry and make the place presentable. “Can we meet somewhere in public?” she asked.

I shrugged, “sure, why not. Any place in particular?”

“Furest Bros Restaurant, in an hour.”

“I’ll be there, doll.” I said; I knew the place fairly well. It was in the Jewish section of New York’s lower east side. “And, just for the sake of propriety, with whom am I meeting?” I asked with a sarcastic smirk, my voice heavily laced with mockery.

“Tara-rose Maclay,” she answered flatly and then hung up.

Oh. It was my turn to be shocked.

I put the receiver down, scratched the back of my head and then snatched up my pack of Lucky Strikes, pulling one out gingerly from the pack and bringing it slowly to my lips. From the pocket of my slacks, I took out my silver Zippo lighter that once belonged to my grandfather and flicked it open with a snap of my fingers. I took a long, luxurious draw as I lit the cigarette and pulled open that creaky drawer in my head reserved for bullshit that I apparently needed after all.

Tara-Rose Maclay. Of course I’ve heard of her, long before today’s news. You can’t grow up in this town and not know about the Maclay’s. The radio had said that she stood to inherit the entire estate and her father’s cosmetic company. Lucky broad. But why would she be calling me … or my dead pops to be more accurate? For Christ’s sake, Rosenberg, why do they always call? I chuckled blackly to myself. Because they’re usually guilty.

I stood and went in search of a clean shirt to put on. As I was putting my cuff links in; the ones I found in a drawer in my father’s desk while cleaning it out after his death, I remembered another snippet of useless bullshit. This dame was supposed to be beautiful, absolutely stunning, the toast of the town at one time. I cringed. Beautiful broads were trouble.

Nothing but trouble. The kind of trouble and the kind of dame that get a fella nothin’ but a black eye and a broken heart. Or in my father’s case, two slugs to the chest. Yeah, broads like them; they were to be strictly avoided at all costs.

After I made sure my Colt .32 revolver was loaded and secured in my holster, I deftly knotted my black tie around my neck and shrugged into my weathered gray double breasted suit jacket. Carelessly, I tossed my jet black fedora hat on my uncombed head and walked out the door for my rendezvous with New York’s sweetheart.

Thirty-five minutes later, I got out of the cab on the corner of Orchard St. and Stanton and squinted up at the red neon sign of Fuerst Bros Restaurant that buzzed above me with an electric hum. Nothing had changed since the last time I was here. A decade ago I lived on this side of the city and Fuerst’s was where my pop and I stopped every morning to get a cup of joe before he hit the streets. After being gone for so long, I’m not surprised that I don’t recognize any of the faces in the joint; but I saw the same cheap red vinyl chairs, the tabletops that were scuffed and carved from years of servitude and the same bell over the door announcing my entrance.

Not seeing anyone that looked like a blonde heiress Betty Gable type either, I got a table in the back and ordered a coffee and a slice of apple pie from the diminutive strawberry-blonde haired woman that came to wait on me. I could hear the cook’s radio playing the Andrew Sister’s “In the Mood,” mingled with the satisfying sizzle of bacon frying on the grill.

“Ma’am,” I called to the waitress just as she turned to leave, “forget the pie, steak and eggs over easy instead.” Heck, I haven’t been a practicing Jew in years, “with a side of bacon.” It just smelled too damn good. She nodded and headed towards the kitchen.

I took off my hat and ran my fingers througFh my unruly hair, feebly trying to push back the messy red mop, before lighting a smoke. Wonder what makes her think there’s more going on? The radio said heart attack, I mused, my thoughts falling back to the Maclay case. I took a long deliberate pull on my cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air as I eyed the waitress walking towards me with my coffee.

“Cream?” she asked as she held up a small jar of the milky substance. I shook my head no and she left me to myself. Reaching inside of my suit, I pulled out my little silver flask and quickly topped off my cup. As I brought the cup to my lips, my eyes went to the door of the diner where a customer was walking in, making the little bell that hung over the door ring insistently.

I nearly choked on my coffee as my eyes drank in the sight of what I could only assume was doll-face herself. I mean, who wouldn’t. And you’re a damn liar if you say otherwise. Regardless, I couldn’t have helped it if I wanted to. Her presence demanded a reaction. Her golden wavy hair framed her porcelain face like a gilt frame around a priceless painting. Her eyes were brilliant sapphires as they searched the faces of the patrons in the diner, searching for me, I assumed. Rosy cheeks perfectly complimented by luscious red lips that you just want to have on you … [i]Anywhere[/i].

I stood up slowly, honestly in awe of her, and her eyes flew to me. I shot a closed lip smile at her to show her that I was who she was looking for. I caught the look of shock that briefly washed over her magnificent features as she took in the sight of me; a thin framed, shaggy haired detective and a female to boot, before her demeanor returned to its normal regal pose. Her chin tilted up ever so slightly as she started towards me. Saunter was the only way to describe it; there was no way what she was doing could be called walking. Every man in the room, and even some women, felt the searing burn of her smoldering sensuality.

The creamy white fabric of her dress trimmed with red roses swayed seductively around her calves as she came towards me. I caught a glimpse of a set of long, muscular gams that would put a derby winning thoroughbred to shame. Her feet were encased in a tiny pair of red heels and her fingernails were painted fuck-me-red to match. I was pretty sure Le Beau didn’t have a color called that, but they needed to, and call it Tara-Rose.

“Red Rosenberg?” she purred like a kitten and put out her hand for me to shake. She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. The one that was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air.

“Tara-Rose Maclay,” I said and took her hand, turning it over to kiss the top of it. “It’s my pleasure,” I murmured and smiled wryly at her.

The radio broadcaster never did this dame justice; she was more beautiful then descried. I sighed internally as I looked deeply into her glistening cobalt eyes. I could feel it. Absolutely nothing but a fistful of trouble right smack in the kisser would come from helping this broad.

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


Last edited by mmmh-Hot-Sauce on Sat Nov 16, 2019 8:42 pm, edited 15 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Sat Aug 03, 2019 12:14 pm 
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7. Teeny Tinkerbell Light

Joined: Fri Aug 07, 2009 5:33 pm
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DIBS. I could totally here this entire story in the stereotypical husky voice of the typical PI. Great writing. Looking forward to more.

_________________
Atlantic Antics
Meeting Expectations
Learning to Laugh


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Sun Aug 04, 2019 1:14 am 
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3. Flaming O

Joined: Fri Mar 09, 2018 12:38 pm
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Yeah, what taranwillow4ever said!


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Tue Aug 06, 2019 9:56 am 
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2. Floating Rose
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Joined: Thu Apr 19, 2007 12:17 pm
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You had me at "undershirt and slacks".

Update soon!


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2019 1:26 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
DIBS. I could totally here this entire story in the stereotypical husky voice of the typical PI. Great writing. Looking forward to more.


I watched several film noirs to try and get the tone just right so I’m glad it came across in the writing! Next update tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2019 1:37 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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NorthernLass wrote:
Yeah, what taranwillow4ever said!




Glad you enjoyed the first chapter. More to come tomorrow.

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2019 1:42 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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Joined: Mon Aug 04, 2008 10:37 am
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Location: New York
wickedaddiction wrote:
You had me at "undershirt and slacks".

Update soon!


:laugh well stay tuned, there’ll definitely be more mentioning of undershirts and slacks. Thanks for reading!

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2019 6:46 pm 
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1. Blessed Wannabe

Joined: Thu Nov 01, 2018 11:18 am
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I love detective willow! I'm 110% here for this and to wh where it leads


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Sat Aug 10, 2019 11:51 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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Dragon wrote:
I love detective willow! I'm 110% here for this and to wh where it leads



Glad you're enjoying the story so far. Here's a little more Detective Willow for you!

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose
PostPosted: Sat Aug 10, 2019 12:05 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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TPOV


I wasn’t expecting this petite, slightly unkempt detective to be the best Private Eye in the five boroughs. And I definitely didn’t expect the name “Red” to be associated to a woman no less. But Red Rosenberg looked like she was nothing but trouble with a capital T.

Even from a distance she looked cold, hard and dangerous. And in that gray tailored suit, sexy too. Can’t forget that, Tara-Rose. Those types usually were. Alexander had told me about them, saying that the Rosenberg’s were the best in the business. Hard to work with, but the best. And who was I to call someone else difficult anyways? Alexander had heard of Rosenberg Investigations through a few friends and had even met the now deceased Ira Rosenberg at a pool hall a few years back. I wasn’t sure at first that I needed to hire a private detective; after all, I spoke to the Police Officers and they said it was an open and shut case. That my father had passed away from a heart attack, end of story. Only I was pretty sure that it wasn’t end of story. The more I thought about it over the weekend, the more I realized that I could not rest until I knew, for certain, that there was nothing out of the ordinary with my father’s untimely death. One name was on constant loop, repeating itself over and over again in my head these past forty-eight hours, Rosenberg.

“That’s the Detective, Red Rosenberg, isn’t it, Alexander?” I questioned softly through the glass divider of the car as I watched her walk into the diner, hat on and head low, keeping her face shielded from the wind. I was separated by glass all around me. Separated from where Alexander sat in the front seat of the glossy black Chrysler Imperial by glass. Separated by the glass of the car window and then separated again by the glass pane of the diner from Detective ‘Red’ Rosenberg. I lived in a glass box with everyone looking in at me, watching my every move, and waiting to see what I would do next. It allowed me to take in others as well, though, and that is what I was doing. I sat watching her, sleuthing the detective. The thought was somewhat amusing to my slightly hysterical mind.

“I do believe that’s the Detective, Tara-Rose. I didn’t realize it would be a broad though. Hard to tell with a name like ‘Red’,” he answered somewhat apologetically; resting his arm on the back of his seat and slightly turning to look at me. A few short years ago he would have referred to me as Miss. Maclay or even Miss Tara-Rose. Things changed a lot in a few years, though. We had a thing together, Alexander and me, short lived as it was. Daddy knew and approved of our relationship, if you could even call our one date a relationship. Daddy had always told me that class does not divide us, attitude does. I think that’s one of the things that made Daddy such a good businessman; he never looked down his nose at people. I tried hard to do the same and follow in his footsteps. That’s why, when Alexander asked me out, I had acquiescent his offer. He took me out, we went dancing, and I learned more from Alexander about the city and the world than I had from nearly anyone else. I also learned through our one kiss shared at the end of the night; that I had no feelings for him, or any man for that matter and he in turn, was very gracious in accepting the fact that the only love I could ever give him was platonic. Alexander and I mutually decided that our relationship worked better as just friends and we remained as such. He stayed on staff and it didn’t prove to be uncomfortable. Alexander was a good egg and still one of my very closest confidants. I didn’t have many so it made me hold tight to the ones I did have.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join your meeting?” Alexander offered to me as I continued to watch the diner out the back passenger window. I was no longer able to see Miss. Rosenberg. Instead, I watched the pigeons looking for crumbs and the people bustling by, eager to get wherever they were going. I was stalling and I knew it. Alexander’s offer to escort me was a tempting one. It would have been so much easier to have Alexander there during my meeting with the Detective. Security and a friend rolled into one. But I knew that this was something that I needed to do alone. I needed to start relying on myself now that Daddy was no longer here to watch over me and protect me. I shook my head in answer to Alexander’s question, my hair moving gently around my shoulders with the motion.

Leaning back on the ivory white seat, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The car still smelled of cigars and my father’s cologne and it surrounded me, enveloped me. I wondered how long it would stay that way before the smell would completely disappear. Oh Daddy. A few small tears made their way to the corners of my eyes and I gently dabbed them dry. My embroidered handkerchief never seemed to leave my hand, although I knew I’d have to toughen up to do what needed to be done. I reached in my purse for the silver compact engraved with the letters MRM. Margarete Rose Maclay. It was one of the few things I’ve held on to that was my mother’s. I flipped the compact open to make sure everything was still in place. Make-up and hair both looked perfect, as was expected from the now owner of Le Beau Cosmetics. Even in my darkest hours, when my world was filled with sadness like I’d never experience, my appearance had to remain perfect. It’s what everyone expected of me. I took the powder puff and lightly dabbed on a quick coat of powder to freshen my face. The cold metal warmed quickly, pressed into my hand, and I traced the three letters etched into the silver. I had few memories of Momma, I was so young when she passed. But I remembered her using this compact and it gave me a connection to her that I was otherwise so often lacking.

Sighing and pulling myself together, I moved to pull on my mink sole and get out of the car. Alexander watched me through the rearview mirror and exited the driver’s seat. He tipped his hat and swung open my door for me, offering his hand as I stepped out of the car. He looked a bit concerned as his eyes met mine.

“Tara, be careful. Word on the street is that the Detective’s a bit of a hothead,” he warned as he shut the door behind me.

“So am I, if you remember correctly,” I smiled a watery smile up at him. My Patriotic Red lips grazed the side of his ear. I whispered a breathy thank you. He smiled back and said, “knock’em dead, kid.”

The local greasy spoon was probably the last place Detective Rosenberg would have thought I’d suggest. Daddy and I came here all of the time over the last few years. The people were warm and friendly in a city that could, at times, be anything but. My hands moved to my thighs and smoothed my custom tailored dress down over my legs, pressing out the folds that had come from sitting in the car. Daddy had it made especially for me, with hand painted roses along the skirt. Some might think it was ostentatious to wear something so flashy following his death. I didn’t care what they thought. I knew he would smile if he was here with me. I drew a sense of comfort from wearing the dress that my father had made especially for me, his little Tara-Rose. I had worn the standard black frock earlier to the funeral and it felt stifling. This was me.

Putting on a neutral face, I walked with purpose across the street and to the diner. Pigeons scattered from the sidewalk in front of the restaurant as my heels clicked on the pavement near them. The bell chimed over my head as the glass door opened and I immediately started searching, giving the illusion that I was searching the familiar setting for an unfamiliar face. I had seen her from a distance but I didn’t get the opportunity to really get a good look at her face. I saw her stand up from her spot in the corner booth, my stoic expression dropping for a split second as I took in her animated green eyes and her vibrant red hair tussled in every which direction. Regaining my composure, I hung my stole on the rack near the front door before making my way to the table. Her eyes travel up and down my body and I have to try hard to hold my smirk at bay. That’s not to say that my eyes don’t take in her stature: slim, lean, and looking like she could take in a few good home-cooked meals. Her hair was in desperate need of a good cut and her face a good moisturizing cream for the bags under her eyes. Her eyes gleamed as they made one more pass along my body and she gave me her best Valentino smile. I know I’m in mourning, but I can’t ignore the tingle I’m feeling. It’s been too long …

After we introduced ourselves and she pulled the old “kiss the hand instead of shake it” trick, I moved to sit down on my side of the booth. Before I was able to sit, Anya came over and pulled me into a tight hug, standing on her toes and whispering her condolences up into my ear. Miss. Rosenberg looked on, a mixture of shock and confusion evident on her face. She asked if I would like my usual order and after nodding my confirmation, she patted my hand and walked to the back of the counter to talk to the chef.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding while I slid into the booth across from Miss. Rosenberg. Showtime, Tara.

“Miss. Rosenberg, I do appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. I hope that this isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”

“It’s Red, doll-face. None of that ‘Miss. Rosenberg’ bullshit. Why don’t you give me the skinny as to why we are meeting?“ Her voice was low and raspy, and she looked at me skeptically as she took a long, slow drag from her cigarette. I started to speak but paused as I saw Anya coming back to the table with my fruit salad, egg white omelet and tea. Balanced on her other arm she has what I can only assume was Red’s food, if it could be called that. For such a small woman, Anya had an amazing amount of strength. After depositing the plates in front of us, she grabbed the coffee pot off the burner to top off Red’s mug. Red dug into her food immediately, grunting out a quick thanks to Anya. I looked up and smiled my thanks at her and she gave me a look. The look that basically said she was ready to take the Detective on, if she so much as laid a finger on me. The thought was absurd, of course, but comforting.

I turned back to Red, ready to tell her the purpose of our meeting when I saw her tipping a flask towards her coffee. A boozer? I hoped that it wouldn’t affect her ability to get the job done, if she acquiesced and took the job. She opened her mouth while chewing her food and said, “From what I’ve heard, your father’s death was pretty standard fare.”

My blood boiled. I leaned forward; quite intent on showing her exactly how serious I was about this. “My father’s death was not, as you say, standard fare. I do not, for a moment, believe that he had a heart attack as the police and coroner suggest. Daddy was healthy! Sure, he had his vices, but don’t we all?” My eyes flickered down to the redhead’s breakfast selection. Greasy meat and spiked coffee. I took a sip of my herbal tea and ate a bit of my omelet before I continued. “He was not a sick man. He took great pride in being active and taking care of his body. It went along with the whole image as being the Cosmetics King of New York City, but he truly believed in the way of life. Every morning he and Alexander ran together.” Her perfectly sculptured brows rose infinitesimally at the mention of Alexander’s name. I cut up some more of my food while I briefly decided how much to reveal.

“Our driver and friend,” I explained, my face flushed a bit. Rushing ahead, I continued, “and Daddy often golfed on the weekends with his friends at the Country Club.”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like, “of course, the county club.” I could not be certain, as her mouth was full of half masticated beef once again. I took a dainty bite of my fruit and swallowed before opening my mouth to talk again. Maybe she’d learn by example?


“Tell me about your father’s friends, his habits. Did he enjoy socializing? Who were his closest friends?” She took a big gulp of her spiked coffee and winced a bit.

“He does. He … did. He was friendly with most of the members of the club, the people we’d see at parties. He had a lot of business acquaintances and social acquaintances. My brother, Donald, always poked fun at how many people he knew. It seemed like every time we’d go out somewhere, he knew every single person we passed.” I ate some more of my food. I hadn’t realize how hungry I was or how I had ignored eating the entire day. There had been too much going on. “As for close friends, he only had a few that he’d considered ‘tried and true’. Richard Wilkins. Theodore Smithe. Vincent Astor.” The names were all New York royalty, heavy-hitters in the city. If Red was surprised, she didn’t show it.

As we sat there, Ella’s version of “Satin Doll’ floated through the air from the chef’s radio in the back of the kitchen. The song seemingly too cheerful for the conversation we were having. I leaned forward again, pushing my plate out of the way so that I could get as close to her as I could without joining the redhead on her side of the booth. I reached my hand across the table and gently picked up her hand, running my fingernail lightly across the top. She watched my finger making soft circles on her hand and it almost looked like she mouthed the words “fuck me.” Certainly, even she wouldn’t say something so crass in front of a lady. I realized then and there that it was time to turn on the charm.

“Red,” I murmured the Detectives chosen name and I saw her go slack-jawed. “Something doesn’t add up with my father’s death. It does not make any sense and I truly believe that there is something more to this. That’s where you come in, should you decide that my case is worthy of your time. And I sincerely hope you decide to take me on,” I said, breathlessly, as I lowered my eyes and pursed my lips, “because I am more than willing to take you on. Whatever the price, I can tell that you are worth it.” She had actually given me no indication whatsoever of either the price or her worth during our meeting. But, I figured that a little ego stroking never hurt anyone. I wanted her – no I needed her – to take this case; Daddy deserved the best, and Alexander said the Rosenberg’s were the best. “Would you consider coming to my house? Looking around? Maybe there are some clues floating right in front of my face that I’m not noticing?” I could tell from her expression that I nearly had her. I quickly got up and moved my body around from my side of the booth to hers, sidling up right beside her. I circled my nails on her forearm. “Please, Red?

She grabbed my hand with hers, effectively stopping me in my tracks. She leaned into my ear and to an outsider, I’m sure we appeared quite cozy. The growl in my ear told me otherwise. “I’m not easily played, dame. And you might want to take note of that. I will help you out and take on the case. But knock it off with the act. I ain’t buying what you’re selling, you see?”

To say I was slightly disappointed by her rebuff was an understatement. I nodded my head and pulled out my purse, leaving bills on the table covering our tab and a hefty tip for my sweet friend, Anya.

“Whaddya say we blow this Popsicle stand and head to your estate?” she asked, as we both rose from the booth. She grabbed her hat and tipped it forward, covering the mess of auburn hair. I almost missed seeing the vibrant shock of red and had the overwhelming urge to run my fingers through it.
“Walk this way.”

From the way she had watched me walk into the room, I had to believe she’d be watching me walk out just as closely. At least now she had a reason.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sun Aug 11, 2019 10:01 am 
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Great continuation. You’ve got me hooked. Loving all the characteristics of each person. Tara and Xander being friends, interesting twist. Looking forward to more. :dumbo :dumbo

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sun Aug 11, 2019 10:28 am 
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Dang, missed dibs. i'm really loving the language of this story. it really sets the setting of the story. Can't wait for the next chapeter


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Wed Aug 14, 2019 11:04 am 
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Quote:
The creamy white fabric of her dress trimmed with red roses swayed seductively around her calves as she came towards me. I caught a glimpse of a set of long, muscular gams that would put a derby winning thoroughbred to shame. Her feet were encased in a tiny pair of red heels and her fingernails were painted fuck-me-red to match. I was pretty sure Le Beau didn’t have a color called that, but they needed to, and call it Tara-Rose.


:applause :applause This is spot on. I love the vivid imagery of Tara's attire.

Quote:
The look that basically said she was ready to take the Detective on, if she so much as laid a finger on me. The thought was absurd, of course, but comforting.


I loved Anya on the show and how her love/hate relationship with Willow has carried over into this fic, especially in defending Tara. You've got me hooked. Can't wait for more.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Thu Aug 15, 2019 4:52 am 
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I'm really intrigued by this new story. I like how different "your" Tara's character is from canon-Tara due to the gigantic difference of their upbringing. Reading about a Tara who has (had) a loving relationship with her father is rare in fanfic. I hope Tara's brother is a "good guy" too (and not turns out as the villain who murdered his father for some inheritance).

So Tara playing the part of seductress didn't work with Willow (for now at least)...I'm wondering if Willow is/was playing a part too (some kind of "redneck" who swears a lot and talks with a full mouth) to keep herself distant from Tara? And I'm curious if Willow is a "lone wolf" in your story or if she has at least one close friend. Faith immediately pops into my head as a possible friend (because of Willow's nickname "Red" and because canon-Faith's tough character would fit to the picture you painted of "your" Willow so far.


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sat Aug 17, 2019 10:03 am 
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
Great continuation. You’ve got me hooked. Loving all the characteristics of each person. Tara and Xander being friends, interesting twist. Looking forward to more. :dumbo :dumbo


I haven't really read too many story's where Tara and Xander are close friends so wanted to give it a shot. New chapter to be posted shortly, I hope you enjoy it just as much as the last two

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sat Aug 17, 2019 10:04 am 
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wickedaddiction wrote:
Dang, missed dibs. i'm really loving the language of this story. it really sets the setting of the story. Can't wait for the next chapeter


I'm happy to hear that you are enjoying the fic. New chapter to be posted shortly

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sat Aug 17, 2019 10:09 am 
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*WILLOW* wrote:
Quote:
The creamy white fabric of her dress trimmed with red roses swayed seductively around her calves as she came towards me. I caught a glimpse of a set of long, muscular gams that would put a derby winning thoroughbred to shame. Her feet were encased in a tiny pair of red heels and her fingernails were painted fuck-me-red to match. I was pretty sure Le Beau didn’t have a color called that, but they needed to, and call it Tara-Rose.


:applause :applause This is spot on. I love the vivid imagery of Tara's attire.

Quote:
The look that basically said she was ready to take the Detective on, if she so much as laid a finger on me. The thought was absurd, of course, but comforting.


I loved Anya on the show and how her love/hate relationship with Willow has carried over into this fic, especially in defending Tara. You've got me hooked. Can't wait for more.



Funny thing, I had originally wrote Faith as the waitress but quickly changed it as I felt Anya would do the part justice because of her closeness with Tara on the show as well as the hostile friendship with Willow.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sat Aug 17, 2019 10:39 am 
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Will's redemption wrote:
I'm really intrigued by this new story. I like how different "your" Tara's character is from canon-Tara due to the gigantic difference of their upbringing. Reading about a Tara who has (had) a loving relationship with her father is rare in fanfic. I hope Tara's brother is a "good guy" too (and not turns out as the villain who murdered his father for some inheritance).

So Tara playing the part of seductress didn't work with Willow (for now at least)...I'm wondering if Willow is/was playing a part too (some kind of "redneck" who swears a lot and talks with a full mouth) to keep herself distant from Tara? And I'm curious if Willow is a "lone wolf" in your story or if she has at least one close friend. Faith immediately pops into my head as a possible friend (because of Willow's nickname "Red" and because canon-Faith's tough character would fit to the picture you painted of "your" Willow so far.


I tried to make Willow and Tara's upbringings vastly different so that they somewhat clashed when first meeting. Tara is a "proper" woman of high class standing and comes from money whereas Willow is lower working class with a less refined vocabulary (Kinda like Rose and Jack from the Titanic). I did have Faith in the story (originally as the waitress but felt like Anya fit the bill better) and then again somewhere else down the line, but ended up taking her out as I didn't feel like her character contributed to the story any. Glad you're enjoying the story so far and hope the next chapter doesn't disappoint.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/10
PostPosted: Sat Aug 17, 2019 11:56 am 
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CHAPTER 3

TPOV

With a gentle sway of the hips, which pushed my skirt to and fro, I led Red towards the front of the diner. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that, while she might have said she was immune to my feminine charm, she wasn’t completely able to ignore what was before her. Her eyes were focused on my hips and I almost had the moxie to ask if she liked what she saw. Almost. I didn’t want to press my luck; I knew when to turn it off just as well as I knew when to turn it on. Pausing briefly by the door, I removed my cream stole from the coat rack and started to put it on. Strong hands clamped down on my shoulders and I briefly startled until I realized it was her. She was suddenly right behind me, moving closer to assist me with my stole.

“Aren’t you nervous someone would walk off with your mink?” she questioned, her body pressed close against mine to allow a man in an ash gray seersucker suit and his child to pass us. I lifted my hair off of my shoulders while she helped me put the stole on. I could swear her nose grazed my hair but the movement was so quick, it could have been my mind playing tricks on me. My mind wasn’t exactly in a right state since I had found Daddy’s body on Friday.

I shrugged. “I’ve learned to go with the assumption that people are inherently good, unless they prove to be otherwise.” We walked out the glass door together and I waved goodbye to Anya and the other regulars at Fuerst’s. Anya gave me one last parting look, telling me with her eyes that I had better be careful with the company I kept. Duly noted, Anya, but she’s one of the good guys. I think. I turned my attention back to the Detective standing next to me. “If someone felt the need to steal it, they probably need it more than I do. Things can be replaced, Red. People cannot.”

Her fedora covered her simmering green eyes and I found it a bit disconcerting that I couldn’t see her reaction to my statement. Her eyes, the color of dark jade, were quite expressive, and quite communicative. It was probably why she felt the need to hide them so often under the brim of her hat; she knew that they were her tells. With a perfectly polished fingernail, I pointed to the car sitting across the street. Alexander was lounging in the front seat, reading a paper and waiting my return. We crossed the street and he quickly got out of the car to open the door to the cab.

“Miss. Maclay, Miss. Rosenberg, I expect your meeting was a pleasant one?” Alexander asked as he pulled open the back passenger door. His eyes searched mine out to make sure that everything was, indeed, on the up and up. He was not surprised by Red’s presence, making me think that he had been watching the diner a bit more than reading the paper now discarded on the front seat. It also did not escape my notice that he referred to me as Miss Maclay in front of the Detective and I was grateful. Given her profession, Red would be quick to pick up on little things like that and I didn’t feel it was any of her business what happened … or more accurately, didn’t happen in the past between Alexander and me.

“Yes, Alexander. It was well, thank you.” I took his hand as I turned to sit in the car. Sliding over on the bench seat, Red climbed into the car next to me. Red looked a bit like a fish out of water, shifting in her seat and not sure exactly where to put her arms. I then realized that this might be her first ride in a car like this one. Not wanting to make the situation awkward, I didn’t ask if it was her first limousine ride but went with the assumption that it was. Alexander returned to his spot in the front and I slid the window divider open so we could converse with him.

“Hey, pal. First ride in a limo? She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Leave it to Alexander to point out what I was trying to tactfully avoid. However, Red looked a bit more at ease and she began to converse with Alexander as the car glided smoothly along the paved city streets. The two spoke through the window in the partition and I sat, half listening, mostly watching. Red was slouched back on the seat, chatting amiably with Alexander. I saw her move to slide her pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. I grabbed her hand and she looked at me with what I imagine would have been surprise if I could actually see her damn eyes. Slowly, she pulled her hand from mine.

“Detective, would you mind removing your hat?” I felt a bit silly asking but I couldn’t stop the words from flying out of my mouth. It was torturous not to know what was going on underneath the brim of that fedora.

“Why?” she asked, running her fingertips along the brim, but not acquiescing to my somewhat crazy demand.

“It hides your eyes. Daddy always told me that you can tell someone’s true intentions by their eyes. It’s the windows to their soul. I’m sorry if I am making you uncomfortable.”

She tilted her hat up with the tip of her index finger and looked me in the eye, “What else did Daddy tell you?”

This caught me off guard. I thought for a moment, desperate to come up with something my father had once said to me that would lighten the mood. But somehow, telling this strange woman that my father believed that ‘Once in your life, every person is entitled to fall madly in love with a gorgeous redhead’ just didn’t seem appropriate. “Not to eat yellow snow,” I offered up with a wicked smile. Actually, I think Donald might have told me that one.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” she grinned back at me, leaning into the seat and looking a bit more comfortable.

Taking my cue from her, I pushed my back into the seat and demurely crossed my legs while smoothing my skirt around them. “It’s a good rule to follow.”

She pushed a smoke up from her pack of Lucky Strikes once more and pulled it out with her lips. I sighed and moved to stop her a second time. “Now you’re really going to think that I’m a demanding shrew, but would you mind terribly not smoking in the car. It’s just that I …”

She took the cigarette from her lips and stared me down, brow furrowed and creases formed on her forehead. “What’s wrong precious? I won’t catch the mohair on fire.”

I decided to give it to her straight. “Listen, this might not make sense to you but it smells like my father in here. His cigars. His cologne. I just ….hope it can stay that way. At least for a little while.” I looked down at my hands, which played with the hem of my skirt. My finger traced one of the roses.

I felt her shift closer to me on the seat and her fingers came under my chin, tilting my head up. Looking into my eyes and removing her hand slowly from my chin, she explained, “Just looking for those true intentions, Tare.” Her eyes were soft and, in this moment, any trace of the jaded Detective from the diner was gone. I normally hated the nickname ‘Tare’ but even I couldn’t say anything about her use of it.

“Cohibas?” She asked suddenly as she casually returned the smoke back into the pack and placed it back into her coat pocket.

My eyes widened slightly, a bit surprised, although I was quickly learning that nothing she did or said should surprise me. My eyes scanned the seats to look for a discarded wrapper, any indication that could have tipped Red off to the cigar brand besides the smell. The car was immaculate, as usual, thanks to Alexander’s diligence. “Yes, those are the ones. How did you know?”

“They were my pops favorite.” She nodded knowingly. “They have a very distinct scent, it will linger for years.” I smiled at that thought.

“And the cologne?” she asked, running her fingers along the side paneling of the door, glancing out the window as we made our way towards the Hudson River. The estate was about five minutes uptown from where we currently were.

“It’s ‘Piaf Special 127’. Le Beau, of course. Wouldn’t do us very much good if the CEO was wearing someone else’s cologne, now would it?”

“I imagine not.” Her eyes shifted to the front seat where Alexander was trying very hard to look like he was not listening to every word of our conversation. “Alexander seems very … attentive.”

I leaned forward to shut the divider between where we sat from Alexander. Alexander gave me a look in the rearview mirror, which I returned to him as I slid the divider closed. “Yes, like I said earlier, he’s been a good friend to our family through the years.” Red smirked at me, like she knew there was more to the story than what I was telling her. How would she know that? I didn’t ask.

“Anything else you would like to share about Alexander?” she queried.

“No. There is not.” I was being short but I wanted the message to come through loud and clear. “He’s one of the few people in our lives that has been nothing but loyal. So if you are insinuating that he had something to do with Daddy’s death, don’t bother. You’re barking up the wrong tree.” I finished my rant and glared at her. Realizing we were just a block away from the house, I sat up and started to collect my things, busying myself. “Do you have any more questions before we get to the estate?”

“How did it end?”

“How did what end?”

“Your relationship with Alexander.” She stated it as though she knew it was a fact.

I was flustered and I’m sure my skin flushed, showing it to the infuriating woman sitting next to me. I couldn’t get a read on her and it was frustrating me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to flirt with her or choke her. “A girl’s got to keep some things to herself, Miss Rosenberg.” I replied cryptically, not wanting to cast light onto the fact that I found the notion of being with Alexander romantically repulsive. Besides, who I did or didn’t sleep with was not relevant to this case. “My past relationships are none of your concern. That’s not what I hired you for.”

“Fair enough, doll. Just know that I never rule anyone out because they had a roll in the hay with my client.”

Choke her. Definitely choke her. “I’ll remember that,” I said through clenched teeth. I watched as Alexander got out of the car and opened the black wrought iron fence that enclosed the estate. I was grateful for the distraction so we could leave the uncomfortable topic behind us. He returned to the car moments later and once again we were moving, rolling slowly into the driveway. Alexander opened the door for us and I exchanged a quick glance with him, silently communicating that we would talk later.

The Georgian style estate loomed over us and Red took in her surroundings, whistling low through her teeth. Still seething from our previous conversation, I started up the pathway headed toward the door, figuring that she would have enough sense to follow behind. The red door stood out starkly from the white house with black shutters and I entered the house, leaving it open behind me so that she could enter as well. The post sat on the table and I riffled through it, looking for anything of interest. She stood in the doorway, the wood framing her body like a picture, and looked around the foyer. “What?” I snapped, setting the mail on the low table in front of the mirror. Catching sight of myself, I fluffed my hair and looked over at her once more. “Are you a vampire? Do you need a formal written invitation? Come in already.” As she entered the house, I shook off my shawl and handed it to Buffy, our maid; who hung my stole and took Red’s jacket from her to put away in the closet as well.

It didn’t appear the Detective was too fazed by the cold shoulder treatment. Instead, she was taking everything in. The staff, the décor, and the hardwood floors – her eyes moved quickly and didn’t seem to miss a thing. It looked like she was finally getting down to business.

“Nice pile of bricks. What’s its history? Who lives here with you? Who’s on staff besides Alexander? I need you to tell me anything and everything that might be pertinent to this case.” She pulled a smoke out from her pack and lit it with a quick flash of her lighter.

“Follow me: I’ll show you the study. That might be a good place to start.” Heels clicking on the wood floor, I made my way up the stairs to the study that held my father’s desk and documents. “My father had the house built in 1930; a few years after my mother passed and Le Beau went from being a popular reginal brand to a national success. Our sales went through the roof in 1925 and soon he knew that expansion was imminent. When he was first starting off, we had a small home near the warehouse where Le Beau was based. Once the company started doing well, he bought the office building downtown and had the estate built. It gave Donald and I a good environment to grow up in. Especially since Donald was a toddler and our father was so busy with work; the staff was here to look after us.” I opened the door to the cherry wood paneled room and gestured for her to walk inside. “Currently, Donald and I are the only Maclay’s living here. But we also have a cook Liam, and Buffy who is our maid. Declan is the butler although he’s away this week, left this morning to visit family out of state, and Riley is the groundskeeper. And you are already aware of Alexander.”

Setting my purse down on the desk, I moved to the drink cart that sat below the window. “Can I interest you in a drink? Brandy?”

“Yeah, brandy’s good,” she nodded absently while nosing around the desk, picking up an invitation to the Children’s Hospital Gala, and sitting down in the plush chair.

Something about this felt very familiar. Then I realized that it was nearly the exact same conversation my father and I had had in this room on Thursday evening while he looked at the very same invitation to the Children’s Hospital Gala.
The epiphany came crashing down on top of me all at once. It was bizarre how the littlest thing, the smallest piece of the puzzle, can finally bring the whole picture together. It wasn’t finding him in his silk pajamas on Friday morning that did it. Not the slew of visitors over the weekend mourning his loss or offering their condolences. Nor was it laying him to rest next to my mother.

It was Detective Red Rosenberg, sitting in my father’s chair, holding the invitation to the Gala and offering her a drink that did it.

My father was dead. Dead.

He was gone and not coming back. I don’t think my mind fully grasped that concept until just that point in time. The snifter I was holding crashed to the ground and a sob escaped my mouth before I could press the back of my hand to it. Looking up towards the ceiling, I tried in vain to stop the barrage of tears that were already tumbling down my cheeks.

Frantically, my mind tried to process what was happening and what to do about the situation. Warring emotions pulled me in opposite directions. Part of me wanted to sink to the floor and finally let out the harsh ugly cry that had been building up inside of me for four days. Another part of my brain was screaming at me to find Donald. He was most likely somewhere in the house or on the grounds. Donald had always been very good at helping me manage my emotions. I considered running from the study to my bedroom, just to remove myself from the situation. From the study. From one of the last memories of my father alive.

The very last thing I wanted to do was to look at the woman sitting at my father’s desk.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sun Aug 18, 2019 5:52 am 
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Dibs. :grin Interesting to be able to hear Tara’s thoughts. Her voice is not as noire as Willow’s . Interested in if we will get to see some softness of Willow...thanks for writing.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sun Aug 18, 2019 3:00 pm 
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Yay update! I'm sure it's a red herring but all my flags turned red when I saw Wilkens name show up. Loving the battle of wit and seduction going on. Unless I missed it but Willow never gave her proper name? Cant wait for more. :)


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Mon Aug 19, 2019 3:44 am 
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Poor Tara! How horrible for her to suffer this emotional breakdown in the presence of a stranger she just convinced herself not to like.
I really hope Willow will surprise Tara (and maybe even herself) by holding and comforting Tara while she cries herself out. I guess the next chapter will be from Willow's point of view again, won't it?

Interesting twist that Buffy, Angel (=Liam) and Riley are members of the Maclay-staff as well. So from the original characters that leaves only Spike, Giles (and perhaps Wesley?) as possible members of a "Team Willow", if Willow isn't indeed a "lone wolf"... Right now some kind of friendship between Spike and Willow would seem most likely to me (fitting to her "gruff" character), but maybe Giles has tried (without much success) to teach her some manners for years?


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Thu Aug 22, 2019 5:02 pm 
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What I loved in this chapter? Tara stopping Willow from smoking in the car, trying to preserve a little piece of her father for herself. And then Willow taking the time to reassure her that she would get to keep that presence, that it would be years before the scent of cigar would fade...that was beyond sweet. It is so often reactions that tell us the most about a characters personality and it seems that Detective Willow is a much softer case than she likes to let on. :)


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rosetta Saturday - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 8:23 am 
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It’s saturday, does that mean another update?!?! Pretty pretty please :pray And but the looks of the previous chapters, I’m guessing we should be getting Willows POV. Please update soooooon

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rosetta Saturday - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 8:23 am 
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It’s saturday, does that mean another update?!?! Pretty pretty please :pray And but the looks of the previous chapters, I’m guessing we should be getting Willows POV. Please update soooooon

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 3:37 pm 
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
Dibs. :grin Interesting to be able to hear Tara’s thoughts. Her voice is not as noire as Willow’s . Interested in if we will get to see some softness of Willow...thanks for writing.


Ecstatic that this fic is Dibs worthy :blush Although I love me some hard, badass Willow, she will have a softer side that gradually appears. Thanks for reading.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 3:41 pm 
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Dragon wrote:
Yay update! I'm sure it's a red herring but all my flags turned red when I saw Wilkens name show up. Loving the battle of wit and seduction going on. Unless I missed it but Willow never gave her proper name? Cant wait for more. :)


Nope, you haven't missed it. Willow's a very guarded, hush-hush person and it'll be a little bit (not long I swear) before she lets her walls down. Thanks for reading!

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 3:50 pm 
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Will's redemption wrote:
Poor Tara! How horrible for her to suffer this emotional breakdown in the presence of a stranger she just convinced herself not to like.
I really hope Willow will surprise Tara (and maybe even herself) by holding and comforting Tara while she cries herself out. I guess the next chapter will be from Willow's point of view again, won't it?

Interesting twist that Buffy, Angel (=Liam) and Riley are members of the Maclay-staff as well. So from the original characters that leaves only Spike, Giles (and perhaps Wesley?) as possible members of a "Team Willow", if Willow isn't indeed a "lone wolf"... Right now some kind of friendship between Spike and Willow would seem most likely to me (fitting to her "gruff" character), but maybe Giles has tried (without much success) to teach her some manners for years?


I swear, you're a mind reader :hmm You are absolutely correct, next chapter is Willow's POV and she does do a bit of comforting ... but I mean, who wouldn't want to hold Tara?! :blush.
In this fic, Willow's very work oriented, no time for friends or fun, but I did sneak in an ally so she's not completely alone. Thanks for reading!

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 4:01 pm 
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wickedaddiction wrote:
What I loved in this chapter? Tara stopping Willow from smoking in the car, trying to preserve a little piece of her father for herself. And then Willow taking the time to reassure her that she would get to keep that presence, that it would be years before the scent of cigar would fade...that was beyond sweet. It is so often reactions that tell us the most about a characters personality and it seems that Detective Willow is a much softer case than she likes to let on. :)



Willow's a big ol' softy but likes to act tough and disassociated. When it came to writing her character, I sorta envisioned Elliot Stabler (Law & Order: SVU) a grumpy badass detective with a heart of gold. Glad you loved the chapter. Thanks for reading!

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rosetta Saturday - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 4:09 pm 
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*WILLOW* wrote:
It’s saturday, does that mean another update?!?! Pretty pretty please :pray And but the looks of the previous chapters, I’m guessing we should be getting Willows POV. Please update soooooon


Running a little behind today, but yes, Saturday is update day. :banana The chapter should be up within the next half hour and will be from Willow's perspective. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.

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