THAT VOODOO THAT YOU DO
We invite you to enter an enchanted forest full of crossed lovers, fairies and magic love potions. Let your imaginations run wild and rein supreme for a day while we transport you back in time to late 19th century Tuscany to a Midsummer’s Night Dream.
A warm sultry breeze swooshes through the woods, stirring the scent of honeysuckle and wild flowers through the air. Fairy lights twinkle in the dark, casting willowy shadows on the forest. Wind chimes tinker, the whimsical sound the perfect music for the witching hour. The hostesses, donned in Wiccan style attire, float about in floor-length sumptuous stretch velvet gowns with criss-cross lace-up fronts and long, tapering sleeves. Their crystal beading and sequins shimmer in the lights, and with their stylized jeweled daggers, they present a rather daunting aura. Sharon in rich burgundy, Mary in midnight blue, and Lyn in crushed purple. Celebrating the merry-making ladies of long ago, they flutter through the forest, bickering and bantering.
“Mary, dear,” Sharon beams her most brilliant smile. “You might want to adjust your hooters so they appear…dare we say a bit more natural.”
“They’re real!” Mary hisses, looking up just in time to see the endearingly winsome winged dragon sitter guarding the forest wink at her.
“And for you, Lyn,” Sharon flutters over to her side. “A rainbow moonstone crystal. You might want to rub it and make a wish that your feet shrink a few sizes so we don’t have to keep ordering special for you, m’dear. Go on, give it a whirl.”
“Can’t hurt,” Mary grins, catching Lyn’s eye and pointing at Sharon’s behind. They cackle uncontrollably, their shrieks echoing through the forest.
“Watch it,” Sharon fingers her dagger. “We’re in the enchanted forest and it’s full of voodoo.”
But just as they are about to break out in a wiccan free for all, the tantalizing aroma of food stops them in mid gape. Oliver, off to pick up the guest of honor, has the turkey legs grilling on the open fire, smoke billowing upward in the most sizzling aroma. A huge roast sauteed in rose water, orange juice and thyme turns on the rotisserie stick, sending its delectable smell wafting through the woods. Fruit and meat pies have been baked, sitting pretty on long wooden tables covered with crisp white tablecloths and flickering candelabras.
Just at the witching hour, Ann steps down from the horse and carriage. Night is her day, moonlight is her sun. Looking radiant in a white beaded pirate queen off the shoulder gown, Ann sets the scene with two-tiered lace trimmed skirts that trail like a train. To complement her costume, her hands are sheathed in fingerless lace gloves, and atop her head is a peacock feather headdress. To ward off evil spirits, she has donned a cat eye pendant around her neck, and a garnet and ruby ring adorns her finger on a band of rose silver gold.
Junior and Cuddles, looking quite dashing in their wizard hats, snake through the woods and strike up the band, a brass quartet.
And when they break into a chorus of Love Potion Number Nine, an excerpt from THAT VOODOO THAT YOU DO scrolls from the sky.
Luke could hear Jessie gasping and puffing as he dragged her through the moonlit streets, past the gazebo and the town’s Christmas tree. Fueled by adrenalin and rage he ran full-out, allowing no quarter for her much shorter legs.
He vaulted up the shallow steps to Blanche’s front porch and he stopped so suddenly she slammed into him as he dug out his key. He cursed, softly. The instant they were inside he pinned her shoulders against the door.
The golden eyes held no fear, only contrition and something else that reached into his chest and settled under his heart. Her lips parted. God. Need clawed at him like an animal trapped in a box. His hands trembled and he knew there was no way he’d make it upstairs. He didn’t care if the rest of the household woke up and sold tickets. He had to have her. Now. When she put her hands on his face and slipped her tongue into his mouth he realized she wanted him, too. Thank God.
Desperate to feel her soft skin, to lose himself in her warmth, he drew her down to the polished wooden floor while his fingers fought hers for the right to unsnap his old letter jacket. Finally, finally, it was open and he reached inside.
“Shit,” he growled. “Overalls.”
“I’ve got it,” she breathed. She shoved the straps off her shoulder while he stripped off her boots. He ripped open his jeans. He knew it was gonna be close. He was wound as tightly as a rubber band. Rubber. Shit. Mabel Ruth had confiscated his condoms. Luke felt Jessie’s fingers dig into his hips. He made a half-hearted attempt to warn her.
“Don’t talk. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t think he could stop. He wanted her the way he’d wanted Crystal in the beginning, mindlessly, hopelessly, obsessively. She arched up just as he thrust into her, hard. They strained against each other, twisting and pounding their way across the waxed floor. Ah. God. She was so hot. So tight. His climax rushed at him like a runaway train. And then she yelped.
“It’s my head. I think I hit the coat rack.”
THAT VOODOO THAT YOU DO - Wild Rose Press, December, 2009
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DO YOU HAVE A HYPNOTIC LOVE POTION?
My name is Ann Yost and I grew up in Ann Arbor, Michigan where I experienced my first two major disappointments when I discovered the town wasn’t named after me and that I was expected to share my idyllic four-year-old life with a pair of infant twin brothers.
I became one of those enthusiastic but perpetually self conscious pre-teens - I wrote dozens of blurbs for a childrens magazine column called Is My Face Red! – through which I learned that life’s experiences can be softened and enjoyed more in retrospect if they are written down.
The knowledge came in handy many years later when I wrote a weekly column, I Did, I Did, which helped me adjust to that rugged first year of marriage.
I loved the ten years I spent working for daily newspapers in Michigan, but especially the opportunities I had then and afterwards for participation journalism. I got to fly on apparatus for Peter Pan, to take a lesson in a small plane, to join a high school tennis team at age 30, to become (briefly) a substitute teacher and (even more briefly) a little league umpire.
I wrote about my children for newspapers and magazines until they put a stop to it by growing up.
Nowadays I love to create small town characters whose normal lives are turned upside down by jealousy, passion, and murder.
I believe it is so important to find the thing you love to do, the thing you can’t imagine living without, to, in the
words of Joseph Campbell, “follow your bliss.”
I think this quote from Jonathan Winters says it all:
“I couldn’t wait for success…so I went ahead without it.”