So, About Sierra...
A lot of you write to ask about the next Sierra novel. I mean, where is it? What happens with Moose? And that hunky detective, John? Most important...what happened to Sierra Lavotini, amateur sleuth and top-notch exotic dancer?
Well, the truth is, St. Martins, the publisher, didn't choose to continue the series. They hold the rights to the Strip series, which I think means-Until the series goes out of print, we're stuck. I can't write more Sierra stories. At least, I think that's the case.
Hmmm...I wonder if that means I couldn't even write an on-line novel-ette? Because you see, I know what happens with Moose and Sierra...
Book Number Six- if it ever happens- will be called "Landing Strip."
It would start like this...
Chapter 1
The idea for my personal best routine of all time came to me just after I found out we were all about to die. Isn’t that just the way it always goes? You think you got life by the proverbial tail only to have it spin around and bite you in the ass. Welcome to my world.
My name is Sierra Lavotini and I am an exotic dancer and the headliner at the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club, in Panama City, Florida, the capital of the Redneck Riviera. Actually, that’s only part of the truth. In reality, as of one month ago, I am now also the owner of the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club. I am the first female I know of to actually own and manage a strip club, a responsibility I do not take lightly. It is the reason I was willing to risk my life by taking some of my best girls on a charter flight to Las Vegas.
We were heading out to attend the annual Adult Entertainment Convention, held every year over the Labor Day weekend. I figured the girls might oughta see their competition on a more global level so they could more fully comprehend my intentions for the Tiffany. You see, the Tiffany is not your average strip club. No. We have standards- solid gold, world-class type standards.
You don’t see no bimbo working a pole in the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club. What you get in my club is a quality act, choreographed and specifically designed to harden your dick and loosen your purse strings. That’s why I was leaning back in my seat, eyes closed, envisioning my new number when “Big Moose” Lavotini interrupted my nirvana by re-inserting himself into my life.
I was channeling my inner-child and trying to stave off the terror I feel every time I strap myself into a twelve-ton steel bullet with wings and try to believe God really intended for humans to hurtle themselves up above the clouds and into Her personal space.
I was miles away from reality, mainly naked, holding a see-through umbrella and dancing across the stage of the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club in an artificially-created, but still effective, pouring rain. The only thing standing between me and my customers was a little rubber ducky and a smile.
I was dancing to “Singing in the Rain.”
As far as dancing goes, Gene Kelly never had it so good- but then, he didn’t have the tits that made Panama City famous.
I was just working out the grand finale, a little spin and a toss of the duckie, when I heard his voice. It’s not something you forget, not even after three months of silence.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said. The microphone took the depth out of his voice, but not the sexy timbre, not the “I-know-all-about-you” tone that mocked and teased, flipping my stomach over and into a little tailspin that signaled trouble.
My eyes flew open, locking onto the illuminated “fasten seatbelt” sign and zeroing onto the closed cockpit door. Just as soon as that sign went out and I could untangle my Rosary beads from the death grip they had on my fingers, I was going to kick some serious pilot ass.
Of course, that’s probably why God picked that one moment in time to try and kill me. It was karma, pure and simple. Live by the wicked thought; die by the airplane that had no business flying into God’s turf in the first place.
God, I miss her!!!
Thanks for listening,
Nancy
Apparently quite a few of you miss my girl, Sierra. Thank you so much for all your kind comments and emails!