“Miss Lourdes,” Atlanta called to her. The girl turned back. “Do you have another copy of your work?”
The young woman looked down at her leatherette folder. “Of course.”
“Then leave this one. I promise it will go nowhere but on Mr. Rawlings’ desk. I’ll keep it here with me; and if he hasn’t had the time to read it in the next two weeks, I’ll call you.”
The aspiring author hated the sound of what she heard, hating the idea of leaving her precious manuscript with anyone. “All right,” she finally answered breathlessly, impulsively shoving the folder into the woman’s hands. “You promise to call me?”
“I promise to call you,” she was assured.
This was progress, one tiny step further, but progress for the frustrated Miss Lourdes.
Continued excerpts…
from the diary of S. R. Lourdes
May 7 t
