Dear Oliver with Lori Graham

Hello and welcome to another episode of Dear Oliver! Today’s special guest is the senior editor of the Crimson line of The Wild Rose Press, Lori Graham. You don’t want to miss her pet peeve, especially if you’ve ever had to deal with a pesky reporter. So, come on in and belly up to the bar. And while you’re eavesdropping on Oliver’s sound advice, why not treat yourself to one of his legendary martinis! You’ll find his impressive venue listed on the sidebar. Not a martini fan? Not a problem. Oliver will make whatever drink strikes your fancy and serve it with a wink and a smile. And rumor has it that his tortilla chips and salsa are spicier than a pot of his Cajun Jambalaya. With no further ado, let’s give a warm round of applause to Lori Graham!

Oliver: What can I getcha to drink, love?

Lori: Anything…everything…and keep ’em coming!

Oliver mumbles under his breath, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” But when he turns to Lori after shaking up a James Bond martini, he flashes the charm with a wink and a smile. There we go then love. With a flick of his 007 remote, Casablanca plays on the big screen behind the bar. When Lori downs her JB and points a finger to her empty glass, he leans a little closer. Why so glum, chum?

Lori shrugs. Let’s talk about something nice so that my drinks don’t get watered down.

Oliver raises an eyebrow. Given the way you poured that rather potent JB down the ol’ hatch without coming up for air, I dare say the chances of that happening are pretty darn slim. He takes a minute to watch Humphrey Bogart kiss Ingrid Bergman before presenting another perfectly chilled martini. As long as you think you’re woman enough to handle another JB, here you go love. Knock yourself out.

Lori coils her fingers around the martini glass in a death grip and sighs. I am just so glad to be here. Let’s not talk about reporters until another day.

Oliver shoves a heaping basket of his tortilla chips and spicy salsa in front of her and smiles a beguiling smile. Best have a bite to eat, love. Remember how tanked the boss lady got when she so foolishly thought she was woman enough to handle more than one James Bond martini. As if! Oliver pumps his biceps and hums a verse of As Time Goes By. Plucking a chip from the basket, he dips it in salsa and feeds it to Lori. Then another. Now about your pet peeve with reporters, love. But since you’re not ready to rant and rave just yet, who can I play for you on the jukebox to chase your blues away?

Lori smiles: Maybe something from ZZ Top like Sharp Dressed Man after you, Oliver

Oliver presses a button on his JB remote and the requested song plays. With a wildly wicked wink, he plucks Lori from the bar stool and whisks her onto the dance floor. In moves that John Travolta himself would envy, Oliver shakes it loose.

Cutting loose with a throaty cat call, Lori gives Oliver a run for his money, pointing as she belts it out for all she’s worth.

“clean shirt, new shoes, and I don’t know what I am gonna do, silk suit, black tie, I don’t need a reason why, they come runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cause every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man…”

Oliver tugs on his black tie and grins. The bar rocks with hoots and whistles when the Dancing with the Stars couple take a sweeping bow.

Oliver: Thank you for the dance, love. Whew, I dare say I’m in need of a drink after that rather electric dance. Oliver fans himself. Now, back to the subject at hand. when did you develop this pet peeve with reporters?

Lori: Well, to be honest, this month has been rather rough.  My daughter is a high school student and there was a shooting.  A suspended student came back to the school with a gun and killed the assistant principal and wounded the principal.  (Lori shivers as she remembers.  Oliver pats her hand affectionately.)

Lori: Through the week that followed I was so impressed by the students.  They rallied around the administration, holding prayer vigils and over half of the student body being at the funeral (around 800 kids).  The first day back to school, the upper classmen gathered outside the school, cheering, singing the school song, all to enter the school in mass to show their support of the school and their own solidarity.  It was something to watch.  But every day, the reporters were there.  They couldn’t be on school property but they were on the streets lining it.  I watched one keep cornering the students and not taking no for an answer.  A couple of dads waiting for their kids stepped in, creating a barrier for the students leaving.  I have always known that reporters play a role in this world and I know they have a job to do. What I don’t get is why they have to pick on people until you want to shove that microphone into a place it wasn’t designed to go.

Oliver: OUCH. That would certainly smart. But I agree about certain reporters acting like pit bulls, chasing pedestrians down the street, teeth chomping, just to get a bite for the evening news. And the worst part is, half the time the media doesn’t even get their story straight. But virtually attacking already traumatized highschool kids like that is a downright disgrace. There oughta be a law.

 

And it’s not just in this country, either. Unfortunately, it’s a universal problem. Would you believe that I once had a reporter chase me down the back streets of Bangladesh, hounding me to give up my identity when I was working undercover for the FBI? Oliver pumps his biceps and winks. But I wouldn’t budge an inch. As if. He leans a little closer to Lori. Come to think of it, reporters are a pet peeve of mine, too. Whistling a 007 song, he makes a pitcher of James Bond martinis, shaken, not stirred. Still whistling, he fills two chilled glasses. Propping his arms on the bar, he gazes into Lori’s eyes. Tell me, sweet thing, where do you think utopia is?

Lori: Ahh, sitting here being waited on by you, my dear Oliver, is pretty close so I think I’ll just stay here awhile. I know you have another “appointment” coming in soon but sitting here in the corner will be just fine by me.

Oliver winks as their glasses clink in a toast. Here here! Now, how can I help, my pet?

Lori: You do it each time you show up, my friend. (Lori leans forward and whispers, unless you have an exploding microphone that I could borrow…well to be honest, you wouldn’t get it back) I’ll have another one of those lovely concoctions please.

Before filling Lori’s glass with yet another JB, he stashes his 007 exploding microphone in the hidden pocket of his black suit jacket.

Lori smiles. As I am sitting here, maybe I’ll dream up a story of my own to write – maybe a serial killer who is targeting reporters…hum, that sounds rather promising.

Oh hey, Oliver, have you seen Sharon around? I have a submission call out for Crimson Rose that is right up her alley. We only have room for six so really hoping to see something from Sharon for that release. Crimson Rose definitely needs some spicing up at Christmas time and we all know just how good she is at that. 

Oliver glances over his shoulder before lowering his voice to a whisper. Just between us, love, she’s still nursing that rather nasty hangover from a few weeks back when she tried to drink me under the table. As if.
When Lori points to her empty glass, Oliver obliges and continues. But she told me in case you asked, to tell you that she is upstairs in her office, pounding away on her keyboard, trying to meet the March 1^st deadline for your Red Christmas submission.

Lori (slurring her words just a bit) Well, I might give her until the morning of the 2^nd but only if you ask nicely, Oliver. 

Grinning, Oliver snatches a Santa cap from behind the bar and plops it on his head. And guess who’s starring as Detective Santa?

 Lori? Love? Are you all right?

Lori Graham is the senior editor of the Crimson line of The Wild Rose Press and she has a challenge for all creative writers.

Red Christmas – Someone’s Ready to Kill the Holiday is due by March 1^st. We are looking for manuscripts that are between 7500 and 60,000 words and involve a Santa as one of the leading male characters. We only have room for six for that release. Crimson Rose definitely needs some spicing up at Christmas time.