Finding colette, p.1
Finding Colette, page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1-1
Chapter 1-2
Chapter 1-3
Chapter 1-4
Chapter 1-5
Chapter 1-6
Chapter 1-7
Chapter 1-8
Chapter 1-9
Chapter 1-10
Chapter 1-11
Chapter 1-12
Chapter 1-13
Chapter 1-14
Chapter 1-15
Chapter 1-16
Chapter 1-17
Chapter 1-18
Chapter 1-19
Chapter 1-20
Chapter 2-1
Chapter 2-2
Chapter 2-3
Chapter 2-4
Chapter 2-5
Chapter 2-6
Chapter 2-7
Chapter 2-8
Chapter 2-9
Chapter 2-10
Chapter 2-11
Chapter 2-12
Chapter 2-13
Chapter 2-14
Chapter 2-15
Chapter 2-16
Chapter 2-17
Chapter 2-18
Chapter 2-19
Chapter 2-20
Chapter 2-21
Chapter 2-22
Chapter 2-23
Finding Colette
By
R.D. DeLisle
NOTE: Part One: Sex, language, alcohol. Part Two: Brief violence, sex, language, and alcohol. Adult themes.
Library of Congress registered copyrights
Miranda - Copyright © 2017 by R.D. DeLisle
Colette - Copyright © 2017 by R.D. DeLisle
Finding Colette - Copyright © 2022 by R.D. DeLisle
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
Any references to historical events, real people, real places, or real functions are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and other places are products of the author’s imagination.
ISBN-Paperback: 979-8-88796-011-1
ISBN-EPUB: 979-8-88796-010-4
Edited and Published by R.D. DeLisle
Book and Cover design by R.D. DeLisle
Printed by Kindle Direct Publishing in the USA
Finding Colette First Edition Release - 2022
Contact: RDDeLisle@yahoo.com
Dedication
To those who inspire and lift others in pursuit of creative inspiration and outlets.
Acknowledgments
To my muses—and my “gold”—Pamela Rabe, Kristin Scott Thomas, and Yiruma—
Thanks for all that you’ve inspired over the years.
Energy flows. Music soothes.
In Memoriam: To my Mom, Nan Terry (1933 – 2018)—Here for the original release of each of these books, and very proud. She is missed.
Information
Autism is a spectrum disorder and ranges from very mild to very severe.
If you have questions, or would like more information about autism, please contact:
National Autism Association
naa@nationalautism.org
877-622-2884
Summary
Previously released as two books, Miranda, and the sequel, Colette, Finding Colette is a revised and re-edited version of those two books brought together as a tale in two parts.
Miranda, 60, is a call center manager diagnosed late in life with high-functioning autism and ADHD. Now aware, she has found ways to cope with the eccentricities that have plagued her throughout her life, except in the area of love. Single for four years, she's feeling lonely and ready to try again with Grace, 59, but worries about her quirky ways getting in the way of romance. On the cusp of that new friendship and possible relationship, Miranda meets Colette, 67, a French art gallery owner full of advice on love, friendship, and self-discovery. The two form a unique bond that will carry them into the future, even if it is in separate directions.
Colette gets a long-awaited call from her sister in Paris that she is needed. She has no idea if it's temporary or forever, but she must leave everything, and everyone, behind.
Once in Paris, Colette finds herself in flux as she is faced with the demons of her past, the reasons she fled to America, her feelings for Miranda, and whether or not to stay in Paris, all while finding herself in the throes of a summer fling with Lissa, 47. And then there's Kate, 71, back home taking care of the art gallery and Colette's finances while she's away.
What becomes of these beautiful, mature women?
Follow Miranda and Colette on their journeys of discovery.
Finding Colette
Chapter 1-1
M iranda scooped Jazz up off the bed, his purr loud and strong, and walked him to the window of the French doors in the dining room, where she looked out at the night sky.
“Look, Jazz, it’s a full moon tonight. Make a wish that everything will be all right.” She huffed a round of steam onto the window, pressed Jazz’s paw to the center of it, and kissed his head.
Miranda’s voice was deep, wispy, and silky smooth, with an accent that reflected her Ontario, Canada roots.
“Are you hungry? Let’s get you fed. I need to get ready for work. One more day before the weekend, Jazz. I’m happy. Are you?”
It was May in Phoenix, Arizona. Miranda shivered, chilled by the air conditioning, and adjusted the thermostat on the way to the kitchen. She opened a can of cat food and scooped it into Jazz’s dish, watching him tear into the flakes, then opened the refrigerator and glared into it with a blank stare.
“Got Riesling?” She glanced at the two bottles chilling on the bottom shelf, letting out a sigh until she caught a glimpse of Jazz that broke her gaze.
“Did you get enough?” She scratched his head as he sat licking his whiskers, then walked over to Jazz’s area, tucked between the kitchen and guest bathroom. “Do you have enough water for the night? Let’s clean the litter and turn in. Sound like a plan?”
Ceiling fans ran at a snail’s pace to keep the air circulating through the one-bedroom, single-level patio home. The end unit provided more windows but then more heat in the summer.
Miranda slipped on a light robe and walked her six-foot frame into the ensuite bathroom to begin her nightly routine. With a weary glance at the shower stall and a pensive bite of her lip, Miranda decided to save her shower for the morning. After scrubbing her face clear of the day’s makeup and grime, she followed with a night cream that claimed to perform miracles on wrinkles and bags. Setting her alarm for her 5:30 jolt to consciousness, she climbed into bed with relief for the end of a long day.
Miranda awoke before the alarm started blaring but left it on in case she dozed. Rolling over, she saw Jazz sandwiched between the pillows of her queen-size bed, sound asleep, and smiled as she reached to touch him. His soft, rattled purr made her smile.
“You are a blessing. What a beautiful way to wake up in the morning.”
After showering and blow-drying her hair, Miranda put her robe on and made her way to the kitchen to set food down for Jazz, clean the litter, and make a cup of coffee. She spent most mornings with her coffee and laptop, scanning the latest news and social media. After twenty minutes of yawn-filled wake-up time, she retreated to the bathroom. Since it was Friday, Miranda decided to let her long, dark hair hang straight rather than fuss with a French twist, bun, or curls. She felt the wisps of gray that framed her face add character. While applying the little makeup she wore, Miranda stared at herself in the vanity mirror, turning her head left, then right.
“Do your ears grow when you turn sixty?” She mumbled. Her shoulders slumped forward. She was tired. Not sleep-tired, but life-tired, and she drifted off in thought.
Her sixtieth birthday had been a couple of weeks prior. Work associates reminded her with cupcakes and cards of birthday wishes. The reality of sixty seemed to set off a chain of questions in her mind about her life as it had been, was now, and would be. Something she often reflected on was turning sixty, having never accomplished anything major in life. She always worked to make a paycheck to pay the bills, and if anything was left over, she could travel or buy something nice. But she wasn’t an astronaut, a high-powered lawyer, or even a schoolteacher making an impression on young minds. Thinking back, she could see that it was because of her short attention span, as she did try many different things but never mastered anything well enough to call herself an expert. Once she was comfortable that she was capable of something, she dropped it for something different and new. That, unfortunately, was part of her personality that had never changed.
She was alone now, except for Jazz. Being alone seemed both a luxury and a curse. Her past had dissolved into the ethers since her former partner, Renee, unraveled the knot that bound them for more than twenty-five years. That was four years ago, and most of the friends they shared as a couple were no longer communicating with her. It’s that awkwardness of a single person being seen as a threat to a couple’s relationship, she supposed. If she allowed herself to dwell on it, she would never make it to work on time.
She finished dressing in her navy business-style skirt suit and jade-green silk blouse, then gathered her briefcase and black leather shoulder bag and bid Jazz a good day as she stepped out to her pearl-white, full-size sedan.
Her commute to work was not long, but with morning traffic, it could take up to twenty minutes. She daydreamed at the stoplights and gazed at other drivers busy in their morning rou tines, talking on their phones, drinking coffee, singing to the radio, and drumming their fingers on their steering wheels to the music she couldn’t hear. Usually, she listened to her CDs to make the commute seem shorter, but she was lost in thought this day. That also made the commute seem to go more quickly. Finding herself already in the parking lot and her parking space, she barely remembered the drive. She sighed, prepared herself for the morning onslaught of meetings and conference calls, then dashed to her desk.
“Good morning, Miss Miles,” a voice rang out from an office she quickly passed.
“Good morning,” she replied.
Miranda unloaded her bag and briefcase and plopped onto the leather chair at her desk, letting out a long sigh. She methodically glanced around her office. Scanning the walls, she looked at her bachelor’s degree and various training certificates obtained over the years. Management and business-related books lined the shelves. A three-inch-deep stack of paperwork rested in her inbox, next to a picture of herself with Jazz and her nameplate, “Miranda Miles—Manager.” She felt wilted and wanted to plop her face onto her desk and disappear.
After fifteen years with this financial services company and in a management position for more than half that time, it was starting to wear on her. Dressing each day in a skirt or pantsuit and low-heeled pumps to avoid extending her tall stature, and now, having just turned a milestone age, she felt herself running out of steam. Miranda slumped back in her chair and crossed her legs, picking at her nails and brushing lint from her skirt. She wanted to understand why she felt so depressed, as she was already taking medication for mild depression, just strong enough to take the edge off. Maybe it was the daily grind of the same fires flaring up at work, but she felt it was something more, something deeper.
Overwhelmed by thoughts of retirement, savings plans, and what to do with the rest of her life, she wondered, nearly every day now, how she would ever make it through the next five to seven years doing what she was doing now. She hated the daily grind, the nine-to-five. Her brain wasn’t molded for that kind of monotony. Barely making it from one weekend to the next, Miranda was at a crossroads and feeling the pressure.
Employees walked by her office and glanced in with a smile, which she returned, but without joy. Several meetings lay ahead in the day, but she had a few minutes to sift through her desk drawers. Maybe keeping herself occupied would help to take her mind off herself if that was possible. While shuffling through papers in her bottom drawer, she found a brochure for the Employee Assistance Program. “Completely Confidential” appeared in bold letters. Staring at it, she wondered aloud, “Has it come to this…again? I don’t need more professional help. What I need is a vacation.” She tucked the brochure into her briefcase and headed to her first meeting of the day.
“Miss Miles,” a voice rang out. Miranda glanced around to see who was calling. It was Sandra, one of the call center floor supervisors.
“Hi, Sandra. Good morning. What’s up?”
“Miss Miles, is it true that new training classes are starting soon, so we can assure everyone that help is on the way? The call volumes have been skyrocketing since the debit card compromise. It’s the third one in the past six months. We seriously need extra bodies on the phones.”
“I’m aware of the call volumes. I’m on my way to a meeting to address that issue. And, yes, we do have a new training class starting next week.” She paused and glanced around the call center. “Blast an e-mail and ask everyone to do their best to get through this compromise. And please ask them to adhere to their schedules as closely as possible. It helps with the volumes.” She grinned. “Be patient. Help is on the way. I promise.”
“I’ll get on it, Miss Miles. Thanks.”
Miranda raced away to her meeting. Somehow the fires kept burning, no matter what they discussed, planned, or implemented. Always, new fires burned, and Miranda was feeling the heat. What she realized, and what frightened her the most, was that she didn’t care anymore about the company or its problems. Miranda hated that the company’s problems were automatically hers as if she had no other issues in her life. She didn’t care enough to want to focus on work-related solutions. Her life concerns were pushing her work issues into a black hole. Even that guilt of abandoning her work focus, and fear that it may become blatantly obvious, had taken over her thoughts. As much as she hated it, she couldn’t afford to lose her job. She would use the weekend to try to clear her mind and start over again on Monday, as she had done every Monday over the past few months. Then again, maybe she did need that time off.
Miranda crossed paths with Rodney from Human Resources on her way to another meeting.
“Hey, Rodney. Are you available a little later? I’d like to have a chat.”
“Sure, I’m here until five. Stop by any time.”
After her last meeting of the day and the rest of the attendees had filed out of the conference room, Maggie, an attractive woman in her mid-forties and Miranda’s best work friend, asked her discreetly, “Are we still on for Ellen’s party tonight?”
“Yes,” Miranda replied hesitantly. “But, I’m driving myself in case I need to escape. And I’m sure I will.”
Maggie chuckled as they left the conference room. As they started down the hallway, Miranda paused and leaned against the wall. Maggie hit the brakes and stepped back to check on her.
“Miranda? Are you okay?”
“Mags, we’ve known each other a long time. Have you ever known me to abandon all reason and dive right into the deep end of anything without plans B and C for backup?”
“No. Never. Why?” Maggie focused on Miranda with confusion. “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this, but I’m concerned now. What’s going on with you? You have been a little distant lately. I thought it was just the job.”
“I…” She struggled to put her thoughts together. “Have you ever heard the phrase running with scissors?”
“Uh, I know it isn’t a smart thing to do. What does that mean, Miranda? What are you saying?” She regarded Miranda, waiting for a response.
“You’re right. It probably is just the job.” Miranda flashed a smile. “We’ll talk later.”
Maggie was reluctant but needed to move on.
“Yeah, I have another short meeting to get to, but see you tonight, right?”
“Yes, I’ll meet you there, but wait outside for me so we can go in together.”
Maggie smiled and walked away to her meeting. Miranda slumped against the wall to exhale.
Before leaving for the day, Miranda visited Rodney to discuss a personal leave of absence.
⚜⚜⚜
Miranda and Maggie were greeted at the door by Ellen, the party’s hostess. They were led to the living room, where several other women were gathered on sofas around a large coffee table full of sex toys. Miranda began to spin on her heel, but Maggie pulled her back to join the group.
Ellen asked, “Can I get you ladies something to drink? I have iced tea, coffee, lemonade, white wine, and water.”
Miranda cleared her throat. “Wine for me, please.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. “For me as well.”
Two sofas and a chair surrounded the coffee table. Miranda chose the chair for herself and watched Maggie join the women she knew on one of the sofas.
After introductions and pleasantries, Miranda focused on the toys on the table. She had never seen that variety of sex weapons before. Her weapon of choice was a small vibrator, which she kept in her nightstand drawer for the odd occasion she might need help falling asleep. An orgasm seemed to help, though she rarely needed help falling asleep, as that, unlike orgasms, came so easily to her.
Ellen brought treats of brownies and baked goods and joined the group to start passing the items around with instructions on how to order them. Miranda observed the women handling the toys, and the room was filled with laughter and chatter. She was handed a clear rubber vibrator with a bunny ear clit tickler.
“Fascinating,” she said as she flicked the ears several times and quickly passed it on.
