Crimson Fox - Gloria i

 Hi Everyone,

And welcome back to my novel, Crimson Fox!

Synopsis:

Gloria Carlisle filled every article she wrote for Anthem magazine with her penchant for classic rock and her passion for storytelling. When her editor assigns her an interview with the lead singer of the country’s number one rock band, it’s Gloria’s chance to establish herself as a Black female writer in a white man’s world of rock journalism.

When the singer cancels the interview and refuses to reschedule it, Gloria must return to L.A. to face her editor with no story.

After hours on the road, Gloria finds herself at the Silver Cactus, a small bar and grill in the middle of the desert, owned by the former bass guitarist of the all-female rock band Crimson Fox. That pitstop leads to a journey across the country and back to the desert in search of the story that was never told—the story Gloria was meant to write, and the one that will show her who she was always meant to be.

Read the Prologue here.

Crimson Fox by Anne Eston

Gloria

i.

The ’74 Camaro rumbled as Gloria brought it to a stop across the road from Moon Dogs front man Kip Ripper’s mansion outside of Vegas. The sound of the V-8 filled her with excitement. Her mechanic Ricky, who was really more like a brother to her, helped Gloria find the car. And it was Ricky who put the life back into it and got it sounding like it did now. The Camaro was a washed-out blue and didn’t even have a racing stripe on the hood. Gloria had paid too much for it, but God, she loved it.

She put it in Park and cut the engine. The car ticked as it settled after the long drive from L. A., the same way her eyes flicked over the massive gate in anticipation of what was about to happen. Gloria Carlisle was about to write the biggest story of her young life.

Never mind that she’d only gotten it because Scott Peterson had emergency surgery yesterday. Her editor Jeremy couldn’t get away to write it himself, and none of the other staff writers wanted to do it—they claimed Ripper was on his way to irrelevancy, and who wanted to read a bunch of introspective bullshit about a fading rock icon, much less write one? And apparently it was still cheaper to send Gloria, a low-level staffer, than it was to secure a stringer at the last minute.

Jeremy didn’t hesitate to let her know how lucky she was to get this break, being a woman and all. And being Black. He didn’t say it out loud, but it hung in the air between them when he offered her the assignment.

To hell with that. Gloria belonged here as much as any of her colleagues at Anthem Magazine. She had even more passion for the genre than many of them.

Gloria couldn’t help that she’d gone to a predominantly white high school, that she was well-spoken, loved poetry and listening to rock music. Her father told her half-seriously that she wasn’t his kid, that she’d been left on the doorstep by witches when she came home from the record store with a bunch of albums by Rick Springfield, Van Halen, and Journey. Gloria’s mother was a little more understanding when it came to Pat Benetar because “she’s no Aretha Franklin, but the girl’s got a voice.” At some point between the 7th and 10th grades, rock music just set up camp in her soul and stayed there. And sitting at Kip Ripper’s gate to interview him was right where Gloria wanted to be—right where she was supposed to be.

She started the car again, and grinned as she snaked her way across the wide, dirt road. Gloria blindly reached for a tissue from the box on the passenger seat and rid herself of the spearmint gum she’d chawed on for the whole drive. As she pulled up to the gate, a tall figure strolled toward it from the other side.

He wore white slacks, black shoes, and a black tee shirt. His brown hair hung to his shoulders in a messy shag cut. But he wasn’t Kip Ripper. A small wave of relief washed over Gloria. This meant she’d have a little more time to collect herself. 

An invisible control activated the gate, and the man walked through it as it opened. Gloria rolled down her window as he approached the car. She pulled her sunglasses down on the bridge of her nose so he could see her eyes. He did not return the favor.

“Good afternoon,” Gloria smiled. “I’m Gloria Carlisle, I’m here to—”

“Yeah. So.” He put his hands on his hips and gazed out at some unnamed point on the other side of her car. “Not gonna be an interview today.”

“Oh . . . I see. Well, I’m happy to stick around for a couple of days if Kip wants to reschedule.” Even as she said it, Gloria thought it was highly arrogant of Ripper to cancel the interview, much less expect her to float around Vegas until he decided to grant her an audience. But that’s a rock star for you. 

When the manager, boyfriend, agent, whoever he was turned his gaze back down to her, Gloria was glad she couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses.

“No interview. Period.”

***

Thanks for reading! If you’re in the midst of writing your own novel, reach out, I’d love to hear about it.