Writers Tricks of the Trade Vol. 6 Issue 1 | Page 13

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Life Stories
EDITOR’S NOTE: To start the year off on a fun note, I’m taking the liberty of using an
excerpt from my own book, Confessions of a Cougar. Names in the book were
changed, but it is about 95% true—and, I was the cougar.

HOW I BECAME A COUGAR
MORGAN ST. JAMES
The year was 1980. My friend and I had been given a trip to England by my
boyfriend, and we were going to stay in a cottage in the village of Upper
Warlingham in Surrey. He had traded for a three year lease without seeing it. But,
as I found out, things don’t always turn out the way you envision them.
BUY

We approached the first taxi at the curb. “Upper Warlingham?” I
said.
The driver rubbed his chin. “Upper Warlingham, didja say?” He picked up
the map on the passenger seat and studied it. “Ah, not to worry. I see it right
here in Surrey, it is. Bit of a journey.” He jabbed a stubby index finger at a spot
on the map.
He had almost finished loading our last suitcase, when a bobby decked out in
full regalia approached the taxi. He touched his fingers to his helmet. “Where
would ya be goin’ ladies? Did I hear Upper Warlingham?”
“Why that’s right,” I answered. “Do you know it?”
Instead of answering my question, he pinned the driver with a cold stare.
“Did ya fix a price wi’ ’im?”
Sue answered, “No he didn’t. In fact, he just located it on his map.”
The police officer lifted his hand, placed two fingers in his mouth and
whistled so loud it could have been heard at Buckingham Palace. He signaled
another taxi and the driver pulled up next to ours. He pointed a finger at our
driver. “This here bloke isn’t authorized to go out of London.” He motioned to
the new man. “This driver will take you to Upper Warlingham. Whyn’t ya
transfer their bags and fix a good price for ’em?”
While the new driver switched our luggage to his vehicle, the bobby
reprimanded the first driver. “For shame, tryin’ to take advantage of these
women. Off with ya now and I best not be seein’ ya tryin’ this again or I’ll run
you out and make sure you can’t come back.”
Boy, we’d only been in England a few minutes and we’d almost gotten ripped
off already.
The bobby turned back to us. “This is Simon. He’s a good man, and he’ll
charge you a fair price. Not like the other bloke.”
“Stayin’ there are ya? In Upper Warlingham? Strange place for two Yanks to
be goin’ unless you’ve got business or relatives there.”
I felt a little shiver inch up my spine. “Strange? Why do you say that?”

WRITERS’ TRICKS OF THE TRADE

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JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2016