Brazilian Quest

Olivia Plymouth Series

Book #1

Version .41i4 08/11/2012

Written by Hallett German

Edited by Raquel M. German

Illustrated by Chelsea German

Illustrated by Alessandra German

Works by Author:

Amazi Chronicles:

Story #1: How I Overcame My Inventor's Block

Book #1: Automations for Peace

Book #2: Translators for Peace (Future)

Olivia Plymouth, Internal Traveler and Fashion Consultant:

Story #1: Joyous Living with the Wrong Suitcase

Book #1: Brazilian Quest (Soon)

Book #2: Misadventures in Boston (Soon)

Book #3 The Year Fashion Changed (Future)

Available on Smashwords, Amazon, Kobobooks and other e-book seller locations.

More details at

Chapter 1: Day 0 (Wednesday): A Joyful Noise and an International Flight.

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Our story begins at a near-empty Southern airport at 10 p.m. on a July night. The workday was long over. The only inhabitants of this new structure are the cleaning crews efficiently doing their job and a few tired souls impatiently waiting for their 11 p.m. flight.

A rumbling noise was heard far down the hall. It started to get louder and louder. But so far, the source of the noise wasn't visible. It sounded something between boulders or a large sack of potatoes being dragged over an un-waxed floor. Then began severe, unrelenting pounding in the heads of the soon-to-be passengers.

The cause of the disruption was soon evident. A tall, slender, beautiful young woman apparently in her early twenties appeared. She was forcibly dragging a red carry-on suitcase with some well-worn wheels. She was clad with small golden earrings, a dress with conservative flowery patterns, bright new shoes, and a matching gold necklace. She continued walking forward with her noisy carry-on in tow, all the way to the gate that said Fortaleza, Brazil. The gate attendant still had not arrived.

Who was this mysterious and audibly disturbing young lady? No doubt this was the burning question of those angry beings now awake from their golden slumber. Some might think that she was Italian. Others, no doubt, saw the sure signs of French ancestry. But those who had read the many articles about her knew she was born in the United States.

Her luggage had a large gold tag with the blazing letters "OLIVIA PLYMOUTH, INTERNATIONAL TRAVELER and FASHION CONSULTANT, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON U.S.A." She was carrying a large handbag that was overfilled with many unknown items.

This young lady pulled out a fashion magazine, which discussed the controversial Spring Paris fashions. Soon, she was deeply immersed in the magazine. But this quiet time was unexpectedly interrupted.

A middle-aged lady had walked over to the tall, young woman and said with a nasty glare and great venom in her voice: "Young Miss. You woke me up from my precious sleep. How dare you! You…"

Olivia interrupted her and smiled with a disarming look. "Why Madame, I'm sure that I don't know what you are talking about. I just came here to get on my international flight. "

The angry lady looked like she had just swallowed a container of burning oil. Her face was getting redder and redder. Her eyes were bulging almost out of her sockets. "Your…Your darned suitcase, it's just way too loud." The young woman blinked with innocent amazement. "Well, it was way too quiet here. Why would you be sleeping anyway with our departure time so close at hand? Some people! Here I am, the living embodiment of joyous travel with the 'wrong' suitcase, doing you a service out of the kindness of my heart. But there's no need to thank me." And she walked away with a look of satisfaction of having helped another lost soul.

After that exchange the lady's anger turned into a confused daze. Immediately there was a call for first class passengers over the loud speaker. Young Olivia marched forth and gave her boarding pass to the gate attendant and continued to the plane at a confident pace. She merrily pulled her carry-on suitcase along with its deafening sound. But the ill-tempered lady was left behind still waiting for her economy seat to be called.

Chapter 2: Day 0 (Wednesday): A Major Crisis

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All had boarded the flight quickly and without incident. The nine hour flight was halfway over. Miss Olivia Plymouth was on her way to the seacoast city of Fortaleza, where she would stay about two weeks. Fortaleza was where the largest fashion show in Brazil, the Valdiriani, would be taking place. Awaiting her there would also be three dear ones: Rose, Charles and Richard.

Rose Plymouth was her equally beautiful and brilliant older sister, who was currently the Product Manager at the Moyo Corporation, a telecommunications company in Boston. Charles Johnson was Rose's boyfriend of six months -- a tall, rarely silent man who was an art critic for a Boston paper. He had met Rose two years ago when the Monet special exhibit had come to town, and they both liked Japanese movies, breads from around the world, and piano playing. Their relationship was stable. Perhaps too stable.

Finally, Olivia's own love, Richard Jackson, Pacific Northwest mountain guide who lives in Southern Washington State. They had met during a Mount Rainier climb over a year ago. They only got together once every month due to Olivia's hectic travel schedule. But when they did, there would be whirlwind battles followed by minutes of lovie-dovie-ness.

Olivia's thoughts returned to the flight. Suddenly she saw that her necklace contained multiple tangles. This was a major crisis! Helplessly she gazed at this fashion disaster. Distraught she took it off from her neck and tried to untangle it. But it only made it worse as more knots appeared. Oh my! What was she to do?

A flight attendant passing by saw her dismay. Promptly she came to Olivia's rescue saying she would do all in her power to help. Fifteen minutes later, the attendant came back with a drink of orange juice and the necklace in its original pristine state. What a relief! The rest of the flight allowed our young lady to catch up on her reading and watch a recent comedy. All was good!

Chapter 3: Day 1 (Thursday): Her First Kidnapping.

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Olivia's flight continued without any major events worth mentioning. The plane soon landed at Fortaleza's International Airport late in the afternoon. This was an airport where only six international flights took place a week, two of which were American flights. After she made it through customs, she saw a disheveled shabbily dressed middle-aged gentleman with a small hand-written sign in capital letters. The sign said "OLIVIA PLYMOUTH, U.S.A." She glanced at him quizzically analyzing the questionable color coordination of his outfit, especially the straw cowboy hat clashing with the red and purple striped shirt. Olivia hadn't been expecting a ride to the hotel. She pondered whether perhaps her recent article on unmet model rights in "Fashion WorldBeat" magazine had gotten her some well-deserved respect and therefore a ride.

She went up to him as he waved the sign and said "Are you waiting for me?" He said "Bom Dia, Senhorita" which Olivia knew from her traveler's book meant "Good Day, Miss." She gave him a wide smile and said "Bom Dia" back. Her first real Portuguese words in Brazil!! This was going to be a great trip. She graciously pointed to her cart showing her two oversized but fashionably correct suitcases all with well worn wheels. He pushed them to the "limousine" parked outside the airport doors. Here was a study in contrasts: the sheer elegance of a stylish young woman versus the utter shabbiness of the driver, and together they walked towards the exit. Outside waiting was what looked like an old junkyard car with wreckage showing signs of having been a victim of multiple accidents. Would the fashion show really have her go in a car in this bad shape? She hesitated in getting into the car. But after all, the sign did have her name. Disguising her discomfort with great poise, she bravely got into the back seat and waited. No matter the circumstances Olivia always held on to her grace.

In the back, the poor man was having a battle lifting her bags into the trunk. He looked like he was about to fall over. If you were nearby, you may have heard a backbone cracking and a stifled groan. The man muttered something not for polite ears and shut the trunk. He got into the driver's seat and shut the door. He turned the key. The car started with a loud noise. The car shook from side to side. But this did not bother our well-traveled heroine.

They exited the airport driving towards the city and our newly arrived visitor was welcomed by the rich colors of the buildings: bright pinks, blues, and greens. And there was lush vegetation growing everywhere. She saw busy streets with brave bicycle riders and hesitant jaywalkers. There were street signs that were faded and battered. Lined up side by side were narrow single room stores displaying very little for sale, while visitors sat outside happily chatting and drinking coffee. After twenty minutes of driving, the unusual pair and the world-weary car began leaving city limits. The car seemed to have a long way to go because the driver was accelerating much faster. Olivia was becoming increasingly worried. The sky was getting darker. Soon it would be all dark. Millions of increasingly apprehensive thoughts raced through her head. Was she being kidnapped? Who was kidnapping her? And for what purpose? For how much money? Would the kidnappers treat her savagely? And how would this be written up in the fashion magazines?

Soon there was nothing around them. Just mountains and dimly lit lonely houses, occasionally interrupted by a car heading back into a city. This was as lonely as you can get. And how vast it all was. A person could get lost in its infinity. Soon they pulled off the main highway onto an unmarked, unlit dirt road. They were on a road that was leading up the mountain. From the car lights, Olivia could see a bumpy road filled with medium-sized boulders. It also had deep holes from erosion. She could see burro or horse hoof marks on the road as well. Olivia held her breath as the car muscled and groaned up the hill. Finally, the car could go no more. Steam was wheezing out of the remainder of the radiator. They had reached the road's end and were nearly near the top of the mountain. The driver said in broken English "We are here now."

She got out of the car but wasn't sure which direction to go. The driver pointed to a place not so far away. An area overpowered by menacing white light. Olivia's head was filled with questions. Where was she? Why was she here? Is this really a kidnapping? The anxiety was mounting. She could see two tall shadows silhouetted by white light stepping towards her. Was that a box or a bomb in their hands? Was this the way it all was going to end? She then heard a confident female voice calling: "Olivia, Welcome!" An arm reached out and then wrapped around her, giving her a crushing hug. "Happy birthday, little sister" were the unexpected words she heard next. Olivia could see her beautiful sister Rose who was beaming from side to side. "Happy Birthday Olivia dear" said Charles Johnson, Rose's boyfriend and art critic by day.

Rose then took over explaining: "Sis, we wanted this to be a surprise. Richard had to take a later flight and will be here in two days. I think you will like this place. Sure it is out of the city but ...well you'll see tomorrow. Oh, here's a birthday present from both of us. Open it later. Now, let's get you to sleep."

Olivia hadn't responded because she was still trying to catch up with what happened. She wasn't kidnapped - it was just a surprise from her sister. However weird that may be. It was her birthday - she had completely forgotten about it. And Richard, her love was not here now but would be in a few days. She couldn't wait -- opened the present and it was a rare live recording of her favorite singer Simone Gentil.

She followed her sister into a stucco house with brick shingles. There she was taken to a room that had two beds. There was one for her and the other for her sister. Olivia went into the bathroom to get ready for sleep. Charles and the driver both carried in her bags. Then they went out. Her driver Mapi waved and left. Olivia emerged from the bathroom and fell fast asleep. All questions were put on hold for now.

Chapter 4: Day 3 (Friday): A Good Story to Tell or So, Who is Olivia Plymouth Anyway?

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Let's not disturb our heroine. Who is currently having a bad dream recreating a three hour argument she had with a London fashion designer. Now is a good time to tell you more about her.

It was a late winter day in a thriving Boston suburb that welcomed Olivia as she came into the world. No doubt her arrival was tied to being born before the spring fashion sales. Her parents were pleased to have a second daughter. The oldest daughter Rose liked to build things, take them apart, and rebuild them again like a passionate engineer. Her loving mother, Esmeralda, was an editor for children's books and the family philosopher. Her father, Kenny, was a controversial archaeologist who was currently researching if some early Indian Buddhist sailors were the real discoverers of Massachusetts. Some popular magazines that combined science with the fantastic underwrote his research.

There are various legends on how Olivia ended up into the fashion industry. One was that her mother fell asleep with the television on one night watching the style channel. Another is that a neighbor had thrown out a pile of fashion magazines. Olivia had somehow crawled to the magazines and brought them to her room where she used them as building blocks and later her first books.

The truth is Olivia was mesmerized by colors very early in life. She continuously sorted her colored blocks. When she started speaking, she called the colors her friends and made up stories about them. The turning point was her first art lesson in pre-school. On that day, she learned that colors were not islands in themselves. She was allowed to mix them. She spent the remainder of her time mixing colors. It was an intense morning of experimentation and increasing satisfaction.

The next couple of years were spent trying to find the right materials to work with. Finally, as she reveled with the velvety textures and blazing colors of different fabrics she awakened to her true calling. From that point on, her progress was rapid. She sought out fashion designers, photographers, models, advertisers, modeling/booking agencies, buyers, fashion forecasters, event coordinators, and others. She learned as much as she could from each of them. She went to every runway show that she could. She was very self-assured and bubbly with joy. Her reputation was such, that by fourteen, she was running the registration area in a local show.

At fifteen, Olivia was accepted to the Mount San Real fashion consultant program. She just loved it and worked harder than nearly everyone else to get top grades. Her favorite courses were fashion industry, fashion promotion, fashion show production, and small business management. The only subject she did not do as well was public speaking because she loved to intermix some singing which startled the audience. Her honors thesis was about the political science of colors where none reigned supreme, though each had their moment to shine, and in harmony they sang a song of peace. She attempted to show how voter color preference was an overrlooked factor in choosing political candidates. Her poetic nature was acclaimed by her professors and Olivia graduated summa cum laude, with highest honors, at the age of sixteen. She then got plenty of job interviews. But once they saw how young she was, the potential employers had made up their minds. Even before she could speak. All but one.