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Benko Gladonov, production manager of American Tofu, has the diary of the woman who died in an "accident" in the tofu factory. The diary implicates factory owner and entrepreneur par excellence Charlie Greer in the woman's death and her pregnancy. Genevieve O'Connor, the wise and secretive woman behind Charlie's business success, comes up with a strategy to ditch Benko, save the company, and make her escape. Charlie, fuming, plans to do anything to prove himself innocent and crush Benko.

Since her name means "eternal life," ZoE Rarefield is convinced she can find a way to live forever, roaming back and forth between her mother in Heaven and her friends on Earth. ZoE finds a drink recipe in an old cookbook called "An aphrodisiac for your angel." With this recipe, she intends to entice an angel to bear her up to heaven. In pursuit of her angel, ZoE, her beloved step-brother, and a Hunkpapa tribal elder stumble into what could be the most catastrophic environmental disaster in U.S. history.

Set in the Black Hills of South Dakota, Aphrodisiac for an Angel...

Genevieve O'Connor learns of her boss Charlie's rash relationship with the daughter of Chang Meng, American Tofu's top customer while Charlie discovers the truth about the Special Fruit Meng wants him to import. Genevieve, single mom who gives her all to save Charlie and the company from his folly, must find a way to protect her son's life from her sweet but suddenly cunning lover.

A tragic accident in a soyfoods factory - or is it an accident? The National Enquirer runs a story titled -Murder in a Tofu Factory?- and Charlie Greer, owner of American Tofu, becomes the target of a murder investigation. Genevieve O'Connor, the company's incomparable marketing manager and single mom with secrets of her own, fends off the media while falling in love with a dangerous man. As the investigation edges closer to naming Charlie a suspect, Charlie finds himself in the Old Taipei underworld where anything goes.

Wings

We returned to the woods from a three-day journey
through the dizzy land of the casino.
Today's a Saturday morning resurrection.

Somewhere in my family DNA, a Christian
sings the Sermon on the Mount,
the only words in the Book that matter.

Across the web, Mozart thrills anyone who needs,
who dares to listen. In every note, he sacrificed his life,
as if he had no cares about legacy.

Little Billie watches me with pensive, smiling eyes.
I have her photo on my wall to help me keep my head
out of the...

Richard Brautigan, western writer

Richard Brautigan had to talk, needed listeners to feel his thoughts. So, when he was alone, he saddled up and rode his keyboard, stopping to pick up apostles, penguins and sexy girls, spout- ing tall tales through his handlebar moustache all the way to his hometown, iDeath, where he never once said "I wish I had a glass of watermelon juice."

Smoke

My other self cries out in her crow voice, more wind in it than snarl...from somewhere, there, off to my left...he sits there in the clearing, in a grassy bowl at the bottom of the hill...he's smoking, watching me...a tall hat of smoke rises around his head...where's your brother, he asks me...he gets up from his rock chair... where's your shining stone house I say...maybe my brother is there I say...maybe your brother is there he laughs...

If you thought tofu was bland and virtuous, welcome to the dark comedic world of THE HOUR BETWEEN ONE AND TWO - in the new genre 'tofu noir'. You'll travel from the American Tofu Company in upstate New York-where a woman is found dead in a vat of tofu-to Old Taipei where it seems anything goes. Then to Hunts Point, the planet's largest produce market, rife with exotic foods and people. Join mercurial but self-destructive entrepreneur Charlie Greer and his best friend - Genevieve O'Connor, creative, independent and vulnerable to seduction - as they do whatever it takes to overcome the peril...

Books by Thomas Timmins

Novels:

Blood Medicine

The Special Fruit Company

Down at the River

The Hour Between One and Two (Trilogy)

Aphrodisiac for an Angel

Short Fiction

Puff of Time

Visions of My Other Self

Desert Dusk Music

Graphic Verse Novel

Zom

Poetry

I Was Just Laughing

Likings for Shadows

Buddhist Breathing in America

Sensitive hands

He has the most beautiful hands. Long fingers, arced tips, black hair shiny as crow's feathers on his knuckles, palms webbed with fine lines. Grinning, he says the tangle of lines means he's ultra-sensitive. He's sensitive, but not the way you'd expect. I say "You're shallow." He shrugs. I tease him until he's turned on, then make a married woman's excuse and split. He smiles. Always eager to see me, never mentions I'm married. Sensitive like the fox. Hangs around after dark, knows when he's getting too close and when it's time to leave. I leave. I keep coming back....