I went to work early on Monday morning. I skipped grabbing my usual coffee, and headed straight to the office. I locked myself in and buried myself in the Colorado file, getting up to date on everything, exploring every nuance of the briefs, memos and contracts. I was going to dominate this file, and stick it to my father in the process.
I spent a good chunk of time on the phone that morning, and had Lorraine bring me a lunch, rather than leave my desk. I ate corned beef on rye while on a conference call, with a touch of spicy mustard. Onion rings on the side.
By mid-afternoon I had worked out some snarls in the zoning of our new building, through a contact at the municipal office. That meant the deal for purchasing the land we wanted could go through. I sent off a memo to Chris Geertz and my father, informing them of the relevant details. It was something the law team had expected to take weeks.
I leaned back in my chair, hands behind my head, feet on the desk. I could feel a little bit of a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
Chris himself showed up about an hour later.
“Nice work, Diggory! Way to be on the ball.” He leaned against the doorframe, casually chic in a blue pinstripe.
“Thanks, Chris, just wanted to help out the team,” I said, exchanging clichés.
“You really hit one out of the park, there, man. You must have spent all weekend on the file!”
I shrugged humbly.
“Well, just so you know, I’ve put in a recommendation upstairs. I think you should be made a team-leader on this one. We’ll assign you a few associates, some secretaries, and really put this baby to bed.”
“I really appreciate that, Chris. I’m not looking for any special treatment. I just wanted to put my best foot forward.”
“Diggory, don’t be modest. I need somebody around here I can rely on, and there’s no one else with that kind of initiative. If I don’t have you at the head of this project, it’s something I’d probably end up doing myself. And frankly, we have a lot of other stuff to deal with. I’d like to know there’s someone I can trust and send to Denver, while I take care of things here.”
“Denver?”
“Well, sure. From time to time, someone’s going to have to fly out there for meetings, contract signings, new hires. This is a major undertaking. You’ll be getting a raise, an expense account, a company car… Unless, you don’t think you can handle it?”
I sat up straight. “I’m honoured. And grateful for the opportunity.”
Chris smiled. “Excellent. I’m already whispering in some ears upstairs. We’ll see what happens.”
“Excellent,” I agreed.
“Once it gets finalized, I’ll let the department know. We’ll all go out for dinner and drinks after work. Nothing’s set in stone yet, but, congratulations!”
Chris went on his merry way, and I leaned back in my chair again, grinning at the ceiling. Eat that, old man.
******************************************************************
I arrived home long after sunset, with a bag of groceries. I put it down on the counter and went to my cupboards. I grabbed a frying pan, tinfoil, garlic, a bowl, and some butter. I mixed garlic and butter in a bowl, and then went to the grocery bag.
I took out a loaf of fresh bread and sliced it, lathering on the garlic butter before wrapping the loaf in tinfoil. I stuck it in the oven, and then went back to the bag. I grabbed some fresh chicken, and commenced cutting it up. It went into the frying pan along with the rest of the butter, simmering on the stovetop. I added a few random spices.
I learned to cook in college. If Matt was around, we usually ate takeout. But on nights where he was home, or out with some girl, I took pleasure in preparing my own food. I would often make a big dinner on a Sunday, and then get creative with the leftovers the rest of the week. A roast would become a stew, a chicken breast would go into pasta, pork chops got cut up and put into sandwiches…
I sat down at the counter and poured a glass of wine, toasting myself and my future success. I enjoyed my homemade garlic bread and my chicken dinner, accompanied by a light salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. I loved food.
I relaxed after dinner, lounging on my couch, sipping wine. I walked over to the big windows and looked out to the city, sparkling in the darkness. I wondered what the view was like in Denver.
It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed that I realized I had gone all day without worrying about Calla Wiley or my love life. Perhaps I was finally getting her out of my system? And, why not? She was nobody. Just a crazy girl.
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Chapter Fifteen: Cat's Cradle
We drove back to the city in silence. I rarely even glanced in his direction. However, Matt had a smug little smile every time I did. He obviously didn’t feel the least bit sorry.
No matter. I’d find a way to make him pay. I remembered a summer at camp, when we were maybe eleven years old. Matt had soaked me in my bed with a bucket of lake water. Later, I had pulled down his pants on stage during a talent show. Payback was part of the deal in our friendship.
“You are so dead!” I promised, punching him in the arm. He swerved the car into the next lane, and then back again, laughing the whole time as we cut someone off and they honked their horn.
“Digger, you’re hilarious,” he chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not even dating Calla.”
“No, but if you do, your mother will like her. If you don’t, it buys you some time before they ask about your love life again. Either way, they’re off our backs.”
“Screw you. You enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I did.” He laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
“Jerk,” I laughed, feeling about twelve again, when we would play pranks on family members and maids. Matt made everything fun.
“We are so immature,” I chuckled.
“Hey, it’s better than turning into our fathers. I don’t think they smiled once the whole time through lunch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always been like that. I’m still getting you back.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just claiming payment for my shoes!”
“That’s what this was about? You acted like a dick with Calla and my parents because I puked on your shoes?”
“Well, yeah. They cost three hundred dollars.” He grinned at me. “I love those shoes.”
“Oh, you are so dead…”
*******************************************************************
Matt and I acted like college frat boys the rest of the day. We stopped for a greasy dinner at a pizza place, sitting on stools at a narrow bar that went around the room. We left our sweaters in the car, discarding them and our ties in the back seat. We undid the buttons of our collars and ruffled up our hair.
In short, we tried to pretend we weren’t our parents’ children.
“Dude, what do you want to do next Friday?” I asked.
“Madison’s, man. The ladies.”
“We do that every Friday. Let’s do something new. Drive out to the coast and hang out at a new bar. Eat oysters. Find a new nightclub in town. I don’t know.”
“Digger, since when don’t you want to do the same thing? We’ve been going to Madison’s for, I dunno, eight years.”
“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want to end up like my father.”
“Your dad has never been to Madison’s. He’s so rich he might own it, but he’s never been there.”
“No, he doesn’t own it. I wouldn’t go there if he did.”
Matt looked at me funny. “Whatever. What are you talking about?”
“Our dads. They do the same thing every day. Surgery or a business deal, come home, ignore their families… I don’t want that routine. I want more than that.”
“I think you let the grease go to your head.” Matt chewed thoughtfully. “You like routine. You get pissed at me when I break you out of it.”
“So why are you busting my chops when I volunteer to shake things up? Come on, let’s do something different on Friday.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Okay. But you have to go wherever I want, and do whatever I say.”
“That’s a serious blank cheque.”
“You’re right, it is. You want to walk on the wild side? Fine. But you’re an amateur. Let the pro show you how it’s done.”
“You’re on.”
We shook on it, with our greasy, pizza-stained fingers.
I decided to walk home, enjoying the sunshine. I wondered how many nice days were left before the grey of autumn took over. I waved at Matt as he pulled away in his shiny sports car.
I slung my sweater over my shoulder, felt the breeze on my face, and pointed my feet for home. I wasn’t going to let my father, Calla, or my mother get me down. I was going to move past all that stuff and just loosen up, have a good time.
I smiled at strangers on the sidewalk, which was unusual for them. A few smiled back, most just stared at their feet and continued walking. I felt like a dork in a 50s television show, like Leave it to Beaver or some shit, but I didn’t care. Life was too short. I was going to enjoy it.
It wasn’t until I got home that this cheerful mood was ruined. I saw my father’s file, still spread out on the living room table.
“That jackass!” I said. I realized he hadn’t even brought up the Colorado deal during lunch. Hadn’t even mentioned the file. He had sent me to work on my Saturday off just to inconvenience me. Probably to get back at me for missing Friday. “Arrgh!”
I picked up the papers in a frenzy, stuffing them into the manila folder. They jutted out at haphazard angles, some of the edges folded and wrinkled. I threw it onto my kitchen counter and turned my back on it.
“Grumpy, self-centred old bastard!”
I turned on my television and the PS3 and commenced stealing cars, running over pedestrians, and shooting at people.
Especially old men with beards.
Next Chapter>>
No matter. I’d find a way to make him pay. I remembered a summer at camp, when we were maybe eleven years old. Matt had soaked me in my bed with a bucket of lake water. Later, I had pulled down his pants on stage during a talent show. Payback was part of the deal in our friendship.
“You are so dead!” I promised, punching him in the arm. He swerved the car into the next lane, and then back again, laughing the whole time as we cut someone off and they honked their horn.
“Digger, you’re hilarious,” he chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not even dating Calla.”
“No, but if you do, your mother will like her. If you don’t, it buys you some time before they ask about your love life again. Either way, they’re off our backs.”
“Screw you. You enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I did.” He laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
“Jerk,” I laughed, feeling about twelve again, when we would play pranks on family members and maids. Matt made everything fun.
“We are so immature,” I chuckled.
“Hey, it’s better than turning into our fathers. I don’t think they smiled once the whole time through lunch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always been like that. I’m still getting you back.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just claiming payment for my shoes!”
“That’s what this was about? You acted like a dick with Calla and my parents because I puked on your shoes?”
“Well, yeah. They cost three hundred dollars.” He grinned at me. “I love those shoes.”
“Oh, you are so dead…”
*******************************************************************
Matt and I acted like college frat boys the rest of the day. We stopped for a greasy dinner at a pizza place, sitting on stools at a narrow bar that went around the room. We left our sweaters in the car, discarding them and our ties in the back seat. We undid the buttons of our collars and ruffled up our hair.
In short, we tried to pretend we weren’t our parents’ children.
“Dude, what do you want to do next Friday?” I asked.
“Madison’s, man. The ladies.”
“We do that every Friday. Let’s do something new. Drive out to the coast and hang out at a new bar. Eat oysters. Find a new nightclub in town. I don’t know.”
“Digger, since when don’t you want to do the same thing? We’ve been going to Madison’s for, I dunno, eight years.”
“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want to end up like my father.”
“Your dad has never been to Madison’s. He’s so rich he might own it, but he’s never been there.”
“No, he doesn’t own it. I wouldn’t go there if he did.”
Matt looked at me funny. “Whatever. What are you talking about?”
“Our dads. They do the same thing every day. Surgery or a business deal, come home, ignore their families… I don’t want that routine. I want more than that.”
“I think you let the grease go to your head.” Matt chewed thoughtfully. “You like routine. You get pissed at me when I break you out of it.”
“So why are you busting my chops when I volunteer to shake things up? Come on, let’s do something different on Friday.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Okay. But you have to go wherever I want, and do whatever I say.”
“That’s a serious blank cheque.”
“You’re right, it is. You want to walk on the wild side? Fine. But you’re an amateur. Let the pro show you how it’s done.”
“You’re on.”
We shook on it, with our greasy, pizza-stained fingers.
I decided to walk home, enjoying the sunshine. I wondered how many nice days were left before the grey of autumn took over. I waved at Matt as he pulled away in his shiny sports car.
I slung my sweater over my shoulder, felt the breeze on my face, and pointed my feet for home. I wasn’t going to let my father, Calla, or my mother get me down. I was going to move past all that stuff and just loosen up, have a good time.
I smiled at strangers on the sidewalk, which was unusual for them. A few smiled back, most just stared at their feet and continued walking. I felt like a dork in a 50s television show, like Leave it to Beaver or some shit, but I didn’t care. Life was too short. I was going to enjoy it.
It wasn’t until I got home that this cheerful mood was ruined. I saw my father’s file, still spread out on the living room table.
“That jackass!” I said. I realized he hadn’t even brought up the Colorado deal during lunch. Hadn’t even mentioned the file. He had sent me to work on my Saturday off just to inconvenience me. Probably to get back at me for missing Friday. “Arrgh!”
I picked up the papers in a frenzy, stuffing them into the manila folder. They jutted out at haphazard angles, some of the edges folded and wrinkled. I threw it onto my kitchen counter and turned my back on it.
“Grumpy, self-centred old bastard!”
I turned on my television and the PS3 and commenced stealing cars, running over pedestrians, and shooting at people.
Especially old men with beards.
Next Chapter>>
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Bonus Chapter: Calla Wiley
Journal Entry: September 11, 2008
The world is a very strange place.
My friend Bianca says that I am a very orderly, precise person. Too much so, perhaps. I like mathematics, and science. There is an order to the universe, and underlying patterns. For all its seeming chaos, it has to follow certain rules.
Bianca is an artist. She thinks I should embrace the chaos and stop worrying about the rules so much. Of course, she hates that I clean the apartment regularly, and I hate that she messes it up. She does not know that this is why we are friends.
She thinks she is a good influence on me. That, if she tries hard enough, she will get me to be more flexible and relaxed. I iron my clothes while she gives these lectures, and I don’t think she appreciates the irony. Nor the ironing.
I don’t know if she realizes that I think she’s funny. I do appreciate her trying. I do. But I don’t need help to understand that parties are fun, that music is liberating, that sex can be mind-blowing. I know these things already. I had a youth too. She is still in the middle of hers. I have grown up faster.
My life has been unpredictable enough. It’s time for routine, it’s time for pattern, it is time to play it safe. I have Bianca in my life for a dash of spice, to bring in random elements to the equation. That’s all I need. Otherwise, I have plans. I keep a journal only to organize my thoughts, and to track my progress.
I do the same thing every morning. I go to a coffee house, just around the corner from the library at school. I can never remember what it’s called, something silly. I get my coffee and sit until my first class, or until I have to go to the lab. I go to watch the people still in the midst of their youth. They make me smile with nostalgia.
I was like them, even just a year ago. I wonder if they know how fast it can change. For the fifteen minutes or so that I enjoy my coffee, I sit and read the paper and watch people. It’s better than television.
Today the show decided to break my illusory fourth wall.
I went in just past eight in the morning, as per usual, and stood in line to order my coffee. The owner had come out from behind the counter and picked up a coat and briefcase. She put them to one side, under a table.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just one of our regulars left without his stuff. He’ll probably realize it in a minute, but I don’t want someone to trip over it.”
I nodded, and stepped forward to order from one of her employees. I took my coffee and my paper to a nearby table and sat down to begin my morning ritual. I started reading.
“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” A man asked abruptly.
I looked up at him. I saw a young man, perhaps my age or a little older. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty, anyway. His hair was neatly cut, and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing a very expensive suit, and yet looked like he’d been running. He was quite out of place in this laidback environment.
He was also rather cute.
“Pardon?” I asked, putting down the newspaper. He blinked, and his eyes seemed full of confusion.
“When I was here, before. What was that about?”
“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” I smiled, wondering if he would understand the joke. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I held up my cup to demonstrate. “I bought one too.”
He looked around the shop, completely at sea. He ran his fingers over his face and looked at me again. Cute and not too bright, perhaps.
“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”
I had already forgotten the incident. I processed his question, and remembered. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”
He nodded and smiled. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.”
The man moved to gather his belongings. I turned back to my paper, shaking my head. I don’t know why he felt the need to disturb me over something so simple; I didn’t work there. Silly. Then, the equation solved itself. His illogical behaviour only made sense if he was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry about that,” he said, approaching again. I nodded, and continued reading. His persistent efforts proved my hypothesis, especially when he stepped closer. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”
I was convinced. He was trying to flirt with me. “Your pick-up lines suck,” I said with a grin.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”
He was cute, and seemed harmless. I just didn’t have time to waste. However, he straightened up. He seemed to gather himself.
“Why is it a waste of time?”
“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”
I was trying to be polite, but firm. He smiled.
“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know. You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”
I almost laughed. He was persistent. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”
“Diggory Franklin.” He put out his hand, so we shook. His hand was warm and firm.
“Calla Wiley,” I told him. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”
“You’re a student?”
“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” I stood up and collected my belongings. I really needed to be going. My usual fifteen minutes were more than up. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”
He didn’t give up easily. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”
“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to smile. He was charming, in a goofy sort of way. He held out his card as I moved to go past him. I looked at his open, friendly face. I took the card without a word and walked out the door.
I was done with my impulsive youth. I needed no random elements. I had my plans. I walked to school and sat down in my first class of the day, ready for my future.
But Mr. Diggory Franklin’s face kept intruding. As did the memory of his handshake.
The world is a very strange place.
My friend Bianca says that I am a very orderly, precise person. Too much so, perhaps. I like mathematics, and science. There is an order to the universe, and underlying patterns. For all its seeming chaos, it has to follow certain rules.
Bianca is an artist. She thinks I should embrace the chaos and stop worrying about the rules so much. Of course, she hates that I clean the apartment regularly, and I hate that she messes it up. She does not know that this is why we are friends.
She thinks she is a good influence on me. That, if she tries hard enough, she will get me to be more flexible and relaxed. I iron my clothes while she gives these lectures, and I don’t think she appreciates the irony. Nor the ironing.
I don’t know if she realizes that I think she’s funny. I do appreciate her trying. I do. But I don’t need help to understand that parties are fun, that music is liberating, that sex can be mind-blowing. I know these things already. I had a youth too. She is still in the middle of hers. I have grown up faster.
My life has been unpredictable enough. It’s time for routine, it’s time for pattern, it is time to play it safe. I have Bianca in my life for a dash of spice, to bring in random elements to the equation. That’s all I need. Otherwise, I have plans. I keep a journal only to organize my thoughts, and to track my progress.
I do the same thing every morning. I go to a coffee house, just around the corner from the library at school. I can never remember what it’s called, something silly. I get my coffee and sit until my first class, or until I have to go to the lab. I go to watch the people still in the midst of their youth. They make me smile with nostalgia.
I was like them, even just a year ago. I wonder if they know how fast it can change. For the fifteen minutes or so that I enjoy my coffee, I sit and read the paper and watch people. It’s better than television.
Today the show decided to break my illusory fourth wall.
I went in just past eight in the morning, as per usual, and stood in line to order my coffee. The owner had come out from behind the counter and picked up a coat and briefcase. She put them to one side, under a table.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just one of our regulars left without his stuff. He’ll probably realize it in a minute, but I don’t want someone to trip over it.”
I nodded, and stepped forward to order from one of her employees. I took my coffee and my paper to a nearby table and sat down to begin my morning ritual. I started reading.
“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” A man asked abruptly.
I looked up at him. I saw a young man, perhaps my age or a little older. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty, anyway. His hair was neatly cut, and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing a very expensive suit, and yet looked like he’d been running. He was quite out of place in this laidback environment.
He was also rather cute.
“Pardon?” I asked, putting down the newspaper. He blinked, and his eyes seemed full of confusion.
“When I was here, before. What was that about?”
“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” I smiled, wondering if he would understand the joke. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I held up my cup to demonstrate. “I bought one too.”
He looked around the shop, completely at sea. He ran his fingers over his face and looked at me again. Cute and not too bright, perhaps.
“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”
I had already forgotten the incident. I processed his question, and remembered. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”
He nodded and smiled. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.”
The man moved to gather his belongings. I turned back to my paper, shaking my head. I don’t know why he felt the need to disturb me over something so simple; I didn’t work there. Silly. Then, the equation solved itself. His illogical behaviour only made sense if he was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry about that,” he said, approaching again. I nodded, and continued reading. His persistent efforts proved my hypothesis, especially when he stepped closer. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”
I was convinced. He was trying to flirt with me. “Your pick-up lines suck,” I said with a grin.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”
He was cute, and seemed harmless. I just didn’t have time to waste. However, he straightened up. He seemed to gather himself.
“Why is it a waste of time?”
“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”
I was trying to be polite, but firm. He smiled.
“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know. You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”
I almost laughed. He was persistent. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”
“Diggory Franklin.” He put out his hand, so we shook. His hand was warm and firm.
“Calla Wiley,” I told him. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”
“You’re a student?”
“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” I stood up and collected my belongings. I really needed to be going. My usual fifteen minutes were more than up. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”
He didn’t give up easily. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”
“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to smile. He was charming, in a goofy sort of way. He held out his card as I moved to go past him. I looked at his open, friendly face. I took the card without a word and walked out the door.
I was done with my impulsive youth. I needed no random elements. I had my plans. I walked to school and sat down in my first class of the day, ready for my future.
But Mr. Diggory Franklin’s face kept intruding. As did the memory of his handshake.
Chapter Fourteen: They Sold Me Out
Matt drove his Porsche like he did everything else. Recklessly and fast, with a smile on his face. I envied him. He didn’t care about consequences, or rules, he just found life enjoyable. I wondered what it was like to feel so unconstrained.
“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.
“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”
“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”
“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”
He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.
We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.
“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”
My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.
Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.
There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.
The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.
“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”
“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.
“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.
“Uh, no, not really…”
“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.
“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”
“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.
“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”
“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”
“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”
“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.
“Calla. Calla Wiley.”
I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.
“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.
“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”
“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”
“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”
I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.
“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.
Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.
I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.
Next Chapter>>
“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.
“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”
“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”
“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”
He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.
We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.
“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”
My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.
Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.
There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.
The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.
“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”
“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.
“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.
“Uh, no, not really…”
“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.
“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”
“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.
“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”
“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”
“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”
“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.
“Calla. Calla Wiley.”
I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.
“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.
“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”
“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”
“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”
I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.
“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.
Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.
I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.
Next Chapter>>
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Chapter Thirteen: Jerk
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.
What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?
I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.
I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…
The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.
My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”
I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.
****************************************************************
“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.
“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.
“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”
“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”
“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”
“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”
“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”
“I’m just tired. Go away.”
“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”
“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”
“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”
“Shut up.”
********************************************************************
I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.
“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.
“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.
“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”
“What?”
“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”
“I never would have thought of that.”
“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”
“Why?”
“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”
Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”
I shoved him with a laugh.
We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.
Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.
“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”
“They’re called Calla Lilies.”
“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”
I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…
“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.
“I can’t help how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”
“How?”
“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”
“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”
“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”
I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”
“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”
I stared out the window.
“Yeah, I used to.”
Next Chapter>>
“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.
What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?
I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.
I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…
The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.
My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”
I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.
****************************************************************
“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.
“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.
“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”
“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”
“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”
“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”
“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”
“I’m just tired. Go away.”
“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”
“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”
“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”
“Shut up.”
********************************************************************
I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.
“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.
“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.
“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”
“What?”
“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”
“I never would have thought of that.”
“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”
“Why?”
“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”
Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”
I shoved him with a laugh.
We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.
Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.
“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”
“They’re called Calla Lilies.”
“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”
I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…
“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.
“I can’t help how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”
“How?”
“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”
“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”
“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”
I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”
“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”
I stared out the window.
“Yeah, I used to.”
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the Life
“Hello? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. Pick up, pick up, pick up… You’re not there. Where are you? Come on, pick up. Okay, I’ll call back.”
It was Calla’s voice. She called my office on Friday, apparently. But why? She had reached me at home earlier, and invited me to the gallery.
The next message started. “Where are you? Are you avoiding me? I hope you’re avoiding me. I hope you’re avoiding me instead of just busy or something. I told you to avoid me. That’s good. But you might just be grabbing food or something. I hate this. I’ll call back.”
She sounded really upset. Why hadn’t she mentioned calling my office when I saw her that night?
“Frank? Are you there? Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up at all. Stay away from me. I probably sound crazy to you, but that’s the best reason to stay away, isn’t it? Whatever you do, don’t pick up if I call.” Click.
I wondered if she took medication. Maybe she was bipolar, and forgot her meds sometimes? She seemed so paranoid one minute, and so normal the next. There had been no hint of this anxiety at the gallery. We had flirted and joked…
I felt uneasy. I really didn’t want to get involved with this girl, if this was how she’d be acting. She needed help. Why did she keep calling me Frank all the time?
The fourth message started:
“Mr. Franklin, it’s Lorraine Bowden. I just got a message from your father’s secretary that he left an important folder on your desk. I tried you at home, but there was no answer. I’m trying the office just in case you’ve headed over there. I wanted to apologize for not having checked for it, I’m usually much more thorough. I left early on Friday, since you didn’t need me.”
I checked the display. Lorraine had called about ten minutes before I walked through the door. I decided to call her back. But, while I dialled, I had a thought.
As crazy as she sounded, it made sense that Calla had called my office. That was the number on the card I gave her, after all. My home number wasn’t on it. How had she called my apartment?
I dialled Lorraine.
“Hello, Bowden residence.”
“Lorraine, it’s Diggory. Just returning your call. I got that file you mentioned.”
“Oh, Mr. Franklin. Good, thank you for touching base. Your father’s office was very insistent that you get it.”
“Don’t worry about leaving early Friday. I certainly don’t expect you to sit around while I’m off sick. It’s my fault I didn’t get the file, not yours. Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, sir.” Lorraine’s voice sounded unsure.
“Is there a problem, Lorraine?”
“No, sir. Just that, well, you don’t seem yourself.”
I laughed. “How so?”
“No offence, Mr. Franklin, but you’re a slave-driver. It’s one of the reasons I like working with you, you’re as tough as I am. But lately, you’ve been, well, nice.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, sir! Just unexpected.”
“I’ll try to toughen up by Monday. It’s been an odd week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, Lorraine? Did anyone call for me on Friday?”
“There were several messages. I updated your calendar with next week’s appointments. Oh, and you received a personal call.”
“Personal?”
“Well, I assumed as much. It wasn’t regarding business. A young lady called with an invitation to a gallery showing, but I informed her that you weren’t in the office.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk.
“You didn’t give her my home number, did you?”
“Certainly not, sir. I never share your personal information.”
“Thank you, Lorraine, I do appreciate that. It’s just that the young lady in question called at my home later on Friday, and I wondered how she got hold of the number.”
“Oh, well, you can thank Mr. Pinard for that, sir.”
“Matt?”
“Yes, sir. He dropped by the office to see if you were in.”
I laughed to myself. Matt had suggested I stay home. It was just like him to show up, feigning ignorance, to create plausible deniability for himself. And, to give me an alibi. No one would accuse me of faking sick, if my best friend showed up wondering where I was.
“What does that have to do with the young lady?”
“He took her number from me, in case you wanted it. I assume he may have called her on your behalf, since you were sick. He’s the most likely suspect for providing her with your number, sir.”
“Excellent logic, Lorraine. Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
That wily bastard! He had set me up, knowing full well that Calla would be at the gallery. I wondered why. Matt had tried talking me out of seeing her.
But then, he was a bit of a prankster. He probably wanted to see the drama play itself out. Matt couldn’t resist butting in on my business, ever since we were young. I bet he enjoyed every second of it.
I’d have to thank him at lunch the next day. And, start plotting my revenge.
I picked up the folder from my desk and turned for the door. As I did, the telephone started to ring. On a Saturday.
“Hello? Lorraine?”
“Frank? Oh, thank God! Frank, don’t speak, just listen. Ignore all my calls. Stay the hell away from me, okay? No matter what, just don’t answer if I call. I’m so glad I reached you. You need to listen to me about this. I know I probably sound crazy, but it’s for your own good. Stay away!”
“Calla? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think you need to talk to someone about it, but the next time we speak, I’m sure things will be fine.”
“No, you dumb jerk! If you pick up the phone the next time I call, there’s a good chance you’ll end up causing your own death! Exactly one year after I call you, you die! Your only hope is to never speak to me again!”
Next Chapter>>
It was Calla’s voice. She called my office on Friday, apparently. But why? She had reached me at home earlier, and invited me to the gallery.
The next message started. “Where are you? Are you avoiding me? I hope you’re avoiding me. I hope you’re avoiding me instead of just busy or something. I told you to avoid me. That’s good. But you might just be grabbing food or something. I hate this. I’ll call back.”
She sounded really upset. Why hadn’t she mentioned calling my office when I saw her that night?
“Frank? Are you there? Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up at all. Stay away from me. I probably sound crazy to you, but that’s the best reason to stay away, isn’t it? Whatever you do, don’t pick up if I call.” Click.
I wondered if she took medication. Maybe she was bipolar, and forgot her meds sometimes? She seemed so paranoid one minute, and so normal the next. There had been no hint of this anxiety at the gallery. We had flirted and joked…
I felt uneasy. I really didn’t want to get involved with this girl, if this was how she’d be acting. She needed help. Why did she keep calling me Frank all the time?
The fourth message started:
“Mr. Franklin, it’s Lorraine Bowden. I just got a message from your father’s secretary that he left an important folder on your desk. I tried you at home, but there was no answer. I’m trying the office just in case you’ve headed over there. I wanted to apologize for not having checked for it, I’m usually much more thorough. I left early on Friday, since you didn’t need me.”
I checked the display. Lorraine had called about ten minutes before I walked through the door. I decided to call her back. But, while I dialled, I had a thought.
As crazy as she sounded, it made sense that Calla had called my office. That was the number on the card I gave her, after all. My home number wasn’t on it. How had she called my apartment?
I dialled Lorraine.
“Hello, Bowden residence.”
“Lorraine, it’s Diggory. Just returning your call. I got that file you mentioned.”
“Oh, Mr. Franklin. Good, thank you for touching base. Your father’s office was very insistent that you get it.”
“Don’t worry about leaving early Friday. I certainly don’t expect you to sit around while I’m off sick. It’s my fault I didn’t get the file, not yours. Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, sir.” Lorraine’s voice sounded unsure.
“Is there a problem, Lorraine?”
“No, sir. Just that, well, you don’t seem yourself.”
I laughed. “How so?”
“No offence, Mr. Franklin, but you’re a slave-driver. It’s one of the reasons I like working with you, you’re as tough as I am. But lately, you’ve been, well, nice.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, sir! Just unexpected.”
“I’ll try to toughen up by Monday. It’s been an odd week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, Lorraine? Did anyone call for me on Friday?”
“There were several messages. I updated your calendar with next week’s appointments. Oh, and you received a personal call.”
“Personal?”
“Well, I assumed as much. It wasn’t regarding business. A young lady called with an invitation to a gallery showing, but I informed her that you weren’t in the office.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk.
“You didn’t give her my home number, did you?”
“Certainly not, sir. I never share your personal information.”
“Thank you, Lorraine, I do appreciate that. It’s just that the young lady in question called at my home later on Friday, and I wondered how she got hold of the number.”
“Oh, well, you can thank Mr. Pinard for that, sir.”
“Matt?”
“Yes, sir. He dropped by the office to see if you were in.”
I laughed to myself. Matt had suggested I stay home. It was just like him to show up, feigning ignorance, to create plausible deniability for himself. And, to give me an alibi. No one would accuse me of faking sick, if my best friend showed up wondering where I was.
“What does that have to do with the young lady?”
“He took her number from me, in case you wanted it. I assume he may have called her on your behalf, since you were sick. He’s the most likely suspect for providing her with your number, sir.”
“Excellent logic, Lorraine. Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
That wily bastard! He had set me up, knowing full well that Calla would be at the gallery. I wondered why. Matt had tried talking me out of seeing her.
But then, he was a bit of a prankster. He probably wanted to see the drama play itself out. Matt couldn’t resist butting in on my business, ever since we were young. I bet he enjoyed every second of it.
I’d have to thank him at lunch the next day. And, start plotting my revenge.
I picked up the folder from my desk and turned for the door. As I did, the telephone started to ring. On a Saturday.
“Hello? Lorraine?”
“Frank? Oh, thank God! Frank, don’t speak, just listen. Ignore all my calls. Stay the hell away from me, okay? No matter what, just don’t answer if I call. I’m so glad I reached you. You need to listen to me about this. I know I probably sound crazy, but it’s for your own good. Stay away!”
“Calla? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think you need to talk to someone about it, but the next time we speak, I’m sure things will be fine.”
“No, you dumb jerk! If you pick up the phone the next time I call, there’s a good chance you’ll end up causing your own death! Exactly one year after I call you, you die! Your only hope is to never speak to me again!”
Next Chapter>>
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Pages Unbound
Ladies and Gentlemen:
I have submitted "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" to Pages Unbound. Once it is online, and five reviews are posted, I will publish the bonus chapter you are all furiously voting for. Thanks for your support, I love you guys!
Gavin
I have submitted "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" to Pages Unbound. Once it is online, and five reviews are posted, I will publish the bonus chapter you are all furiously voting for. Thanks for your support, I love you guys!
Gavin
Chapter Eleven: Thinking about Things (I Think too Much)
“Well, what else could it be? You’re young, storming about. I know what it’s like when a young lady turns a man’s blood to boiling. I was your age once.” Hank smiled.
“It’s not that. I mean, it is. But it’s not.”
“Young love,” Hank chortled, making a move on the chessboard.
“I’m not in love!” I almost yelled. “Sorry. Well, I’m not. I just met her two days ago. I hardly know her. That’s what I’m upset about.”
“I don’t follow.” Hank sipped his tea.
“Well, I don’t know her. There’s no reason for me to be thinking about her all day long. Absolutely none. I want her out of my head!”
Hank laughed again, shaking his head. “Ah, young man, to be in your shoes. When you’re old like me, you’ll appreciate this day a little more. You’ve got passion, and the chance at adventure. You should follow it, see where it leads you.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I have plans of my own, work to do. She has her own life, and it seems pretty busy. I don’t think…”
“You do think. You think too much. Why not just enjoy it? Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may!”
“Pardon?”
“I forgot, you don’t read.” Hank rested his chin on his hand, thinking. His white eyebrows furrowed with his wrinkled brow, as he sat deep in contemplation. “I’m trying to say, seize the day! You have the rest of your life to grow old, make money, work hard… You’re young. Follow your heart, while you can. When you’re an old fart like me, you’ll have grand memories, instead of regrets.”
I stared at the chessboard. “Do you have many regrets?”
“Not a one.” Hank smiled. Then, he winked. “But then, I chased the love of my life until I caught her.”
I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling a stranger all this.”
“Me either,” Hank grinned. “Your friends must be unreliable.”
“Have you met Matt?” I laughed. “He’d tell me to go get drunk.”
“That’s the last thing you should do. Highly melodramatic, and unworthy of a hero.”
“Hero?”
“Every man is the hero of his own life story. When you sit back as an old man, with a cup of tea, you need to be proud of your stories. No regrets, remember?”
I smiled. “Thanks, Hank. Maybe I should come to you instead of Matt when I have problems.”
“Well, I’m here most Saturdays. That chair should usually be open.” Hank smiled. “Now, shut up and finish the game. I want to see how this one turns out.”
****************************************************************
Hank kicked my butt. However, I had a lot of fun. I grabbed dinner from a hotdog vendor on a corner and walked home. I intentionally ignored my telephone and went into the living room, sitting on the couch and watching the news.
The television was mostly just for background. I thought about what Hank said, but I wasn’t really willing to trust the word of some old coot. I mean, I got what he was saying about following your heart. Every movie ever made seems to have that theme. I just didn’t know if it applied to the situation with Calla.
It would be really nice to just be adventurous, like Hank said. Fall in love, take some risks, make life something amazing… Everyone wants that, right? Too bad that real life wasn’t like the movies. My own parents proved that. Rich, successful, and miserable. I didn’t want to end up like that.
I spread my arms over the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling with a groan. I also didn’t want to get involved with something crazy. Calla was so complicated. Aloof and stern one day, sweet and flirtatious the next. Kissing me and threatening me, sort of. Warning me away from herself, certainly. And then calling me. This was so messed up.
But, that kiss…
I had called her already today. The ball was in her court, as the old saying goes. Either she called me back (or had already, and it was waiting on the machine) or she didn’t. If she did, I’d just make my next play accordingly. Yeah, that was it. I’d just go with the flow. If she was interested, I’d try again. If she didn’t put forth the effort, I’d move on. I’d only bring up the craziness if she did. Otherwise, it was no big deal. Casual and calm, that was the plan.
I felt better already, having come up with even that much of a course of action. I hated uncertainty. Like I said, I enjoyed my routines.
I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I reached for the phone to order pizza. I was going to veg out on the couch and watch sports or a movie. Clear my mind of all thought.
On an impulse, I decided to check my messages.
“Diggory, it’s your father. My secretary has informed me that you missed work on Friday. That’s unfortunate, because I put a very important file on your desk that morning. I just got back from an overnight trip to Denver, and learned of your absence. I expect you to bring that file to Sunday’s luncheon, whether you’re still sick or not. Bring flowers for your mother.”
He hung up. I slammed the phone down on the receiver.
So much for my lazy Saturday. I hurried down to the street and hailed a cab.
The lobby of the building was locked, of course, but I had my own keys and security pass. I rode the elevator up to my office floor, and got off. I marched to my corner office and unlocked the door, hurrying inside. I saw a thick manila file on my desk. I picked up the phone.
“Security desk.”
“Hey, Joe. It’s Diggory Franklin, I just wanted to let you know I’m in the law department, picking up some files. In case you saw some creep wandering through your camera screens.”
“No problem, Mr. Franklin. Thanks for letting us know. Have a good night.”
“You too, Joe.”
I hung up. The display showed there were four missed calls. Which meant calls after hours, as Lorraine would have taken anything while she was here.
Who would have called? I punched the code for messages.
Next Chapter>>
“It’s not that. I mean, it is. But it’s not.”
“Young love,” Hank chortled, making a move on the chessboard.
“I’m not in love!” I almost yelled. “Sorry. Well, I’m not. I just met her two days ago. I hardly know her. That’s what I’m upset about.”
“I don’t follow.” Hank sipped his tea.
“Well, I don’t know her. There’s no reason for me to be thinking about her all day long. Absolutely none. I want her out of my head!”
Hank laughed again, shaking his head. “Ah, young man, to be in your shoes. When you’re old like me, you’ll appreciate this day a little more. You’ve got passion, and the chance at adventure. You should follow it, see where it leads you.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I have plans of my own, work to do. She has her own life, and it seems pretty busy. I don’t think…”
“You do think. You think too much. Why not just enjoy it? Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may!”
“Pardon?”
“I forgot, you don’t read.” Hank rested his chin on his hand, thinking. His white eyebrows furrowed with his wrinkled brow, as he sat deep in contemplation. “I’m trying to say, seize the day! You have the rest of your life to grow old, make money, work hard… You’re young. Follow your heart, while you can. When you’re an old fart like me, you’ll have grand memories, instead of regrets.”
I stared at the chessboard. “Do you have many regrets?”
“Not a one.” Hank smiled. Then, he winked. “But then, I chased the love of my life until I caught her.”
I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling a stranger all this.”
“Me either,” Hank grinned. “Your friends must be unreliable.”
“Have you met Matt?” I laughed. “He’d tell me to go get drunk.”
“That’s the last thing you should do. Highly melodramatic, and unworthy of a hero.”
“Hero?”
“Every man is the hero of his own life story. When you sit back as an old man, with a cup of tea, you need to be proud of your stories. No regrets, remember?”
I smiled. “Thanks, Hank. Maybe I should come to you instead of Matt when I have problems.”
“Well, I’m here most Saturdays. That chair should usually be open.” Hank smiled. “Now, shut up and finish the game. I want to see how this one turns out.”
****************************************************************
Hank kicked my butt. However, I had a lot of fun. I grabbed dinner from a hotdog vendor on a corner and walked home. I intentionally ignored my telephone and went into the living room, sitting on the couch and watching the news.
The television was mostly just for background. I thought about what Hank said, but I wasn’t really willing to trust the word of some old coot. I mean, I got what he was saying about following your heart. Every movie ever made seems to have that theme. I just didn’t know if it applied to the situation with Calla.
It would be really nice to just be adventurous, like Hank said. Fall in love, take some risks, make life something amazing… Everyone wants that, right? Too bad that real life wasn’t like the movies. My own parents proved that. Rich, successful, and miserable. I didn’t want to end up like that.
I spread my arms over the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling with a groan. I also didn’t want to get involved with something crazy. Calla was so complicated. Aloof and stern one day, sweet and flirtatious the next. Kissing me and threatening me, sort of. Warning me away from herself, certainly. And then calling me. This was so messed up.
But, that kiss…
I had called her already today. The ball was in her court, as the old saying goes. Either she called me back (or had already, and it was waiting on the machine) or she didn’t. If she did, I’d just make my next play accordingly. Yeah, that was it. I’d just go with the flow. If she was interested, I’d try again. If she didn’t put forth the effort, I’d move on. I’d only bring up the craziness if she did. Otherwise, it was no big deal. Casual and calm, that was the plan.
I felt better already, having come up with even that much of a course of action. I hated uncertainty. Like I said, I enjoyed my routines.
I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I reached for the phone to order pizza. I was going to veg out on the couch and watch sports or a movie. Clear my mind of all thought.
On an impulse, I decided to check my messages.
“Diggory, it’s your father. My secretary has informed me that you missed work on Friday. That’s unfortunate, because I put a very important file on your desk that morning. I just got back from an overnight trip to Denver, and learned of your absence. I expect you to bring that file to Sunday’s luncheon, whether you’re still sick or not. Bring flowers for your mother.”
He hung up. I slammed the phone down on the receiver.
So much for my lazy Saturday. I hurried down to the street and hailed a cab.
The lobby of the building was locked, of course, but I had my own keys and security pass. I rode the elevator up to my office floor, and got off. I marched to my corner office and unlocked the door, hurrying inside. I saw a thick manila file on my desk. I picked up the phone.
“Security desk.”
“Hey, Joe. It’s Diggory Franklin, I just wanted to let you know I’m in the law department, picking up some files. In case you saw some creep wandering through your camera screens.”
“No problem, Mr. Franklin. Thanks for letting us know. Have a good night.”
“You too, Joe.”
I hung up. The display showed there were four missed calls. Which meant calls after hours, as Lorraine would have taken anything while she was here.
Who would have called? I punched the code for messages.
Next Chapter>>
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Author Announcement!
Dear Readers:
Ten chapters are up! So far, four people have volunteered to write reviews for Pages Unbound and get the ball rolling so this story starts strong in the ratings. One more volunteer, and I will post "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" on PU and give you a bonus story.
Not only that, but I'm going to let YOU vote on what the bonus chapter is about!
1. More Diggory
2. A chapter from Calla's perspective
3. A preview of the "No Man an Island" sequel, currently being written!
4. A new chapter of "The Untold Legend of Jonah Chalmers"
Furthermore, if you look to the right hand column, you will see a donation total. For every five dollars, I will give you another chapter of Diggory. That's right, you can make me post more than three times a week! The future is in your hands, ladies and gentlemen.
Ten chapters are up! So far, four people have volunteered to write reviews for Pages Unbound and get the ball rolling so this story starts strong in the ratings. One more volunteer, and I will post "The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin" on PU and give you a bonus story.
Not only that, but I'm going to let YOU vote on what the bonus chapter is about!
1. More Diggory
2. A chapter from Calla's perspective
3. A preview of the "No Man an Island" sequel, currently being written!
4. A new chapter of "The Untold Legend of Jonah Chalmers"
Furthermore, if you look to the right hand column, you will see a donation total. For every five dollars, I will give you another chapter of Diggory. That's right, you can make me post more than three times a week! The future is in your hands, ladies and gentlemen.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two: Cupid's Chokehold
Chapter Three: Can't Help Falling in Love
Chapter Four: There She Goes Again
Chapter Five: 8 Bit Love Song
Chapter Six: Story of a Girl
Chapter Seven: Don't get Mad, get Even
Chapter Eight: Girl on a Swing
Chapter Nine: When a Man's in Love
Chapter Ten: Chess
Chapter Eleven: Thinking about Things (I Think Too Much)
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the Life
Chapter Thirteen: Jerk
Chapter Fourteen: They Sold Me Out
Chapter Fifteen: Cats Cradle
Chapter Sixteen: Sweet Smell of Success
Chapter Seventeen: Da Bo$$ Wants to See You
Chapter Eighteen: Old Man
Chapter Nineteen: Revenge
Chapter Twenty: We Couldn't Get Along Without You
Chapter Twenty-One: That's What Friends are For (the vulture song)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Foxy Lady
Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Girls in One
Chapter Twenty-Four: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant
Chapter Twenty-Five: How do You Sleep at Night?
Chapter Twenty-Six: Scenes from a Coffee House
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Good Morning
Chapter Twenty-Eight: That's Where it is
Chapter Twenty-Nine: In this Town (Boredom eats me like Cancer)
Chapter Thirty: Always on my Mind
Chapter Two: Cupid's Chokehold
Chapter Three: Can't Help Falling in Love
Chapter Four: There She Goes Again
Chapter Five: 8 Bit Love Song
Chapter Six: Story of a Girl
Chapter Seven: Don't get Mad, get Even
Chapter Eight: Girl on a Swing
Chapter Nine: When a Man's in Love
Chapter Ten: Chess
Chapter Eleven: Thinking about Things (I Think Too Much)
Chapter Twelve: Welcome to the Life
Chapter Thirteen: Jerk
Chapter Fourteen: They Sold Me Out
Chapter Fifteen: Cats Cradle
Chapter Sixteen: Sweet Smell of Success
Chapter Seventeen: Da Bo$$ Wants to See You
Chapter Eighteen: Old Man
Chapter Nineteen: Revenge
Chapter Twenty: We Couldn't Get Along Without You
Chapter Twenty-One: That's What Friends are For (the vulture song)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Foxy Lady
Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Girls in One
Chapter Twenty-Four: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant
Chapter Twenty-Five: How do You Sleep at Night?
Chapter Twenty-Six: Scenes from a Coffee House
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Good Morning
Chapter Twenty-Eight: That's Where it is
Chapter Twenty-Nine: In this Town (Boredom eats me like Cancer)
Chapter Thirty: Always on my Mind
Chapter Ten: Chess
“…have reached Bianca and Calla. Unless you’re an axe murderer, in which case, we won’t call you back, leave a message at the BEEP.”
I checked the time on the clock on the stove. It was just past twelve. I looked at my phone display. Calla had called at half past eleven. She could have gone out to lunch, or she was in the shower, I might have just missed her.
“Hi, yeah, uh, this is Diggory Franklin, just returning your call.” I had no idea what to say. “Sorry I missed you… Call me back.”
Smooth, Digger, really smooth. If the romantic words I chose don’t convince her to call me, I’m sure it will be because of the irresistible sound of my stuttering voice. Why did this girl make me feel like I was twelve?
I hung up the phone and headed off for my workout. After all, that was all I really had planned for the day. A light lunch and then there were files to go over. My life as a lawyer. Yay, me.
I took my frustration out on the weights, pushing my maximum and grinding my teeth. I slammed my arms up on the bench press, making the metal plates of my weight machine clang and rattle. Back and forth, up and down, I pushed myself hard. I made my muscles ache and asked for more. I had to get this out of my head, be a man about it. She was just some weird girl.
Eventually lactic acid made me quit. I took a long, hot shower and just let the water beat down on me like a rainstorm, drowning out thought. I took my paperwork into the living room and went over files meticulously. I worked at it, single-minded.
Okay, I lied. I glanced at the phone an average of twice every five minutes, willing her to call. I felt like an ass.
“Screw it.” I threw down my pen and stormed away from the papers, heading off to my bedroom. I started looking for clothes. I got rid of my dirty t-shirt and shorts, opting for slacks and a nice sweater. I marched back into the living room and found my wallet. I locked up and rode the elevator down.
“No way am I just sitting around, waiting for some chick to call,” I muttered under my breath, thinking that this was the same advice Matt would give. Not that I wanted to talk to him right now, either. It was more just a need to get moving, and not be a wuss.
I hailed a cab and had it take me downtown. I window-shopped, mostly just walking around and occasionally looking into a store so it seemed like I had a reason to be there. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, more just wanting to find something that might take my mind off this problem.
A problem that shouldn’t even have been a problem! I hardly knew Calla, and she hadn’t been part of my life two days ago. I hadn’t known she existed. Now, she was all I could think about, and for no good reason! I scoffed out loud.
“Bullshit!”
“What’s that?” An elderly gentleman said. He was sitting at a café table, enjoying a cup of something hot. It smelled like tea. There was a chess set on the table.
“Oh, pardon me, sir! I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Talking to yourself? Never a good sign. Something the matter?”
“Nothing. That’s what’s the matter. I’m mad about nothing.” I laughed at myself.
The older gentleman raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea? Maybe that would help.”
I shook my hand in the air. “No, no, that’s okay. You don’t want to hear about it, anyway.”
“Well, suit yourself.” He shrugged, and turned towards the chess game.
“Are you playing yourself?” I asked.
“No. My friend and I enjoy a good game, now and then.”
I stared at the empty chair across from him, wondering if he was senile. Then I had a more obvious solution. “Is your friend inside?”
“No.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “You know that’s an empty chair, right?”
The old man laughed. “Of course. My friend lives in Boston, we play chess by mail. I like to sit with a nice tea and think about my next move.”
“Isn’t that slow? Haven’t you heard of the Internet?”
“Of course. But I really don’t want to bother with it. Sometimes tradition is nice. Faster doesn’t always mean better. And besides, this gives me more time to think. He’s a very good chess player.”
“My grandfather taught me to play ages ago. I remember it as a challenging game. I haven’t had time to for it in ages though.”
“Would you like to play?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you and your friend,” I grinned. “And I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. After all, his move is on paper, and I can get back to him anytime I like. Sit down.”
On the spur of the moment, I decided to sit. I pulled up to the table, and we set up the board.
“What’s your name, son?”
“I’m Diggory. Diggory Franklin.” We shook hands.
“I’m Hank Wilson. Good to meet you. Diggory, eh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”
“Yeah, that was my mother’s idea. She read it in a book once.”
We started the game, moving pawns about.
“Do you happen to know which book?”
“Not really,” I said, moving a knight into play. “I don’t read much.”
He grunted. “No time for chess, you don’t read, you prefer the Internet to letters. Sounds like you live a busy life.”
“Well, I guess. I’m a lawyer, I put in a lot of hours.”
“A lawyer? Your parents must be very proud.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure they are.”
Hank appraised me from across the board. “So, is that the trouble you were complaining about?”
“My parents? No. Furthest thing from my mind.”
“Ah, then it’s a woman.” Hank tapped his temple. “I knew it.”
“What makes you say that?”
Next Chapter>>
I checked the time on the clock on the stove. It was just past twelve. I looked at my phone display. Calla had called at half past eleven. She could have gone out to lunch, or she was in the shower, I might have just missed her.
“Hi, yeah, uh, this is Diggory Franklin, just returning your call.” I had no idea what to say. “Sorry I missed you… Call me back.”
Smooth, Digger, really smooth. If the romantic words I chose don’t convince her to call me, I’m sure it will be because of the irresistible sound of my stuttering voice. Why did this girl make me feel like I was twelve?
I hung up the phone and headed off for my workout. After all, that was all I really had planned for the day. A light lunch and then there were files to go over. My life as a lawyer. Yay, me.
I took my frustration out on the weights, pushing my maximum and grinding my teeth. I slammed my arms up on the bench press, making the metal plates of my weight machine clang and rattle. Back and forth, up and down, I pushed myself hard. I made my muscles ache and asked for more. I had to get this out of my head, be a man about it. She was just some weird girl.
Eventually lactic acid made me quit. I took a long, hot shower and just let the water beat down on me like a rainstorm, drowning out thought. I took my paperwork into the living room and went over files meticulously. I worked at it, single-minded.
Okay, I lied. I glanced at the phone an average of twice every five minutes, willing her to call. I felt like an ass.
“Screw it.” I threw down my pen and stormed away from the papers, heading off to my bedroom. I started looking for clothes. I got rid of my dirty t-shirt and shorts, opting for slacks and a nice sweater. I marched back into the living room and found my wallet. I locked up and rode the elevator down.
“No way am I just sitting around, waiting for some chick to call,” I muttered under my breath, thinking that this was the same advice Matt would give. Not that I wanted to talk to him right now, either. It was more just a need to get moving, and not be a wuss.
I hailed a cab and had it take me downtown. I window-shopped, mostly just walking around and occasionally looking into a store so it seemed like I had a reason to be there. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, more just wanting to find something that might take my mind off this problem.
A problem that shouldn’t even have been a problem! I hardly knew Calla, and she hadn’t been part of my life two days ago. I hadn’t known she existed. Now, she was all I could think about, and for no good reason! I scoffed out loud.
“Bullshit!”
“What’s that?” An elderly gentleman said. He was sitting at a café table, enjoying a cup of something hot. It smelled like tea. There was a chess set on the table.
“Oh, pardon me, sir! I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Talking to yourself? Never a good sign. Something the matter?”
“Nothing. That’s what’s the matter. I’m mad about nothing.” I laughed at myself.
The older gentleman raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea? Maybe that would help.”
I shook my hand in the air. “No, no, that’s okay. You don’t want to hear about it, anyway.”
“Well, suit yourself.” He shrugged, and turned towards the chess game.
“Are you playing yourself?” I asked.
“No. My friend and I enjoy a good game, now and then.”
I stared at the empty chair across from him, wondering if he was senile. Then I had a more obvious solution. “Is your friend inside?”
“No.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “You know that’s an empty chair, right?”
The old man laughed. “Of course. My friend lives in Boston, we play chess by mail. I like to sit with a nice tea and think about my next move.”
“Isn’t that slow? Haven’t you heard of the Internet?”
“Of course. But I really don’t want to bother with it. Sometimes tradition is nice. Faster doesn’t always mean better. And besides, this gives me more time to think. He’s a very good chess player.”
“My grandfather taught me to play ages ago. I remember it as a challenging game. I haven’t had time to for it in ages though.”
“Would you like to play?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you and your friend,” I grinned. “And I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. After all, his move is on paper, and I can get back to him anytime I like. Sit down.”
On the spur of the moment, I decided to sit. I pulled up to the table, and we set up the board.
“What’s your name, son?”
“I’m Diggory. Diggory Franklin.” We shook hands.
“I’m Hank Wilson. Good to meet you. Diggory, eh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”
“Yeah, that was my mother’s idea. She read it in a book once.”
We started the game, moving pawns about.
“Do you happen to know which book?”
“Not really,” I said, moving a knight into play. “I don’t read much.”
He grunted. “No time for chess, you don’t read, you prefer the Internet to letters. Sounds like you live a busy life.”
“Well, I guess. I’m a lawyer, I put in a lot of hours.”
“A lawyer? Your parents must be very proud.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure they are.”
Hank appraised me from across the board. “So, is that the trouble you were complaining about?”
“My parents? No. Furthest thing from my mind.”
“Ah, then it’s a woman.” Hank tapped his temple. “I knew it.”
“What makes you say that?”
Next Chapter>>
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Chapter Nine: When a Man's in Love
Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful. All was right with the world. I had successfully flirted with one Calla Wiley and obtained her telephone number without any new craziness cropping up. I stood before the wide windows of my skyscraper apartment, watching the sun come up with a smile.
I wondered if I should call her for breakfast? No, we’d both had late nights. She deserved to sleep in. Maybe I could call at lunchtime? Well, maybe it was too soon. Calling the very next day could come across as desperate. Where was Matt when I needed him? He might not know George Washington from Abraham Lincoln, but he could smell desperation from a mile away.
I decided to call him instead. Besides, I had silently promised revenge last night, and waking him at this early hour was a nice first step.
It rang three times before he picked up.
“Wha?”
“Good morning, Matthew! How are you this wonderful day? I woke up early to see the sunrise, and thought you’d like to share in it!”
“Who the fu… Mr. Rogers? Take your sunrise and shove it up your ass!”
“Matt, it’s Digger. Good morning.”
“What the hell, man, it’s like six-thirty. What are you doing?”
“Payback, my friend. Couldn’t keep your mouth shut last night, could you?” I was gleeful.
“What? That chick? So what? That wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I respectfully disagree. I wave my victory in your face: she gave me her number!”
“Whoop-te-doo. I’m in bed with Petra and Daphne right now.”
There’s nothing like news like that from your best friend to dampen your victorious spirit. “Thanks for raining on my parade.”
“Dude, I think it’s cute you thought her number was such a big deal. Seriously, that’s sweet. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”
Matt hung up and I sat down on the edge of my (empty) bed.
“Son of a bitch.”
**********************************************************************
I am a creature of habit. I really enjoy routines. Every weekday morning I get coffee at the same place, go to work at the same time, work my butt off until I’m the last to leave. I go to the same bar almost every Friday with the same people. I buy my newspaper at the same corner every day. The only variations in routine are forced on me by random circumstances, like the occasional business trip or an invitation from my parents. Or random people, like Matt, who take pleasure in disrupting organized lives.
So, I did the same thing that Saturday morning that I do every Saturday. I watched cartoons and ate cereal. The only real difference between an adult Saturday and the one I enjoyed as a child was that now, I had a big screen plasma television all to myself. Oh, and I stopped eating Fruit Loops in favour of a healthy oat and bran thing.
I lounged on my couch in just boxers and a t-shirt, enjoying a lazy morning. I would go jogging in the afternoon and do some working out, before catching up on paperwork or planning my week. But Saturday and Sunday mornings were really my only inactive times. I kept myself busy the rest of the week, with work or my routine social engagements.
The telephone rang at about eleven o’clock, reminding me of one of those social obligations.
“Hello, Mother.” I said, checking the caller ID before picking up.
“Good morning, Diggory dear. Are you coming for lunch tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mother. I haven’t forgotten.”
“You work so hard, dear, I don’t see you nearly enough. I don’t fully understand it. Your father owns the company, your future is assured. You could take some time off now and again.”
“Yes, Mother. I know. I like working, it keeps me busy.”
I didn’t know how to explain to her that I resented my cozy, assured future. And I didn’t want my peers to resent me for just assuming it. I had some desire to actually deserve it. It was a conversation my mother and I had repeated many times, with neither one of us getting anywhere.
“Well, I don’t want you working too hard. You need to have some fun, too. I do want grandchildren some day, you know.” I thought to myself, Subtle, Mom.
“Yes, Mother. I will see you tomorrow at the club. Don’t worry about me, Mother. Have a great day.”
I decided to go jogging early, just to get away from the phone. I changed into running shorts and sneakers, and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. September was almost over, and the air was getting cooler. I headed out, locking up behind me, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.
I jogged lightly down the street for two blocks, until I reached the park around the corner. I would run a few laps, work up a good sweat, and then head back to my apartment to work out. I had my own equipment in one of the spare bedrooms.
The air was crisper than the past few weeks, despite the warm sun. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be running in snow. I loved the outdoors, and refused to run on treadmills. It was the one piece of equipment I refused to purchase. I ran without a cell phone, without a wristwatch. For an hour or so, I was free.
I got back in a good sweat, and ready for my workout. I passed through the kitchen first, grabbing a bottle of designer water from the refrigerator. There was a message on my phone, blinking away. I hit the button as I drank.
“Hi, Mr. Franklin. Um, Diggory. I don’t know what to call you, we’re not quite on a first-name basis, are we? Well, maybe we are.”
My eyes went wide as I stared at the telephone.
“It’s me, Calla. Calla Wiley. I guess you’re not in? I’m sorry I disappeared last night, Bianca’s parents were really proud of her and took us out for drinks… Like you care about that. I’m sorry I’m rambling on your phone. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I didn’t take off on purpose, but I really wanted to see them, it’s been months. I’d like to hear from you. I mean, I hope you found my number on the picture… I left it for you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d find it. I hope you did. I hope you call.”
I reached for the phone.
Next Chapter>>
I wondered if I should call her for breakfast? No, we’d both had late nights. She deserved to sleep in. Maybe I could call at lunchtime? Well, maybe it was too soon. Calling the very next day could come across as desperate. Where was Matt when I needed him? He might not know George Washington from Abraham Lincoln, but he could smell desperation from a mile away.
I decided to call him instead. Besides, I had silently promised revenge last night, and waking him at this early hour was a nice first step.
It rang three times before he picked up.
“Wha?”
“Good morning, Matthew! How are you this wonderful day? I woke up early to see the sunrise, and thought you’d like to share in it!”
“Who the fu… Mr. Rogers? Take your sunrise and shove it up your ass!”
“Matt, it’s Digger. Good morning.”
“What the hell, man, it’s like six-thirty. What are you doing?”
“Payback, my friend. Couldn’t keep your mouth shut last night, could you?” I was gleeful.
“What? That chick? So what? That wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I respectfully disagree. I wave my victory in your face: she gave me her number!”
“Whoop-te-doo. I’m in bed with Petra and Daphne right now.”
There’s nothing like news like that from your best friend to dampen your victorious spirit. “Thanks for raining on my parade.”
“Dude, I think it’s cute you thought her number was such a big deal. Seriously, that’s sweet. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”
Matt hung up and I sat down on the edge of my (empty) bed.
“Son of a bitch.”
**********************************************************************
I am a creature of habit. I really enjoy routines. Every weekday morning I get coffee at the same place, go to work at the same time, work my butt off until I’m the last to leave. I go to the same bar almost every Friday with the same people. I buy my newspaper at the same corner every day. The only variations in routine are forced on me by random circumstances, like the occasional business trip or an invitation from my parents. Or random people, like Matt, who take pleasure in disrupting organized lives.
So, I did the same thing that Saturday morning that I do every Saturday. I watched cartoons and ate cereal. The only real difference between an adult Saturday and the one I enjoyed as a child was that now, I had a big screen plasma television all to myself. Oh, and I stopped eating Fruit Loops in favour of a healthy oat and bran thing.
I lounged on my couch in just boxers and a t-shirt, enjoying a lazy morning. I would go jogging in the afternoon and do some working out, before catching up on paperwork or planning my week. But Saturday and Sunday mornings were really my only inactive times. I kept myself busy the rest of the week, with work or my routine social engagements.
The telephone rang at about eleven o’clock, reminding me of one of those social obligations.
“Hello, Mother.” I said, checking the caller ID before picking up.
“Good morning, Diggory dear. Are you coming for lunch tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mother. I haven’t forgotten.”
“You work so hard, dear, I don’t see you nearly enough. I don’t fully understand it. Your father owns the company, your future is assured. You could take some time off now and again.”
“Yes, Mother. I know. I like working, it keeps me busy.”
I didn’t know how to explain to her that I resented my cozy, assured future. And I didn’t want my peers to resent me for just assuming it. I had some desire to actually deserve it. It was a conversation my mother and I had repeated many times, with neither one of us getting anywhere.
“Well, I don’t want you working too hard. You need to have some fun, too. I do want grandchildren some day, you know.” I thought to myself, Subtle, Mom.
“Yes, Mother. I will see you tomorrow at the club. Don’t worry about me, Mother. Have a great day.”
I decided to go jogging early, just to get away from the phone. I changed into running shorts and sneakers, and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. September was almost over, and the air was getting cooler. I headed out, locking up behind me, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.
I jogged lightly down the street for two blocks, until I reached the park around the corner. I would run a few laps, work up a good sweat, and then head back to my apartment to work out. I had my own equipment in one of the spare bedrooms.
The air was crisper than the past few weeks, despite the warm sun. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be running in snow. I loved the outdoors, and refused to run on treadmills. It was the one piece of equipment I refused to purchase. I ran without a cell phone, without a wristwatch. For an hour or so, I was free.
I got back in a good sweat, and ready for my workout. I passed through the kitchen first, grabbing a bottle of designer water from the refrigerator. There was a message on my phone, blinking away. I hit the button as I drank.
“Hi, Mr. Franklin. Um, Diggory. I don’t know what to call you, we’re not quite on a first-name basis, are we? Well, maybe we are.”
My eyes went wide as I stared at the telephone.
“It’s me, Calla. Calla Wiley. I guess you’re not in? I’m sorry I disappeared last night, Bianca’s parents were really proud of her and took us out for drinks… Like you care about that. I’m sorry I’m rambling on your phone. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I didn’t take off on purpose, but I really wanted to see them, it’s been months. I’d like to hear from you. I mean, I hope you found my number on the picture… I left it for you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d find it. I hope you did. I hope you call.”
I reached for the phone.
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Chapter Eight: Girl on a Swing
“I’m not sure I follow.” I looked at Calla Wiley with some confusion.
Calla smiled. “Well, I guess I mean that Mark Twain is a great writer, and can’t quite help reflecting the biases of his age. I’m certainly not going to hold it against him. Your friend seems to think being male constitutes being macho, which is quite out of date.”
“Ohhhh,” I replied knowingly and brilliantly.
“In other words, he’s entertaining but I wouldn’t want to live with him.”
“Got it.” I smiled. “I did live with him, in college, and it’s not pretty.”
“Sometime we’ll have to exchange room-mate horror stories. I could tell you things about Bianca that would turn your hair white!” Calla giggled.
“Does that mean you’ll see me again?” I pounced.
She kind of tilted her eyes to one side and I could see a slight blush on her cheeks.
“Well… Maybe we’ll run into each other and have coffee.”
“Or you’ll call me again?”
“Maybe,” She smiled, shrugging.
“Or, we could try something really radical. Unprecedented, even. You could give your number to me, and then I could call you.”
Calla looked up at me, and her grey eyes drew me in. I could see that she was going to acquiesce. It was there, bright and sparkling in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Hey, there you are!” A bouncy blonde appeared at her elbow, her hair plaited with braids and beads. “My parents finally showed up, they want to say hi.”
“Bianca,” Calla said, turning to her friend in a daze, “Have you met Diggory Franklin?”
“The lawyer? He actually came?” Bianca turned to me and shook hands vigorously. “Nice to meet you, dude. Do you mind if I steal Calla?”
I barely blinked, and they were off through the crowd.
“Oh, come on!” I said.
****************************************************************
I weaved through the small groups of art-aficionados, trying to spot either Calla or Bianca. Everyone was clustered around, chatting and sipping wine. I couldn’t sort out which way they had gone. The buzz of conversations made it impossible to just start yelling and hope they’d find me. I tried shouting once, and all I got for my efforts was the stare-down from some wealthy dowager.
“Dude, do you have epilepsy or something?” Matt the Pimp appeared at my elbow, smiling as I waved my arms at people to move out of the way.
“Dude, you have an Ivy League education. Why do you always say ‘dude,’ huh?”
“Someone’s having a bad day. Did you miss your nap? Do you want a cookie?”
“Not now! I’m trying to find Calla.”
“She disappeared again? The girl must have trained with Houdini.”
“Do you actually know who that is, or are you repeating something you’ve heard someone else say?”
“Couldn’t pull it off?”
“No. But then, I know you. In history class you once put ‘Babe-raham Lincoln’ as the answer to a question about the first president.”
“So I spelled it wrong! That teacher couldn’t take a joke.”
“Matt. George Washington.”
“The dude on the dollar? No way. Lincoln is on the penny because he was first. One cent, first. Right?”
I started walking away, shaking my head.
Matt rushed to keep up, talking over the crowd. He was persistent, I’ll give him that.
“Anyway, Digger, I came over to tell you: Daphne is off in twenty minutes, and I’m taking her home. You can come and meet her roomie, Petra, or you can stay here chasing the Elusive Femme. It’s up to you.”
I turned back to him. “Matt, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in Barbie Two. I’m looking for Calla, I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Dude, Petra! Who’s Barbie?” Matt called out to me as I wandered away through the crowd.
I went from room to room. It didn’t help that every room of the gallery had white walls and bright lights, and was filled with posh people looking at pictures. I lost track of which room I had found Calla in, and which way I had seen her go. None of the pictures made good landmarks, so I couldn’t tell if I had been somewhere before if I got turned around wandering through a crowd of people.
Okay, part of that problem might have been four glasses of wine earlier in the evening, but only part of it.
I began to think that Matt the Pimp had been right. Which was a sign of how low my morale was at that point, Matt was rarely a person known for his wisdom. But, maybe I was trying too hard to find a connection with a girl I barely knew, and who had been a major pain in the ass over the last two days. Her behaviour was erratic, and circumstances seemed to conspire to keep us apart.
“Either she’s crazy or I am,” I mumbled to myself.
And then I saw it. Something familiar and comforting in a world of chaos, and it brought hope with it. I found the photo of Calla. The lonely girl on a swing that I felt I had so much in common with.
I pushed through the mass of people, which was finally starting to thin out as the evening waned. I didn’t want someone else to get there first. I stood before the photograph, staring at hope. There was a tiny piece of paper taped to the frame.
I pulled it off carefully and unfolded the little scrap. I found a telephone number and a smiley face written inside.
Next Chapter>>
Calla smiled. “Well, I guess I mean that Mark Twain is a great writer, and can’t quite help reflecting the biases of his age. I’m certainly not going to hold it against him. Your friend seems to think being male constitutes being macho, which is quite out of date.”
“Ohhhh,” I replied knowingly and brilliantly.
“In other words, he’s entertaining but I wouldn’t want to live with him.”
“Got it.” I smiled. “I did live with him, in college, and it’s not pretty.”
“Sometime we’ll have to exchange room-mate horror stories. I could tell you things about Bianca that would turn your hair white!” Calla giggled.
“Does that mean you’ll see me again?” I pounced.
She kind of tilted her eyes to one side and I could see a slight blush on her cheeks.
“Well… Maybe we’ll run into each other and have coffee.”
“Or you’ll call me again?”
“Maybe,” She smiled, shrugging.
“Or, we could try something really radical. Unprecedented, even. You could give your number to me, and then I could call you.”
Calla looked up at me, and her grey eyes drew me in. I could see that she was going to acquiesce. It was there, bright and sparkling in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Hey, there you are!” A bouncy blonde appeared at her elbow, her hair plaited with braids and beads. “My parents finally showed up, they want to say hi.”
“Bianca,” Calla said, turning to her friend in a daze, “Have you met Diggory Franklin?”
“The lawyer? He actually came?” Bianca turned to me and shook hands vigorously. “Nice to meet you, dude. Do you mind if I steal Calla?”
I barely blinked, and they were off through the crowd.
“Oh, come on!” I said.
****************************************************************
I weaved through the small groups of art-aficionados, trying to spot either Calla or Bianca. Everyone was clustered around, chatting and sipping wine. I couldn’t sort out which way they had gone. The buzz of conversations made it impossible to just start yelling and hope they’d find me. I tried shouting once, and all I got for my efforts was the stare-down from some wealthy dowager.
“Dude, do you have epilepsy or something?” Matt the Pimp appeared at my elbow, smiling as I waved my arms at people to move out of the way.
“Dude, you have an Ivy League education. Why do you always say ‘dude,’ huh?”
“Someone’s having a bad day. Did you miss your nap? Do you want a cookie?”
“Not now! I’m trying to find Calla.”
“She disappeared again? The girl must have trained with Houdini.”
“Do you actually know who that is, or are you repeating something you’ve heard someone else say?”
“Couldn’t pull it off?”
“No. But then, I know you. In history class you once put ‘Babe-raham Lincoln’ as the answer to a question about the first president.”
“So I spelled it wrong! That teacher couldn’t take a joke.”
“Matt. George Washington.”
“The dude on the dollar? No way. Lincoln is on the penny because he was first. One cent, first. Right?”
I started walking away, shaking my head.
Matt rushed to keep up, talking over the crowd. He was persistent, I’ll give him that.
“Anyway, Digger, I came over to tell you: Daphne is off in twenty minutes, and I’m taking her home. You can come and meet her roomie, Petra, or you can stay here chasing the Elusive Femme. It’s up to you.”
I turned back to him. “Matt, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in Barbie Two. I’m looking for Calla, I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Dude, Petra! Who’s Barbie?” Matt called out to me as I wandered away through the crowd.
I went from room to room. It didn’t help that every room of the gallery had white walls and bright lights, and was filled with posh people looking at pictures. I lost track of which room I had found Calla in, and which way I had seen her go. None of the pictures made good landmarks, so I couldn’t tell if I had been somewhere before if I got turned around wandering through a crowd of people.
Okay, part of that problem might have been four glasses of wine earlier in the evening, but only part of it.
I began to think that Matt the Pimp had been right. Which was a sign of how low my morale was at that point, Matt was rarely a person known for his wisdom. But, maybe I was trying too hard to find a connection with a girl I barely knew, and who had been a major pain in the ass over the last two days. Her behaviour was erratic, and circumstances seemed to conspire to keep us apart.
“Either she’s crazy or I am,” I mumbled to myself.
And then I saw it. Something familiar and comforting in a world of chaos, and it brought hope with it. I found the photo of Calla. The lonely girl on a swing that I felt I had so much in common with.
I pushed through the mass of people, which was finally starting to thin out as the evening waned. I didn’t want someone else to get there first. I stood before the photograph, staring at hope. There was a tiny piece of paper taped to the frame.
I pulled it off carefully and unfolded the little scrap. I found a telephone number and a smiley face written inside.
Next Chapter>>
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Chapter Seven: Don't Get Mad, Get Even
I smiled and shrugged.
“I get the feeling I’m not anything like the guys you typically date. I figure it will take maybe a half a dozen ‘first meetings’ before I make any kind of good impression.”
“I don’t ‘typically’ date anyone, so you needn’t be concerned with that. You’re not like the other physics majors I know, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
I listened to Calla talk. I heard what she was saying. But, God forgive me, I heard Matt translating in my head. Years of association, and he had filled my head with his ideas about what women were really saying. Calla’s protestations about a lack of dating would mean one thing to Matt the Pimp.
“I’m single and available, and bored with the guys I know.”
“So you wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know a lawyer?” I smiled, “We’re culturally acceptable on a level with rats.”
“Like I said, I don’t date. But some of my best friends in the lab are rats, so I don’t have a problem with getting to know you.” Calla smiled again.
Matt’s translation: “I may be saying I’m not dating, but I’m not really saying ‘no’ either. Try harder, dummy!”
“How are you friends with rats?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have residences at universities deteriorated since I was a student?”
“Not at all, I just spend time in a biology lab as a research assistant.”
“I thought you were in physics?”
“For my doctorate, sure. But I had a double major as an undergraduate, and one of my old professors got me the job with a colleague of his. Besides, we use rats in some of the physics labs too. Research is research, and I’m good at it.”
I smiled. “You should be a lawyer. I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork sometimes.”
“Well, I don’t know if my rat friends would have much to do with me if I became a lawyer. They have high standards.”
A joke. In Matt’s world that would translate as Now we’re getting somewhere, keep trying.
Her grin and tone forced me to laugh. I couldn’t help adoring this girl.
“So you like the photo?” She asked.
“I think it’s lovely.”
“My friend Bianca took it. She’s quite talented.”
“Do you know the girl in the picture? I can’t see her face, but she seems so melancholy.”
“Melancholy? My, your expensive law school professors must be proud.”
“It just seems like the right word.” I shrugged.
“I’m teasing. That’s me.”
“In the picture? Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. I was visiting Bianca early this summer at her parents’ cottage, and she took that while I was sitting on the swing, thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
She shrugged herself. “I don’t know. That was months ago.”
Calla stepped to the next picture, and I had no choice but to accompany her.
“Are you much into art?”
“Well, I’m trying to support my friend. She’s very talented, in my opinion.” Calla looked around at the rest of the student work. “I can’t say that anything else really catches my eye. But then, I’m no expert.”
Matt the Pimp caught my eye from behind Calla, where he was chatting with a few students. He gestured like he was about to come over. I gave a brief shake of my head, “no,” and tried to telepathically scream for him not to approach.
Matt excused himself from the young ladies and came right over. Goddamn telepathy. Why do you only work in movies and comic books?
Calla turned to the new presence at her elbow. While she looked away, I waved my hands at Matt, my eyes wide. “Nooo” I mouthed.
He said it anyway. “So, are you going to introduce me to this crazy chick?”
I ran my hand over my face. Calla put one hand on her hip and the other held out her glass, forcing Matt back a step.
“Excuse me?”
Matt caught my eye. “I mean, the chick that’s making my friend so crazy.”
I waved my hands more fervently. That wasn’t helping either, I didn’t want him advertising how much I liked Calla.
“Chick? Does anyone talk like that?” Calla looked at me. I immediately dropped my hands to my sides.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend, Matthew. He was raised by wolves and has no manners.” Matt raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed the word “hot” behind Calla’s back. I glared at him.
“Is he the one who teaches you the bad pick-up lines?” Calla glanced at Matt.
“Shut up,” I mouthed to him. That worked as well as telepathy.
“I teach him the good ones. Digger just screws them up. He’s known for tripping over his own tongue.” Matt smiled, “I’ve gotten us off to a bad start. Please forgive me. I’m Matthew Pinard, my friends call me ‘Matt.’ I hope, if you’re going to be friends with Digger, that we can get along.”
Damn the bastard and his silver tongue. Calla softened a little.
“Just don’t let it happen again,” she said. She smiled at me. “So you’re a gentleman despite bad company?”
“I think I’m only a gentleman by comparison. Find a real one, and I probably look like a dumb schmuck,” I joked, recovering my wits.
“The way pretty girls highlight themselves by having fat friends.” Matt nodded sagely. My eyes widened, promising revenge. He blinked. “I think I’m going to go now.”
Matt the Pimp with the Big Mouth wandered back through the crowd. Calla laughed as he went and then turned back to me.
“He’s your friend?”
“Since we were small. I kind of can’t get rid of him.”
“He’s charming.”
“Really?”
“In the way that the racism in Huckleberry Finn is charming.”
Next Chapter>>
“I get the feeling I’m not anything like the guys you typically date. I figure it will take maybe a half a dozen ‘first meetings’ before I make any kind of good impression.”
“I don’t ‘typically’ date anyone, so you needn’t be concerned with that. You’re not like the other physics majors I know, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
I listened to Calla talk. I heard what she was saying. But, God forgive me, I heard Matt translating in my head. Years of association, and he had filled my head with his ideas about what women were really saying. Calla’s protestations about a lack of dating would mean one thing to Matt the Pimp.
“I’m single and available, and bored with the guys I know.”
“So you wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know a lawyer?” I smiled, “We’re culturally acceptable on a level with rats.”
“Like I said, I don’t date. But some of my best friends in the lab are rats, so I don’t have a problem with getting to know you.” Calla smiled again.
Matt’s translation: “I may be saying I’m not dating, but I’m not really saying ‘no’ either. Try harder, dummy!”
“How are you friends with rats?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have residences at universities deteriorated since I was a student?”
“Not at all, I just spend time in a biology lab as a research assistant.”
“I thought you were in physics?”
“For my doctorate, sure. But I had a double major as an undergraduate, and one of my old professors got me the job with a colleague of his. Besides, we use rats in some of the physics labs too. Research is research, and I’m good at it.”
I smiled. “You should be a lawyer. I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork sometimes.”
“Well, I don’t know if my rat friends would have much to do with me if I became a lawyer. They have high standards.”
A joke. In Matt’s world that would translate as Now we’re getting somewhere, keep trying.
Her grin and tone forced me to laugh. I couldn’t help adoring this girl.
“So you like the photo?” She asked.
“I think it’s lovely.”
“My friend Bianca took it. She’s quite talented.”
“Do you know the girl in the picture? I can’t see her face, but she seems so melancholy.”
“Melancholy? My, your expensive law school professors must be proud.”
“It just seems like the right word.” I shrugged.
“I’m teasing. That’s me.”
“In the picture? Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. I was visiting Bianca early this summer at her parents’ cottage, and she took that while I was sitting on the swing, thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
She shrugged herself. “I don’t know. That was months ago.”
Calla stepped to the next picture, and I had no choice but to accompany her.
“Are you much into art?”
“Well, I’m trying to support my friend. She’s very talented, in my opinion.” Calla looked around at the rest of the student work. “I can’t say that anything else really catches my eye. But then, I’m no expert.”
Matt the Pimp caught my eye from behind Calla, where he was chatting with a few students. He gestured like he was about to come over. I gave a brief shake of my head, “no,” and tried to telepathically scream for him not to approach.
Matt excused himself from the young ladies and came right over. Goddamn telepathy. Why do you only work in movies and comic books?
Calla turned to the new presence at her elbow. While she looked away, I waved my hands at Matt, my eyes wide. “Nooo” I mouthed.
He said it anyway. “So, are you going to introduce me to this crazy chick?”
I ran my hand over my face. Calla put one hand on her hip and the other held out her glass, forcing Matt back a step.
“Excuse me?”
Matt caught my eye. “I mean, the chick that’s making my friend so crazy.”
I waved my hands more fervently. That wasn’t helping either, I didn’t want him advertising how much I liked Calla.
“Chick? Does anyone talk like that?” Calla looked at me. I immediately dropped my hands to my sides.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend, Matthew. He was raised by wolves and has no manners.” Matt raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed the word “hot” behind Calla’s back. I glared at him.
“Is he the one who teaches you the bad pick-up lines?” Calla glanced at Matt.
“Shut up,” I mouthed to him. That worked as well as telepathy.
“I teach him the good ones. Digger just screws them up. He’s known for tripping over his own tongue.” Matt smiled, “I’ve gotten us off to a bad start. Please forgive me. I’m Matthew Pinard, my friends call me ‘Matt.’ I hope, if you’re going to be friends with Digger, that we can get along.”
Damn the bastard and his silver tongue. Calla softened a little.
“Just don’t let it happen again,” she said. She smiled at me. “So you’re a gentleman despite bad company?”
“I think I’m only a gentleman by comparison. Find a real one, and I probably look like a dumb schmuck,” I joked, recovering my wits.
“The way pretty girls highlight themselves by having fat friends.” Matt nodded sagely. My eyes widened, promising revenge. He blinked. “I think I’m going to go now.”
Matt the Pimp with the Big Mouth wandered back through the crowd. Calla laughed as he went and then turned back to me.
“He’s your friend?”
“Since we were small. I kind of can’t get rid of him.”
“He’s charming.”
“Really?”
“In the way that the racism in Huckleberry Finn is charming.”
Next Chapter>>
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Chapter Six: Story of a Girl
We took a cab to the gallery. Matt led the way as we got out.
“There’s just one thing bugging me. Didn’t this Calla chick tell you she didn’t want to see you yesterday? And not to call her back?”
I kept walking. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, aren’t you doing the exact opposite of what she said?”
I opened the door to the gallery.
“Yes, but she called me. If she didn’t want me around, she wouldn’t have called.”
Matt squinted, thinking. “Um, but she told you not to answer her calls. She sounds crazy. Are we chasing after a crazy chick? Because that’s bad mojo.”
“Mojo? Who are you, Austin Powers?” I laughed, going inside.
Matt grimaced and grabbed my arm. “I get that I’m not making sense. And I’m usually the last person to talk you out of chasing a girl. But this time: isn’t there a flaw to the logic? She’s crazy.”
“You’ve never even met her,” I laughed.
“No, but you have. Apparently three different times, and not one of them made any sense. I have a bad feeling about this.”
I tried to laugh it off, pulling my arm away from him. “Let’s just have some fun. Maybe she won’t even be here.”
Matt shrugged and followed me into the gallery. We ran into his cousin Sheila the Snob pretty quickly, as she showed off a set of photographs to some of her clients. They air-kissed, quite fashionably, and I simply smiled a hello.
“Diggory, darling, you simply must call me. My girlfriends are dying to see you again after that party at the summer house.” Sheila was all smiles, as usual. Too bad for her that I hated her dyed blonde hair and chic black dresses. All style and no substance.
“Well, Sheila, what can I say? A lawyer’s work is never done.”
Matt promised we’d check in later, and tugged me over to the cheese buffet, where it sat in artful chunks amidst fruit. I couldn’t even name all the kinds. But then, I don’t need names to enjoy wine, either, and neither of us hesitated in pouring a glass.
“So, do you see her?” Matt asked. We mingled in the crowd, faking interest in black and white photographs and weird paintings.
“Not yet.” I scanned the faces. The Fashionable Rich mingled with students from the university, some of whom were the Spoiled Rich, children of the wealthy. Then there was the fake Philanthropic Rich, looking to be someone’s benefactor. Make a donation to the university, sponsor a young career, earn some points at the country club.
Waitresses weaved through the crowd with plates of appetizers and drinks. I grabbed a few shrimp, while Matt grabbed a cocktail and some ass.
“Hey, Daphne.” He winked at an old flame as she handed out drinks, causing her to smile back.
“Daphne?” I asked.
“Three months ago, we were hot and heavy for a few weeks. Remember?”
“I’m impressed you do. Since then there’s been Amber, Yvonne, Stacey…”
“Shhhh. Daphne might hear you. I know one of us won’t be going home empty-handed.”
I groaned and wandered away. I tried to ignore the crowd, and the music in the background. I wiped Matt the Pimp and his girls from my mind. Sheila and her fake friends didn’t exist. I just let it all fall away and looked around.
I didn’t see Calla. But I did see a photograph I liked. It was of a young woman on a swing in silhouette, under a tree. The picture was black and white, so the hues of grey throughout the piece made me feel suddenly isolated and wistful. It matched my internal mood perfectly. I stood there and stared, for once letting art reach me.
“Lovely piece, isn’t it?” A voice intruded on my reverie.
“Uh, yeah.” I tried to ignore this interloper, and reconnect with the picture. I studiously stared forward, hoping they’d get the message that I wasn’t really listening to them.
“I really like the artist’s use of light. Really captures the mood.”
“Sure.” I moved a step to my right, away from the speaker. I put my left hand on my right elbow, blocking myself off, and put my right hand on my chin, as if deep in thought. Go away, I projected telepathically, hoping for once it would work.
“Its mood is almost palpable, almost sensual, don’t you think?” The voice was actually closer, as if they had leaned towards me suggestively. I realized the voice was extremely feminine and rich.
“It’s a great picture. Do you mind? I’m trying to appreciate art here.”
I turned snappishly to try to get this girl to back off, and stared into the soft grey eyes of my mystery woman. I felt the air in my lungs escape me with the subtlety of a punch in the gut, as I stopped myself from yelling at her. How could I yell at Helen of Troy?
“Speechless, Mr. Franklin? It suits you. Keeps you from embarrassing pick-up lines.”
I blushed. Calla was wearing a charcoal sweater, one of those soft ones with a big neck that covers and simultaneously opens to show a bare shoulder as a woman moves. She had black stockings and a darker skirt, with a grey pattern interweaving. She was wearing earrings, which she hadn’t before, and looked a lot less stern.
Well, either way, to me she looked beautiful.
“Miss Wiley, fancy meeting you here.”
“I invited you,” she smiled, sipping her drink.
“Right.” I hit my forehead. “Should I just insert my foot in my mouth now? It seems like it belongs there.”
Surprisingly, I was rewarded with laughter. It was a cheerful, joyous sound. I’d never appreciated laughter before.
Crap, I had it bad. I wondered how long it would be before I was growing my hair long, sitting under trees and writing sonnets. I wondered how long after that it would be before Matt was slapping me upside the head and taking me to Vegas to look at strippers and showgirls. I had to get my head together.
“So, why did you invite me?” I asked, smiling at her. “It was quite unexpected.”
Calla sipped her wine, looking up at me. “Well, the way you blew our first meeting was kind of cute. I figured maybe you deserved a second chance.”
“Or a third and fourth?” I asked.
She laughed again. “Why, do you think it will take that many tries to make a good impression?”
Next Chapter>>
“There’s just one thing bugging me. Didn’t this Calla chick tell you she didn’t want to see you yesterday? And not to call her back?”
I kept walking. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, aren’t you doing the exact opposite of what she said?”
I opened the door to the gallery.
“Yes, but she called me. If she didn’t want me around, she wouldn’t have called.”
Matt squinted, thinking. “Um, but she told you not to answer her calls. She sounds crazy. Are we chasing after a crazy chick? Because that’s bad mojo.”
“Mojo? Who are you, Austin Powers?” I laughed, going inside.
Matt grimaced and grabbed my arm. “I get that I’m not making sense. And I’m usually the last person to talk you out of chasing a girl. But this time: isn’t there a flaw to the logic? She’s crazy.”
“You’ve never even met her,” I laughed.
“No, but you have. Apparently three different times, and not one of them made any sense. I have a bad feeling about this.”
I tried to laugh it off, pulling my arm away from him. “Let’s just have some fun. Maybe she won’t even be here.”
Matt shrugged and followed me into the gallery. We ran into his cousin Sheila the Snob pretty quickly, as she showed off a set of photographs to some of her clients. They air-kissed, quite fashionably, and I simply smiled a hello.
“Diggory, darling, you simply must call me. My girlfriends are dying to see you again after that party at the summer house.” Sheila was all smiles, as usual. Too bad for her that I hated her dyed blonde hair and chic black dresses. All style and no substance.
“Well, Sheila, what can I say? A lawyer’s work is never done.”
Matt promised we’d check in later, and tugged me over to the cheese buffet, where it sat in artful chunks amidst fruit. I couldn’t even name all the kinds. But then, I don’t need names to enjoy wine, either, and neither of us hesitated in pouring a glass.
“So, do you see her?” Matt asked. We mingled in the crowd, faking interest in black and white photographs and weird paintings.
“Not yet.” I scanned the faces. The Fashionable Rich mingled with students from the university, some of whom were the Spoiled Rich, children of the wealthy. Then there was the fake Philanthropic Rich, looking to be someone’s benefactor. Make a donation to the university, sponsor a young career, earn some points at the country club.
Waitresses weaved through the crowd with plates of appetizers and drinks. I grabbed a few shrimp, while Matt grabbed a cocktail and some ass.
“Hey, Daphne.” He winked at an old flame as she handed out drinks, causing her to smile back.
“Daphne?” I asked.
“Three months ago, we were hot and heavy for a few weeks. Remember?”
“I’m impressed you do. Since then there’s been Amber, Yvonne, Stacey…”
“Shhhh. Daphne might hear you. I know one of us won’t be going home empty-handed.”
I groaned and wandered away. I tried to ignore the crowd, and the music in the background. I wiped Matt the Pimp and his girls from my mind. Sheila and her fake friends didn’t exist. I just let it all fall away and looked around.
I didn’t see Calla. But I did see a photograph I liked. It was of a young woman on a swing in silhouette, under a tree. The picture was black and white, so the hues of grey throughout the piece made me feel suddenly isolated and wistful. It matched my internal mood perfectly. I stood there and stared, for once letting art reach me.
“Lovely piece, isn’t it?” A voice intruded on my reverie.
“Uh, yeah.” I tried to ignore this interloper, and reconnect with the picture. I studiously stared forward, hoping they’d get the message that I wasn’t really listening to them.
“I really like the artist’s use of light. Really captures the mood.”
“Sure.” I moved a step to my right, away from the speaker. I put my left hand on my right elbow, blocking myself off, and put my right hand on my chin, as if deep in thought. Go away, I projected telepathically, hoping for once it would work.
“Its mood is almost palpable, almost sensual, don’t you think?” The voice was actually closer, as if they had leaned towards me suggestively. I realized the voice was extremely feminine and rich.
“It’s a great picture. Do you mind? I’m trying to appreciate art here.”
I turned snappishly to try to get this girl to back off, and stared into the soft grey eyes of my mystery woman. I felt the air in my lungs escape me with the subtlety of a punch in the gut, as I stopped myself from yelling at her. How could I yell at Helen of Troy?
“Speechless, Mr. Franklin? It suits you. Keeps you from embarrassing pick-up lines.”
I blushed. Calla was wearing a charcoal sweater, one of those soft ones with a big neck that covers and simultaneously opens to show a bare shoulder as a woman moves. She had black stockings and a darker skirt, with a grey pattern interweaving. She was wearing earrings, which she hadn’t before, and looked a lot less stern.
Well, either way, to me she looked beautiful.
“Miss Wiley, fancy meeting you here.”
“I invited you,” she smiled, sipping her drink.
“Right.” I hit my forehead. “Should I just insert my foot in my mouth now? It seems like it belongs there.”
Surprisingly, I was rewarded with laughter. It was a cheerful, joyous sound. I’d never appreciated laughter before.
Crap, I had it bad. I wondered how long it would be before I was growing my hair long, sitting under trees and writing sonnets. I wondered how long after that it would be before Matt was slapping me upside the head and taking me to Vegas to look at strippers and showgirls. I had to get my head together.
“So, why did you invite me?” I asked, smiling at her. “It was quite unexpected.”
Calla sipped her wine, looking up at me. “Well, the way you blew our first meeting was kind of cute. I figured maybe you deserved a second chance.”
“Or a third and fourth?” I asked.
She laughed again. “Why, do you think it will take that many tries to make a good impression?”
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Chapter Five: 8 bit Love Song
Enraged, I ran up to the car at the intersection and bodily removed the driver from it, giving him a few kicks on the ground while I was at it. I got in, gunned the engine, and ran the red.
I sped down busy city streets, rushing around vehicles, looping through holes in the traffic, and even going up on the sidewalk. I think I hit a pedestrian, but I didn’t stop.
Tires screeching, I zoomed around a corner and saw my target. I opened up with my Uzi through the passenger window, ripping bullets through the air.
“Grand Theft Auto Four?” Matt said, leaning over the back of the couch. I paused and looked back at him.
“Yeah. It’s a great stress-reliever.”
“Nice. I haven’t made time to get this one yet.” He came around the couch and sat down. He was still in his work suit, while I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn’t even bothered to shave. “How are you liking the PS3?”
“It’s great. This game is so smooth, compared to earlier versions. Which were pretty kick-ass, back in the day.”
“Dude, you should totally get a Wii.”
“Why?”
“No, a Nintendo Wii.”
“What? I’m not retarded. I know what a Wii is. I mean, why should I get one?”
Matt the Pimp laughed. “Chicks dig it. Have you ever had a date want to play video games? Well, they totally groove on the Wii. It’s more active, so they think it’s fun.”
“The graphics look so shabby…”
“Graphics don’t get you laid. Ask computer nerds.”
“Good point,” I laughed.
“Come on, get dressed.” He shoved my shoulder. “It’s Friday and we are going out.”
“Think that’s a good idea? Last night didn’t end so well.”
“Whose fault is that? I didn’t tell you to drown your sorrows in a bottle. Or twenty. We’re not going to the bar, anyway. There’s a student art show at my cousin’s gallery, we can check out the talent.”
I looked up at him, wrinkling my nose and forehead. “I didn’t know you were into the art scene.”
“I’m not. But fashionable women are, and sexy young art students, and rich chicks. Come on, they’re having a wine and cheese party.”
“Because we know how much I love cheese…”
************************************************************************
I got out of the shower and started towelling off. As I rubbed my wet hair, I thought I heard the phone.
“Can you get that?” I yelled out to Matt. I left the bathroom for the bedroom. I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I pulled on boxers and then peeked out the bedroom door.
I could just barely see Matt and the couch; he was talking on the handset as he tried to play the video game, craning his neck to hold the phone against his shoulder.
“Yeah, no, I’m his buddy. Matt… Nice to talk to you, too…He’ll be out in a minute, if you want…Okay, I’ll pass on the message. Thanks.”
Matt hung up the phone and put it on the side table. He turned back to the PS3.
“Who was that?” I asked
“Calla Wiley.”
“WHAT?” I ran into the room, leaping onto the couch and pushed past him to reach for the phone.
“Dude, get off me!” Matt protested, pushing me and trying to move away. “You’re still kinda damp. What are you doing?”
I hit *69 and waited for the phone to dial her back. I got a busy signal. Matt disentangled himself and moved over a seat cushion.
“Crap!”
“What?” Matt asked. “She was calling from a pay phone, just wanted to see if you were in.”
“Did she leave a number?”
“No.”
I sat down on the couch, running my fingers through my hair with a groan. Matt stared at me. I beat my fists into my knees.
“She’s really crawled inside your head, huh?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess you could say that.”
Matt turned back to the video game. “Better you than me, man. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask for her number.”
“It’s not your fault. Whatever, I’m fine.” I tried to be cool. Of course, I’m not very good at that.
“Yeah, real fine.” Matt laughed. “So, you getting dressed so we can leave? Or are you coming on to me, wearing just your underwear?”
I laughed and pushed his shoulder, tipping him over a bit. “Shut up. I really don’t feel like going.”
“Oh, okay. We can stay in, drink some beers, play video games. It’ll be like college.” He concentrated on the game. “Maybe order pizza. Only condition is, you have to wear clothes.”
“Sounds great to me.” I stood up, walking towards my room to grab something to wear. “I really don’t want to see some lame art show.”
Matt waited until I was through the door. He shouted out to me:
“Not even if Calla Wiley has friends in it, and called to invite you specifically?”
Next Chapter>>
I sped down busy city streets, rushing around vehicles, looping through holes in the traffic, and even going up on the sidewalk. I think I hit a pedestrian, but I didn’t stop.
Tires screeching, I zoomed around a corner and saw my target. I opened up with my Uzi through the passenger window, ripping bullets through the air.
“Grand Theft Auto Four?” Matt said, leaning over the back of the couch. I paused and looked back at him.
“Yeah. It’s a great stress-reliever.”
“Nice. I haven’t made time to get this one yet.” He came around the couch and sat down. He was still in his work suit, while I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn’t even bothered to shave. “How are you liking the PS3?”
“It’s great. This game is so smooth, compared to earlier versions. Which were pretty kick-ass, back in the day.”
“Dude, you should totally get a Wii.”
“Why?”
“No, a Nintendo Wii.”
“What? I’m not retarded. I know what a Wii is. I mean, why should I get one?”
Matt the Pimp laughed. “Chicks dig it. Have you ever had a date want to play video games? Well, they totally groove on the Wii. It’s more active, so they think it’s fun.”
“The graphics look so shabby…”
“Graphics don’t get you laid. Ask computer nerds.”
“Good point,” I laughed.
“Come on, get dressed.” He shoved my shoulder. “It’s Friday and we are going out.”
“Think that’s a good idea? Last night didn’t end so well.”
“Whose fault is that? I didn’t tell you to drown your sorrows in a bottle. Or twenty. We’re not going to the bar, anyway. There’s a student art show at my cousin’s gallery, we can check out the talent.”
I looked up at him, wrinkling my nose and forehead. “I didn’t know you were into the art scene.”
“I’m not. But fashionable women are, and sexy young art students, and rich chicks. Come on, they’re having a wine and cheese party.”
“Because we know how much I love cheese…”
************************************************************************
I got out of the shower and started towelling off. As I rubbed my wet hair, I thought I heard the phone.
“Can you get that?” I yelled out to Matt. I left the bathroom for the bedroom. I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I pulled on boxers and then peeked out the bedroom door.
I could just barely see Matt and the couch; he was talking on the handset as he tried to play the video game, craning his neck to hold the phone against his shoulder.
“Yeah, no, I’m his buddy. Matt… Nice to talk to you, too…He’ll be out in a minute, if you want…Okay, I’ll pass on the message. Thanks.”
Matt hung up the phone and put it on the side table. He turned back to the PS3.
“Who was that?” I asked
“Calla Wiley.”
“WHAT?” I ran into the room, leaping onto the couch and pushed past him to reach for the phone.
“Dude, get off me!” Matt protested, pushing me and trying to move away. “You’re still kinda damp. What are you doing?”
I hit *69 and waited for the phone to dial her back. I got a busy signal. Matt disentangled himself and moved over a seat cushion.
“Crap!”
“What?” Matt asked. “She was calling from a pay phone, just wanted to see if you were in.”
“Did she leave a number?”
“No.”
I sat down on the couch, running my fingers through my hair with a groan. Matt stared at me. I beat my fists into my knees.
“She’s really crawled inside your head, huh?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess you could say that.”
Matt turned back to the video game. “Better you than me, man. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask for her number.”
“It’s not your fault. Whatever, I’m fine.” I tried to be cool. Of course, I’m not very good at that.
“Yeah, real fine.” Matt laughed. “So, you getting dressed so we can leave? Or are you coming on to me, wearing just your underwear?”
I laughed and pushed his shoulder, tipping him over a bit. “Shut up. I really don’t feel like going.”
“Oh, okay. We can stay in, drink some beers, play video games. It’ll be like college.” He concentrated on the game. “Maybe order pizza. Only condition is, you have to wear clothes.”
“Sounds great to me.” I stood up, walking towards my room to grab something to wear. “I really don’t want to see some lame art show.”
Matt waited until I was through the door. He shouted out to me:
“Not even if Calla Wiley has friends in it, and called to invite you specifically?”
Next Chapter>>
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Chapter Four: There She Goes Again
I went through the glass revolving door as fast as I could, calling after Calla. There were a few people on the sidewalk, but nothing like the crowd I had been faced with that morning. I got through them easily, and saw Calla going down the subway stairs. I followed.
One of them swore at me as I pushed past, but I ignored this and kept running.
“Hey, wait up!” I shouted. “Calla, wait!”
I reached the stairs and went down them as fast as I could, my footsteps echoing in the concrete corridor. I tried to go faster, leaping the last four steps. I saw Calla jump the turnstile without paying. I rushed forwards to do the same, but one of the attendants had come out of their booth, yelling after her. I slowed and paid my money as he glared at me.
I went through the turnstile with a sheepish shrug, and then chased off after Calla. I got to the platform just in time to see the subway pull away. Other than myself, the platform was empty.
“Ah, crap!” I yelled, watching it go.
***************************************************************************
I rode the subway for two stops. I got out and walked down the street until I made my way to our favourite bar, Madison’s, and was greeted by the hostess, Melanie. We were regulars, and she was always glad to see us. She took my coat and briefcase, and directed me to the back corner, by the pool tables.
“They’re waiting for you,” she smiled.
“Thanks, Mel.”
I wandered back there through the crowd, smiling at other regulars we knew. I made my way to the tables, and was greeted warmly by the boys.
“Hey, Digger!” They chimed in unison, laughing and raising glasses.
“Hey, guys.”
Matt the Pimp was sitting at a big table in a curved booth, his arms around two girls. Each of these had another girl beside her. There were variations in hair colour and eye colour, but they were of the same general type: twenty-something, skinny, cheerleader-pretty. Matt’s Type. He introduced them, but I just labelled them Barbie One, Two, Three and Four. Because Matt the Pimp would have new versions next week, and last week’s versions were already gone. Remembering their names really didn’t seem to matter.
“Dude, grab a seat and have a drink with us.”
“Yeah, sure,” I smiled. Nina, one of the waitresses, was already delivering a beer. I thanked her and swigged it back.
I drank it quickly, and had more whenever Nina dropped off another round. Matt kept the drinks coming, while keeping up the conversation with the girls. Occasionally, they’d get up to dance with one of the boys, or one of the boys would sit down to flirt with a Barbie. It was all a swirling mess, and I just drank through it.
“You all right, Digger?” Matt asked at one point, when all of the girls were up dancing. “You’re not saying much.”
“Yeah, man, I’m… I’m great. Yeah.”
“Dude, you’re drunk. You never get this smashed.” He stared at me for a moment. “That girl? It’s not worth it.”
“I saw her again,” I said with a grin. “After work. She came to see (hiccup) see me.”
“She did? I thought for sure that someone that sounded so uptight would never bother to call.”
“Yeah, well, she tol’ me to ignore her calls and not call back. She doesn’t wanna see me again.” I tried to take another drink, but the neck of the bottle was moving too much. I squinted at it. “This one’s broken.”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s no good.” Matt the Pimp took my bottle and put it on the table. “How about we get Mel to call you a cab?”
“Nah!” I said. “I’m out with my friends, havin’ a good time. Woooo.” I wrinkled my nose. “Matt?”
“Yeah, Digger?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
Neither did Matt, with my vomit on his three hundred dollar shoes.
*****************************************************************************
I rolled over and stared at the alarm clock, which was showing a bright red 4:30. I groaned, my mouth feeling like someone had filled it with manure. I struggled to my feet and found my way to the bathroom in the dark. I had a feeling bright light would hurt right about now.
There was enough ambient light through the window. I rinsed my mouth with water from the sink and then brushed my teeth. And used mouthwash. And drank some more water. My stomach flopped around like a fish on dry land for a bit, but the water helped. Cleared my head a bit, anyway. I ran wet fingers through my hair and then scrubbed my face.
I walked out to the living room, a little unsteady on my feet. I weaved my way past the designer chairs and couch, heading towards the kitchen. My stomach had been empty since lunchtime, and something starchy might help it settle. I noticed my phone was flashing on the countertop: I had a message.
“Digger, it’s Matt. Dude, all will be forgiven, once you buy me some new shoes. Just kidding. I hope you feel better tomorrow. The girls all say hi. Call in sick and I’ll drop by after work.”
I couldn’t help but grin. Matt was a womanizing pig, but he was a good friend. I turned from the phone and went through my cupboards, finding some saltine crackers. I sat on my counter, munching on crackers, and thinking.
I was still in my suit pants and socks. I reached into my pocket and found the card Calla had given me. It was mine, all right. I had given it to her this morning, pristine and white. Now it looked like it had run a marathon or something.
“Who is she?” I asked the darkness.
Next Chapter>>
One of them swore at me as I pushed past, but I ignored this and kept running.
“Hey, wait up!” I shouted. “Calla, wait!”
I reached the stairs and went down them as fast as I could, my footsteps echoing in the concrete corridor. I tried to go faster, leaping the last four steps. I saw Calla jump the turnstile without paying. I rushed forwards to do the same, but one of the attendants had come out of their booth, yelling after her. I slowed and paid my money as he glared at me.
I went through the turnstile with a sheepish shrug, and then chased off after Calla. I got to the platform just in time to see the subway pull away. Other than myself, the platform was empty.
“Ah, crap!” I yelled, watching it go.
***************************************************************************
I rode the subway for two stops. I got out and walked down the street until I made my way to our favourite bar, Madison’s, and was greeted by the hostess, Melanie. We were regulars, and she was always glad to see us. She took my coat and briefcase, and directed me to the back corner, by the pool tables.
“They’re waiting for you,” she smiled.
“Thanks, Mel.”
I wandered back there through the crowd, smiling at other regulars we knew. I made my way to the tables, and was greeted warmly by the boys.
“Hey, Digger!” They chimed in unison, laughing and raising glasses.
“Hey, guys.”
Matt the Pimp was sitting at a big table in a curved booth, his arms around two girls. Each of these had another girl beside her. There were variations in hair colour and eye colour, but they were of the same general type: twenty-something, skinny, cheerleader-pretty. Matt’s Type. He introduced them, but I just labelled them Barbie One, Two, Three and Four. Because Matt the Pimp would have new versions next week, and last week’s versions were already gone. Remembering their names really didn’t seem to matter.
“Dude, grab a seat and have a drink with us.”
“Yeah, sure,” I smiled. Nina, one of the waitresses, was already delivering a beer. I thanked her and swigged it back.
I drank it quickly, and had more whenever Nina dropped off another round. Matt kept the drinks coming, while keeping up the conversation with the girls. Occasionally, they’d get up to dance with one of the boys, or one of the boys would sit down to flirt with a Barbie. It was all a swirling mess, and I just drank through it.
“You all right, Digger?” Matt asked at one point, when all of the girls were up dancing. “You’re not saying much.”
“Yeah, man, I’m… I’m great. Yeah.”
“Dude, you’re drunk. You never get this smashed.” He stared at me for a moment. “That girl? It’s not worth it.”
“I saw her again,” I said with a grin. “After work. She came to see (hiccup) see me.”
“She did? I thought for sure that someone that sounded so uptight would never bother to call.”
“Yeah, well, she tol’ me to ignore her calls and not call back. She doesn’t wanna see me again.” I tried to take another drink, but the neck of the bottle was moving too much. I squinted at it. “This one’s broken.”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s no good.” Matt the Pimp took my bottle and put it on the table. “How about we get Mel to call you a cab?”
“Nah!” I said. “I’m out with my friends, havin’ a good time. Woooo.” I wrinkled my nose. “Matt?”
“Yeah, Digger?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
Neither did Matt, with my vomit on his three hundred dollar shoes.
*****************************************************************************
I rolled over and stared at the alarm clock, which was showing a bright red 4:30. I groaned, my mouth feeling like someone had filled it with manure. I struggled to my feet and found my way to the bathroom in the dark. I had a feeling bright light would hurt right about now.
There was enough ambient light through the window. I rinsed my mouth with water from the sink and then brushed my teeth. And used mouthwash. And drank some more water. My stomach flopped around like a fish on dry land for a bit, but the water helped. Cleared my head a bit, anyway. I ran wet fingers through my hair and then scrubbed my face.
I walked out to the living room, a little unsteady on my feet. I weaved my way past the designer chairs and couch, heading towards the kitchen. My stomach had been empty since lunchtime, and something starchy might help it settle. I noticed my phone was flashing on the countertop: I had a message.
“Digger, it’s Matt. Dude, all will be forgiven, once you buy me some new shoes. Just kidding. I hope you feel better tomorrow. The girls all say hi. Call in sick and I’ll drop by after work.”
I couldn’t help but grin. Matt was a womanizing pig, but he was a good friend. I turned from the phone and went through my cupboards, finding some saltine crackers. I sat on my counter, munching on crackers, and thinking.
I was still in my suit pants and socks. I reached into my pocket and found the card Calla had given me. It was mine, all right. I had given it to her this morning, pristine and white. Now it looked like it had run a marathon or something.
“Who is she?” I asked the darkness.
Next Chapter>>
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Chapter Three: Can't Help Falling in Love
Matt the Pimp was still laughing. He slapped his hands on the table, coughing. I waited for him to finish, staring at my plate. Eventually he caught his breath and sipped some water from his glass.
“Wooo, that was funny. Dude, man, you are nuts.” He wiped his eyes.
“It’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it is. You can’t be in love with a total stranger. You don’t know anything about her. Plus, it makes no sense. She kisses you, then forgets who you are… Whatever her issues are, you don’t need her making you crazy. You should come out with us tonight, do some drinking, some dancing. Forget this Wiley chick. She’s not going to call you anyway, from the sounds of it.”
I shrugged, playing with the remains of my pasta. “She might.”
“Dude, you sound as delusional as she is. No one is worth that much crazy. Come on, I’ll pay for lunch. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll meet you at Madison’s after work.”
********************************************************************************
I sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen. I had no idea what I was looking at. Lorraine was standing in front of my desk, going over the calls I had missed.
“…appointment tomorrow with your father, your mother called, Chris Geertz left a message about Wednesday’s meeting…” Her voice was a droning buzz that I barely registered.
“Lorraine, how long have you been married?” I asked, turning towards her.
It threw her off her pace. She glanced at me over her bifocals. “Excuse me, sir?”
“To Mr. Bowden. How long have you been married?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years, why do you ask?”
“I just wondered… How did you know? I mean, that he was the guy for you?”
Lorraine took a step back, holding up her notepad and glaring at me.
“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Franklin? You don’t usually ask personal questions.”
“Yeah, well, you’re usually so intimidating, I don’t like to bother you,” I admitted. She laughed.
“Well, that’s true. I try to maintain a professional demeanour.”
“The other secretaries are terrified of you, so I guess it’s working.” I grinned.
“Now, to answer your question… Well, Mr. Bowden and I knew each other a long time, since high school. We were comfortable together, he was the sweetest man I ever met. I think I always just knew.”
I nodded.
“No one else ever made me feel like I was their whole world.” She glared at me over her glasses again and said sternly: “But that’s between us.”
“Of course!” I held up my hands, trying not to laugh.
“What’s with the questions?”
I shrugged. “Well, I met someone today, and she was pretty amazing…”
“That’s more than enough, sir. Is there anything else?”
I blushed. “No, thank you, Lorraine. That should be all for the day, if you feel like leaving early.”
This was unexpected. She blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”
I barely heard her go. I went back to staring at my computer, getting nothing done. I wore out the time until it was about seven, and then got up to leave. I put on my suit coat and went to the elevator, the last to leave as usual.
The elevator took forever to get to the lobby. I crossed the ornate marble floor, my feet clicking rapidly across the slick surface with a staccato beat. I was moving a little too fast, so when someone bumped into me near the doors, we both fell over.
“Hey!” I snapped. I guessed that they had come through the doors too fast, and bumped into me without even seeing that I was there.
“I’m so sorry!” Calla Wiley said, looking around dizzily. I helped her to stand, too surprised to speak.
She looked into my face once we were back on our feet. My arms were around her for balance, and she was pushed up against my chest, holding my arms. My world was filled with the scent of her, the warmth of her body. Suddenly, I was a little dizzy myself.
“Frank!” She said. “I found you! Have we met yet? Am I too late?”
“We met this morning… My name’s Diggory, remember? I gave you my card.”
“Oh, shit!” Calla swore loudly, gripping my suit jacket tighter. “I haven’t called you, have I?”
“No,” I raised my eyebrow. “I mean, you should know that better than I do… We haven’t spoken since this morning. Don’t you remember?”
“There’s always disorientation after transition. I don’t even know what day it is. I found you with this.”
She pulled a card out of her jeans. I recognized it as mine, but it had seen better days. It was wrinkled and one corner was torn, and it had a coffee stain. It had my business address and number, so I guess she used it to find the building instead of calling.
“You could have just called, you didn’t need to come down here.” I smiled, trying to be charming, “I’m very glad to see you, though.”
“Shut up and listen to me, Frank! You need to stay as far from me as possible. Forget I exist. Don’t answer if I call, and don’t call back if I leave messages. Promise me!”
She started pulling away. I tried a grab for her wrists, not willing to let her go just yet.
“No!” Calla screamed, her voice echoing across the lobby. I was glad that we were the only people here. “Let me go! It’s too dangerous for you, Frank!”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I said. She struggled in my hands like a writhing snake. I could barely hold her, and wondered why I was even being so forceful. I let go immediately.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough…” I started.
“I can’t… Just stay away! Please. If you see me, run in the opposite direction.” Calla turned and ran for the doors, back the way she had come. I chased after her once again, going through the spinning door and following her as she sprinted for the subway.
Next Chapter>>
“Wooo, that was funny. Dude, man, you are nuts.” He wiped his eyes.
“It’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it is. You can’t be in love with a total stranger. You don’t know anything about her. Plus, it makes no sense. She kisses you, then forgets who you are… Whatever her issues are, you don’t need her making you crazy. You should come out with us tonight, do some drinking, some dancing. Forget this Wiley chick. She’s not going to call you anyway, from the sounds of it.”
I shrugged, playing with the remains of my pasta. “She might.”
“Dude, you sound as delusional as she is. No one is worth that much crazy. Come on, I’ll pay for lunch. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll meet you at Madison’s after work.”
********************************************************************************
I sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen. I had no idea what I was looking at. Lorraine was standing in front of my desk, going over the calls I had missed.
“…appointment tomorrow with your father, your mother called, Chris Geertz left a message about Wednesday’s meeting…” Her voice was a droning buzz that I barely registered.
“Lorraine, how long have you been married?” I asked, turning towards her.
It threw her off her pace. She glanced at me over her bifocals. “Excuse me, sir?”
“To Mr. Bowden. How long have you been married?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years, why do you ask?”
“I just wondered… How did you know? I mean, that he was the guy for you?”
Lorraine took a step back, holding up her notepad and glaring at me.
“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Franklin? You don’t usually ask personal questions.”
“Yeah, well, you’re usually so intimidating, I don’t like to bother you,” I admitted. She laughed.
“Well, that’s true. I try to maintain a professional demeanour.”
“The other secretaries are terrified of you, so I guess it’s working.” I grinned.
“Now, to answer your question… Well, Mr. Bowden and I knew each other a long time, since high school. We were comfortable together, he was the sweetest man I ever met. I think I always just knew.”
I nodded.
“No one else ever made me feel like I was their whole world.” She glared at me over her glasses again and said sternly: “But that’s between us.”
“Of course!” I held up my hands, trying not to laugh.
“What’s with the questions?”
I shrugged. “Well, I met someone today, and she was pretty amazing…”
“That’s more than enough, sir. Is there anything else?”
I blushed. “No, thank you, Lorraine. That should be all for the day, if you feel like leaving early.”
This was unexpected. She blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”
I barely heard her go. I went back to staring at my computer, getting nothing done. I wore out the time until it was about seven, and then got up to leave. I put on my suit coat and went to the elevator, the last to leave as usual.
The elevator took forever to get to the lobby. I crossed the ornate marble floor, my feet clicking rapidly across the slick surface with a staccato beat. I was moving a little too fast, so when someone bumped into me near the doors, we both fell over.
“Hey!” I snapped. I guessed that they had come through the doors too fast, and bumped into me without even seeing that I was there.
“I’m so sorry!” Calla Wiley said, looking around dizzily. I helped her to stand, too surprised to speak.
She looked into my face once we were back on our feet. My arms were around her for balance, and she was pushed up against my chest, holding my arms. My world was filled with the scent of her, the warmth of her body. Suddenly, I was a little dizzy myself.
“Frank!” She said. “I found you! Have we met yet? Am I too late?”
“We met this morning… My name’s Diggory, remember? I gave you my card.”
“Oh, shit!” Calla swore loudly, gripping my suit jacket tighter. “I haven’t called you, have I?”
“No,” I raised my eyebrow. “I mean, you should know that better than I do… We haven’t spoken since this morning. Don’t you remember?”
“There’s always disorientation after transition. I don’t even know what day it is. I found you with this.”
She pulled a card out of her jeans. I recognized it as mine, but it had seen better days. It was wrinkled and one corner was torn, and it had a coffee stain. It had my business address and number, so I guess she used it to find the building instead of calling.
“You could have just called, you didn’t need to come down here.” I smiled, trying to be charming, “I’m very glad to see you, though.”
“Shut up and listen to me, Frank! You need to stay as far from me as possible. Forget I exist. Don’t answer if I call, and don’t call back if I leave messages. Promise me!”
She started pulling away. I tried a grab for her wrists, not willing to let her go just yet.
“No!” Calla screamed, her voice echoing across the lobby. I was glad that we were the only people here. “Let me go! It’s too dangerous for you, Frank!”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I said. She struggled in my hands like a writhing snake. I could barely hold her, and wondered why I was even being so forceful. I let go immediately.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough…” I started.
“I can’t… Just stay away! Please. If you see me, run in the opposite direction.” Calla turned and ran for the doors, back the way she had come. I chased after her once again, going through the spinning door and following her as she sprinted for the subway.
Next Chapter>>
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Chapter Two: Cupid's Chokehold
There was a meeting that morning for the law department, and, instead of listening, I was staring out the window. My chin rested on my hand, my elbow on the table. The tips of my fingers idly stroked my mouth softly, as I thought about Calla Wiley and that kiss earlier in the day.
No matter that she didn’t remember it, I certainly did. I wondered what that was about? Was she crazy? Or was I? After all, her hair had grown a few inches in mere minutes, and she’d changed her clothes. Did she have a twin sister? Was it some weird Presque Vu? A hallucination?
“…A nice daydream? Hello, Diggory!” The presenter, Christopher Geertz, was waving at me.
“What’s that? Sorry, Chris, my mind must have drifted.” I folded my hands on the table and gave my best “yes, I’m listening” face.
What was it about her? The scent? Her intensity? Her eyes? I mean, she was a total stranger…
“Excuse me, Chris, but I, uh, have a call to make. Very important client, would you excuse me?” I held up a hand and left the room before anyone could protest, leaving my leather chair spinning in my wake.
I hurried to my office, not talking to anyone I passed in the ornate halls. I passed beautiful paintings without seeing them, failed to greet friends and coworkers.
“Meeting end early, Mr. Franklin?” called out Lorraine, my steely secretary, as I passed her desk.
“Hold my calls, Lorraine,” I said, ducking into my office and closing the door.
I sat down at my desk, running my fingers through my hair. What was wrong with me? Losing my focus, skipping out on the meeting, all for some stranger?
I picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number, and waited while it rang.
“Dude, ‘sup?” A familiar voice answered.
“Matt, I’ve got girl troubles, want to grab lunch?”
“Sure thing, bro, I know just the place.” He hung up, no doubt returning to slacking off.
I sat down, feeling better. No one knew how to interfere with deep thinking like my best friend, Matt the Pimp.
**********************************************************************************
I had known Matt since grade school. Our parents played bridge together, and went to the same country club. He was the quarterback of our high school team, and I was the vice-president of the student government, and one of his receivers.
**********************************************************************************
I had known Matt since grade school. Our parents played bridge together, and went to the same country club. He was the quarterback of our high school team, and I was the vice-president of the student government, and one of his receivers.
He was one of those guys who instinctively knew how to attract women. He was cocky, and knew he was King Shit of our high school, Turd Mountain. That was what I called him and our school, in my head. I wasn’t jealous of Matt, we were both pretty much equally popular. But he loved the attention, and I knew high school was full of melodrama, and didn’t really matter. At least, I told myself I was above that stuff.
Even so, all through university, I relied on Matt in social situations. He always knew the best parties, the hottest girls. He came to work for my dad in the PR division, and so we worked in the same building. I might have thought him shallow, but that didn’t stop me from benefiting from our friendship. He had set me and our other friends up on so many dates, I had started thinking of him solely by his nickname.
“What’s up, Digger?” He asked, as we met in the lobby and headed out to lunch.
“Just a weird morning, I need to clear my head, get out of the building.” I shrugged. Matt the Pimp raised an eyebrow.
We hustled down the street to a restaurant, ordering cocktails with our meals. He tilted his head to check out a waitress in her skirt while she served an adjacent table. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“So, girl trouble?” He said, sitting up as she gave us menus. Matt flashed a grin her way, and she smiled back.
“Yeah. I met this girl…”
“Dude, if she’s not working out, come hang with us tonight. We’re heading over to Madison’s for drinks. Me and the boys are meeting the girls there.”
I shook my head. “The boys” meant our usual buddies, but “the girls” meant random women that Matt the Pimp tried to set us up with. He met them in bars, at dinners, the country club, through friends and family. I think his Blackberry had more women on it than I had numbers in my business Rolodex in the office.
“I don’t mean that kind of trouble. I’m not dating her.”
“But you want to be,” Matt chuckled. He glanced through his menu briefly, so I took the opportunity to scan for something to eat.
The waitress returned momentarily, and I ordered light chicken pasta with a salad. Matt the Pimp ordered a prime rib dinner for his lunch, and thanked the waitress. He watched her go with a grin.
“Could we focus here?” I asked.
“I am,” he said with a smile, and then turned back to me. “So who’s this girl?”
“Calla Wiley.”
Matt the Pimp’s eyes glazed over for a moment. I imagined he was scanning his mind like a computer checking its memory. Why he remembered girls’ names and not something useful, like how to do his taxes, I will never understand. He clicked back into focus.
“Nope, don’t know her. She new in town?”
“Maybe. She’s a grad student.”
“Ohhh, Digger’s picking up the brainy chicks now. I see.” Matt nodded appreciatively. I got the sense he would be doing the same if I said she was a model, a lawyer or a baker. He would just change “brainy” to some other adjective. “Well, bring her out. A night with all of us, she’s bound to have a good time and end up going home with you.”
“I doubt she’s that kind of girl.”
Matt the Pimp looked at me for a long time. “Dude, I’m totally confused. You’re not seeing her, you’re not trying to get in her pants… What is this chick to you?”
“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”
“Maybe you better tell me what happened."
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