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.”


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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>>

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.


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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>>

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>>

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.

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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>>

Chapter One: The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin

I met a beautiful woman today. Twice. I’m still trying to figure that out.

I was standing in line at the local café, Coffee of Doom. Most of the other customers were emo kids, Goth types, and your average coffee house inhabitant wearing plaid and jeans. I was the only one wearing a suit. Well, that wasn’t by choice. I’d much rather slack my way through the day like the kids hanging out here, but I had a rich family and graduated from law school.

Be that as it may, I came here every day before work. I got my cup, and headed for the door. It opened and in walked this girl. She had sandy hair cropped short, and bright grey eyes that dazzled me. She was pleasantly curved, instead of looking half starved like most of the denizens of the coffee house. I barely had time to register her jeans and low cut sweater before she spoke.

“Have we met yet?” She asked me immediately, not even looking around the shop. It was like she was there for me, and not coffee.

“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…” I tried to be suave, but it might have come out “No, uh, wha?” I’m not totally sure.

She gripped the front of my suit jacket. I dropped my coat and my briefcase from my left hand. I barely held onto the coffee in my right. She looked into my face. Her eyes went wide.

“Stay away from me, if you want to live. Whatever you do, stay away!”

I tried to take a step back, wondering if I should call for help, but her grip was strong and the suit was Armani. And, instead of being afraid, I was kind of lost in her eyes.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, “It’s okay!”

Her eyes wavered and she moved to turn away. Then, she looked me in the eyes again and pulled on the jacket, bringing me in close. Her lips pressed to mine, soft and warm, and time held still. I heard her whisper: “I love you, Frank.” Then, she was gone. I opened my eyes and she was out the door.

It only took me half a second to realize that the prettiest woman I’d ever seen was about to disappear. I ran out after her, and saw her go around the corner. I jostled my way through the crowded street, trying to get past pedestrians on their way to work. Lucky me, the bus had just dumped a crowd between me and Helen of Troy or whoever it was that I was chasing.

I got around the corner, and looked down the street. I couldn’t see her amidst the human mass before me.

“Crap,” I said, eloquently. My name isn’t even Frank, and she was probably crazy, but it had sounded like she meant it when she said she loved me. I kicked the nearest garbage can very maturely. Then I walked back to the shop.

Where the same woman was sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. I did a double take and then walked closer.

“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” I said, trying to control the hammering in my chest. I wondered if it was actually audible to other people. I mean, my heart was pounding.

She looked up at me and I noticed her hair was a little longer. She had also found time to change clothes in the past two minutes, as she had a white blouse and more formal black pants. Her coat was hanging over the chair.

“Pardon?” She asked, putting down the newspaper. I blinked.

“When I was here, before. What was that about?”

“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” She smiled ironically and held up her own cup. “I bought one too.”

I blinked again, and looked around the shop. No one else was paying any attention.

“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”

She wrinkled her brow and then nodded towards an adjacent table. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.” I grabbed my stuff.

I looked at her over my shoulder. She had gone back to her paper with a shake of her head, as if to say “He needs his meds today.” Funnily enough, I had started the conversation thinking that about her. And now, I felt like the one who was crazy.

“Sorry about that,” I said. She barely looked up. I stepped over towards her table again. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”

“Your pick-up lines suck,” she said with a grin.

I felt flustered. “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.”

I bristled a little. I guess I’m the type of person who loves a challenge. “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 tried to be charming. She might have been acting like she didn’t remember that kiss (which made me wonder if I had hallucinated it) but it was worth seeing if it would happen again.

“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know.” I smiled. “You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”

She almost laughed. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”

“Diggory Franklin.” I shook hands with her.

“Calla Wiley. 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.” She stood and gathered her things. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”

I thought quickly. “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,” she said, trying to stifle a smile. But she still took the card before she left.

I whistled all the way to work.


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