Short Story: "Three Chord Breakup"

Three Chord Breakup

I met him at Art in the Park when he stopped by my booth.  I was taken by his boyish grin, upscale clothes, and finely manicured nails. Definitely not my usual kind of guy. 

“I like your art.  Do you freelance?”

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

“Well, I suppose that depends on what you mean?”  It wasn’t long before I was agreeing to be a freelance designer for his distribution business.  He gave me his business card: Carson Petersen, CEO Dynamic Distributors. 

And soon after that we began seeing each other outside of his office.

I live in a small apartment with a room dedicated to my art studio.  I have been able to make a small living doing my jazz-inspired art, but this was the first time I worked for someone else in any way art-related.  I usually just pick up other jobs at coffee shops and bakeries just to make ends meet. And I usually date guys that aspire to be writers or artists themselves, that own nothing more than blue jeans and cargo shorts, and we usually break up over jealousy issues when one has a success and another one doesn’t.

But Carson – wow. He was different., and he brought me into a whole different world. His clothes were straight out of GQ and his office was finely designed in deep blues, burgundies, and grays.  I felt at home there immediately, although I still don’t know why.  I tended to go for a more natural look, and I used to make fun of people like him.  Yet, Carson endeared me to him through appearances, even though he didn’t have a decent piece of art on the walls.  We weren’t in any kind of competition, though.  I liked that. And he liked the work I was doing for him, and paying me quite well.  I could live with that.

We frequented the trendiest restaurants in town, usually meeting there.  It seemed like everything I liked, he liked.  I am a huge fan of vocal jazz and soul music, and his favorite singers are Ray Charles and Etta James.  Once I convinced him to meet my friends who like to hang out at a sushi bar, and he immediately agreed.  We had a great time that night – a lot of spicy tuna, liquor and laughs.  At least I thought we all had a good time, until my friend Valerie texted me the next day.

Valerie: Hey Jen, we should meet for lunch today. Want to grab a salad?

Me:  Sure

It was over our Southwest Chicken salads that Valerie gently told me her concerns from our sushi night.  “You didn’t act like yourself around him.”

“Well, maybe he brings out another side of me.”

She mumbled something.  “What?” I asked.

“Not the best side of you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.  You seem fake around him.  Not really you.”

Needless to say, our lunch did not end well. 

I went back to working on a display that Carson had commissioned, and just dismissed it as a friend in a stable relationship worrying unnecessarily about a friend in a new relationship.

When I finally did sleep with Carson, it was at my house.  Somehow, we never managed to go to his house, although I already had it pictured in my head – a fancy loft in downtown, black leather furniture, the finest stereo equipment, and yes, better art on the walls.  He seemed to like my little digs, although I was somewhat embarrassed.  I obviously wasn’t doing as well as he was, and we were close to the same age.

“Let’s drive up the coast tomorrow,” he proposed one Saturday morning, after our second night together.  “I’ve got to work today, but I’ll be ready at 9 tomorrow.  Want to pick me up at the office?”

That’s when I broached the subject.  “Why don’t I just pick you up at your house?”  He hesitated.  That should have told me everything.  Finally, “Well, okay.”

He gave me the address.  It was downtown.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Later that day, another text came from Valerie.  “Hey, want to see a movie later?”  I thought it was time to reconnect with her after our awkward lunch, so I replied, “Okay.”

And sure enough, after the movie, over ice cream sundaes, she tried again.

“Jennifer, this is really hard to say. Everett (her boyfriend) says that he knows Carson from high school.  His name is really Carl Pearson.  And he isn’t from the best part of town.”

“So?”  I pretended to be cool about this.

“Well, has he ever told you he changed his name?”

“No.  Why should he?”  Still faking the cool.  I think she bought it.

“I don’t know.  You’ve been seeing him for several weeks.  I would think it would come up.”

“No, I really don’t know why it would have come up.  We haven’t had the “deepest secret” conversation.”

“Well, just be careful.”  And then she changed the subject. 

Be careful? I was just taking him at face value – why?  Because I liked what I saw.  And I liked his name.  I wasn’t seeing Carl Pearson.  I was seeing CARSON PETERSEN and he was classy and smart and polished.  I’m sure Everett had the wrong guy.

The next day I picked Carson up at his downtown loft.  Well, not exactly a loft.  It was an old warehouse building retrofitted with apartments.  If I was honest with myself, I had to admit that it was a disappointment.  He met me out front, carrying a gym bag. 

“Brought bathing suit and extra clothes, so I’m ready for anything.”

Cool.  I hadn’t thought of that.

We spent the day in my car driving up the coast.  We stopped at a variety of parks, a lighthouse, various antique shops and old record stores.  On the way up the coast we listened to some of my favorites: Marvin Gaye, Norah Jones, Boz Scaggs.  We never did go swimming and his gym bag stayed in the trunk of my car.

On the way home, it all began to fall apart.  He said, hey, I brought some music.  And he put in Led Zeppelin.  Okay, I could handle that a little bit.  But after that it got worse. 

Nickelback.

“My favorite song is “Rockstar” he grinned.  I gritted my teeth.

I couldn’t get back to town fast enough.  We got to his apartment building parking lot, and he asked me to come up.  I felt so mixed about it, but really, I wanted to see his apartment.  I so loved the design of his offices; curiosity got the best of me.

Horror among horrors.  He was a packrat frat boy.  Sexist Budweiser posters on the wall.  Ratty sofa in the living room, busted up fake leather recliner, and a box for a coffee table.  Dirty dishes in the sink.  And a weird, sweaty smell.

How could someone be so….two-sided?  Is he the phony that Valerie and Everett tagged him to be? 

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, although it seemed like he was just saying it and wasn’t sorry at all.

He tried to get romantic, but I’ve gotta say, the turn off was real.  I excused myself to the restroom, pretended that I suddenly had my period, and begged off spending any more time there.  I didn’t even want to SEE the bedroom.

When I turned on my car, my stomach churning in dismay and disgust and humiliation that Valerie was right, then damn Nickelback came blaring on.  I ejected the CD and threw it like a Frisbee across the parking lot.  I proceeded to drive over it on my way out the drive.  “So long Carl,” I called out the window, happy to flee and become me again.

Short Story: "All He Ever Wanted"

All He Ever Wanted

Bob Hess believed there was always room at the top.  He believed it as he struggled through college, paying his own way pumping gas and selling motor oil.  He believed it as he got his first real job and a first real suit and went to work as a salesman for a credit-reporting agency.  He believed it as he competed with others for that coveted place at the top – the number one sales leader – the guy to chase.  He believed it as he came close the year he competed directly for the number one spot with upstart Sheri Ackerman – she who is young, pretty, driving a fancy sports car, owner of her own townhouse. They exchanged first and second place throughout the year, and despite all of Bob’s best efforts, Sheri surpassed him in the end, setting a company record. At the annual convention she was mobbed by salespeople from all over the world wanting to know how she did it.  Perhaps it was her talents, but more likely her competitive spirit. Without Bob’s efforts, Sheri would have never worked so hard. She was better at getting to the top than Bob Hess ever was.  No one clamored to ask Bob how he came in second.  No one cares about the silver medal winner.  Sheri herself didn’t even care about the gold, leaving the company shortly thereafter for marriage, children, a mini-van, and house in the suburbs full of Little Tikes toys.

Bob Hess never came close again, something his wife Yvonne liked to rub in.  He liked to think his marriage was solid, but it was solid in the way butter is – hard when things are cold and soft when things are warm, but in general just an oily mess posing as something else.  Bob and Yvonne believed in their daughter, Rachel, their only one, but Rachel was definitely her mother’s daughter, never failing to laugh at Yvonne’s snide comments about Bob, never once coming to the defense of her father.  Bob Hess learned long ago not to even try to compete.  He learned his lesson with Sheri.  That alone was constant fodder for Yvonne, culminating in the most cutting remark ever, one delivered at a neighbor’s outdoor barbecue, the time she said, “Bob just wants to be the hero of his own life,” and everyone laughed. Even Rachel, who had snuck up to the table to grab another cookie before dinner. Bob Hess was beginning to believe that the top was only for true winners, and there was nothing about his life or his family or his surroundings that provided any way for Bob to win.

Bob Hess never stopped working for the agency.  He survived downsizing, taking commission cuts, and whatever else necessary.  He watched as every year more young and new salespeople competed, making it to the top.  Because of budget cuts, the annual sales conferences became a thing of the past, so most of those at the top Bob never met face to face.  He waited out the days toward retirement, wondering what he could possibly do then?  Everything has been about the sale and what television shows are on and deflecting the latest barbs by his wife. 

Except for this. Bob Hess was a timbrophilist – a stamp collector. He was crazy about stamps – the way they felt, the history, the colors, the variety.  He had a treasured archived collection purchased solely with bonus checks he cashed without Yvonne ever seeing how much they were for.  He knew that his hard work had to count for something, and he thought this little breach was well earned and inconsequential.  He rationalized that someday he’d take Yvonne on a wonderful vacation, total surprise, with the money he would retrieve from selling the stamps.  That is, if he could ever part with them.  And if his relationship with Yvonne somehow took a turn for the better.  He never gave up on that dream.

Divorcing Yvonne never entered his mind. He would never do that to Rachel.

Rachel Hess went to a local college, living at home to save the expense of housing. This, of course, advised by Yvonne who reminded Rachel that her father was just a loser who couldn’t really afford to send her away to college.  That wasn’t so funny.  Rachel fell in love with Scott Cline, a fine young man she met her senior year, a winner, a guy’s guy, a gentleman and scholar, a fine family and future ahead.  Rachel had chosen well, despite the old adage that girls marry their fathers.  Bob Hess had always wanted more for Rachel than he had for himself, and was thrilled for her since Scott was obviously “the one” -- and even as he feared the empty nest she would leave and what it could mean for him.  Who would be the audience for Yvonne’s criticism?  Who would laugh at his expense with her?

A date was set and Bob Hess sat down with Rachel and Scott and made them a promise: I will pay all your wedding expenses. This is for you, from me.  This was gratefully accepted by the two young people, who immediately began to plan an expensive Hawaiian honeymoon with the money they would save by not paying for their own wedding.  Bob Hess was thrilled about that, too, since he had never had a real honeymoon with Yvonne and never the exotic vacation he kept on the back burner.  Just a trip to New York City.  Another to Washington D.C.  The obligatory trip to Disney World when Rachel was young.  Nothing special.  No Cancun.  No Paris.  No Alaskan cruise. Certainly no Hawaii.

When she found out later, Yvonne said she would never forgive him for putting them into debt over this wedding.

But there would be no debt.  A few weeks later Scott would come to Bob privately and ask how he was affording the wedding, that Rachel had concerns.  Bob told Scott of his plan to ease the future groom’s mind.

**

Bob Hess stepped out into the lobby of the church, the pant legs of his tux being a tad too long, but the white rose in his lapel, perfect.  His daughter Rachel came out of the bride’s room, dressed in a strapless sweetheart mermaid gown in misty tulle and lace, her auburn hair piled high and dotted with fresh flowers.  She gave Bob an odd smile and tears filled her eyes.  She took her father’s arm and, just before taking that first step down the aisle turned to him and said, “Daddy, Scott told me what you’ve done for us. I am so grateful.” Her voice cracked a little as she continued. “You have made all my dreams come true. I may be marrying Scott, but you will always be the best man I know.” With that the “Bridal March” began.  This time it wasn’t just for the bride, however; Bob Hess had found his room at the top. He had finally become the hero of his own life. 

And as he and Rachel walked up the aisle, friends and family looking on, there was only one thing on Bob Hess’s mind. He would file for divorce on Monday.

Short Story: "Ice" Part Two (Conclusion)

 Before reading this, be sure to read the beginning of the story found here.

7. Shelby

            Shelby was just walking in the house from the college library where she had been researching for a big paper that was due, when her cell started ringing.  She guessed right when she saw it was Paula calling, a call she had been expecting all morning.  She dropped her backpack and answered, “So, how was it?”

            “Oh, Shelby.  It was a disaster.  I just couldn’t hang in there, I just couldn’t let him get close. I tried, I really tried.”

            “Tell me what happened.”  This opened the door for Paula to tell her version of the story…how they had dinner and went dancing, that she tried to let Drew get close, but it was too hard.  Shelby suspected that Paula was leaving off a few ripe details.  Perhaps that she had gotten plastered, maybe led Drew on, then shut him down. That had been the pattern in the past, one that Shelby noticed Paula didn’t discuss with her anymore.  Paula sensed Shelby was sick of hearing it, and if she wanted her sympathies she needed to make it sound like something else altogether was happening.

            “Well, how did you leave it with him?” Shelby inquired. 

            “I don’t know.  The night just ended, kind of abruptly.  He left me sitting alone in Applebees parking lot.  Do you think a guy should be doing that, I mean, leaving me alone?  Anything could have happened.  I think that was really cold.

            Well, you aren’t always so warm yourself, ice princess Shelby thought to herself. But to Paula she said, “Well, it sounds to me like you pissed him off.  What did you do, Paula?”

            “Nothing.  Honest. I had a few drinks at Cristina’s but that was all. I thought we were having a good time.”

            If Shelby knew anything she knew that Paula was covering her butt with her story.  Ever since high school this had been happening to Paula. After three different instances of being date raped by various jocks, and once beaten by the student council vice president for not giving in, she was shut down on men. Shelby was the only one who knew these things happened, but had sworn an oath of secrecy at Paula’s request way back in high school. Sometimes Shelby felt downright guilty at not getting Paula help. She had seen the bruises on Paula’s back from Jerry Pines, the one who didn’t want to take no for an answer. But Shelby wasn’t sure who to go to. Paula’s mother and stepfather were workaholics. They owned their own restaurant, which kept them busy 24/7.  Shelby never saw them when she was at Paula’s house.  Paula had been close to her grandmother, but the woman had died of cancer when they were in ninth grade. It had always felt like Paula was left alone in a cold, hard world, except for her friendship with Shelby. This had caused Shelby to act against her better instincts many times. Paula had confided in Shelby about the attacks, asked her to keep it to herself, and Shelby, being a loyal friend, kept her promise.  But now that they were both twenty-one, she was beginning to feel the weight of her silence wearing on her. It often crossed her mind that she would like to be rid of the burden.

Paula obviously needed psychological help. For years, however, has resisted any of it, insisting instead she could get better on her own if she could just meet the right guy. Taking courses in psychology had only bolstered her resolve to fix her problems herself. Thus the dramas continued, and Shelby was always there, picking up the pieces.

 Shelby was about to make an excuse to hang up when Paula said, “Hey, what do you think about me having Drew fix you up with one of his friends?”

Paula’s offer got her attention.  It had been several months since she had gone out with anyone, the last one being Mike who was a lot of fun, good in bed, but so angry inside that at times he scared her. After witnessing what Paula had gone through, she finally had to break it off.  She was really afraid that one night Mike might go off on her. That was in September, and it was now January – a long, cold spell for Shelby.

            “Well, who do you have in mind?”

            “His friends were all pretty cool, but Eric was the best looking.  If I can figure out a way to get back in Drew’s good graces, maybe we can make it happen.  Would you like that?”

            Shelby took a big gulp. Here it was – she was being reeled in again, hook, line, and sinker. Damn loneliness. “I think it might be okay.”

            “Good,” Paula said, excitement rising in her voice, “because I have an idea.”

            Oh God help me, Shelby thought to herself, as she opened her ears to hear Paula’s plan.

8. Drew

            When he had left Paula in her car after their crazy date, he had vowed never again: he had no use for bitches who played games.  Yet, here he was a week later, sitting at her friend Shelby’s apartment, watching the news footage of a huge Noreaster that was dumping snow and ice on the entire east coast of the U.S. 

            Paula had called him on Sunday evening begging forgiveness. He was not that interested in forgiving her, but then she laid all this stuff on him about how difficult intimacy was for her because of lack of connection with her real father, and all kinds of other psychobabble that he didn’t quite get.  He was able to put off seeing her until Wednesday evening, when she managed to show up at Donatello’s where he was with the guys.  She weaseled her way into their table, drank their beer, told hilarious dirty jokes, had a belching contest with Josh, and won all of their hearts.  She was the freakin’ life of the party. Paula kept leaning against Drew, but at first he didn’t respond. Eventually, Drew could tell his friends thought he was a cold, heartless asshole who couldn’t see the charms of this amazing woman.  As he drank more beer, he began to think, yeah, maybe I am an idiot for thinking of dumping her so fast.  Her arm was soft against his, hips against hips, her long thigh pressed into his jean-clad thigh under the table. Sometimes her head dipped close to his shoulder, her perfume wafting his way. His memories of Friday night --  the headache, the overspending, the cold chill he received from her – all faded away as he felt like he was “the man,” his friends openly envious as Paula lavished attention on Drew.

            When Paula was away from the table in the ladies room, Josh was the first one to say it. “Drew, she is a blast.  And sexy as hell.  I hope you are going to give her another chance.”

            Drew had been up front about what had happened on Friday night.  The guys had all agreed he had done the right thing – that is, until Paula sat down at the table with them.  It all changed in a flash.

            Drew said slowly, with a grin, “Well, yeah, I’m thinking maybe she isn’t so bad.”

            “Isn’t so bad?  She’s great. Does she have any friends?” Eric asked.

            “Well, she does have a friend named Shelby she is trying to fix up with one of you.  I haven’t met her, but I understand she is a redhead.  Aren’t you up for a redhead these days, Eric?”  Everyone knew that Eric liked to alternate between blondes, brunettes and redheads.

            Eric smiled his evil grin.  “I’m actually looking for a blonde, but I think I could kill some time with a redhead.”

            So, it was set.  And now it was Saturday afternoon, and Drew had driven over to Shelby’s place in San Carlos Park.  Paula didn’t live with Shelby, but had spent the night there, so she was in the shower while Drew stared at the television, pondering life in snow country.  He was there early to hang out until Eric got off from his job selling digital cameras at Best Buy, then they were all going to a dinner and a movie.  Drew was glad he worked in the campus computer center during the week so that he had weekends completely free.

            “Can I get you a beer?” Shelby asked.  She had been in the kitchen since he got there, and hadn’t had much time to talk with her.  He thought she was pretty cute.  Petite.  Gold-flecked green eyes. Sweet smile. Eric would like her just fine.

            “Sure. That would be great.”   He started to get up from the couch, but Shelby was already in the living room, handing him a cold Heineken.  “I like imported beers,” she confessed, as she took a swill from her own bottle and sat down on the chair next to the couch. “Can’t stand that watered down Bud stuff.”

            “That’s cool.”  Silence. Then, “How long have you known Paula?” He wasn’t always good at initial conversation, but this girl seemed friendly enough.

            “We’ve known each other since middle school. I moved here from Indiana in seventh grade and Paula became my best friend right away. I was from Bloomington, but still, a Hoosier is a Hoosier.”

            “That’s cool.”  Drew didn’t know what else to ask, and he wanted to avoid saying that’s cool again.  He was beginning to sound like a dweeb.

            “How about you?  Do you like Paula?”  Shelby seemed suddenly serious, which took Drew by surprise.  Made him feel uncomfortable, too, although he couldn’t quite figure out why.

            “Sure, she’s okay.  Don’t really know her that well yet,” he waffled.

            Shelby laughed.  “Oh, I think you probably know her pretty well.”

            Drew was confused. What had Paula told her?  He sat quietly, not sure what to say next.

            “What about your friend, Eric?  What is he like?”

            Drew was glad she changed the subject. But then he realized he didn’t know what to say about Eric.  He didn’t think saying He’s looking for the next redhead to screw sounded like the best answer.  “He’s cool.  Majoring in Public Administration.  Kind of a politician, if you want to know the truth.”

            Shelby smiled and started to pull the label off of her beer bottle.  She stared at the television, cars off the road, snowplows barely getting down streets, people bundled up in mufflers and big, bulky coats.  “Thank God we’re in Florida,” she said, lifting her bottle toward him.

            “You got that right.  Here’s to Florida,” and he tipped his bottle back.

9. Shelby

            The rant rolled through Shelby’s head: Everything was going so well.  Drew and I were enjoying our beer, watching the television with no need to say anything to each other at all.  Drew is an okay guy and surely Paula does not deserve him.  He’s nice looking in an every day kind of way:  like he would be the roadie, rather than the big music star.  He definitely doesn’t have that anger overtone I was so used to with Mike. And then she has the nerve to come trouncing out here wrapped in just a towel.  I had to say something. I mean, come on, this is my apartment and I don’t even run around like that.  She laughed it off, of course, calling me a prude, and then sat there with her legs crossed, the towel not covering a bit of her bare ass or anything else.  What the heck was that all about?  I could see Drew was getting really jangled. I can’t say for sure if he was immediately turned on, or if he, like I, was upset that she ruined our ambience.  Whatever it was, it sucked big time, and even though I’m going ahead and getting ready to go out, I really would prefer to not be spending any time with her.  Drew, yes.  Paula, no.

            And when she was done with the rant in her mind, done finishing up her make-up and putting on her earrings, she realized something: this was the first time in her life she was angry with Paula.  Every time before it was about compassion and understanding given her “circumstances.”  All of that has come screeching to a grinding halt. Shelby realized that the circumstances didn’t matter to her anymore.

10.  Paula

            God, Shelby is so uptight, Paula thought to herself as she went into the restroom at the movie theater.  All evening Eric – who in Paula’s estimation was a darn great-looking guy, with his gently curly golden blonde hair, Roman nose, and deep brown eyes – was trying to talk with Shelby, make her feel comfortable.  Paula noticed how Eric kept casually touching Shelby, yet Shelby just kept flinching, like he was pinching her or something.  Guess I haven’t been on a double date with her in a long time.  I didn’t know she was so, well, untouchable.  Paula checked her make-up.  The movie was boring her so she had left the theater by herself.  She wanted to think about how to liven up this group, and she thought maybe a trip to Cristina’s would do the trick. After all, it was 80’s night at the dance club.  Who doesn’t love 80’s music?  She decided that she would do what she could to get the party started.  After this dull movie, they would all need a boost.  I bet that Eric is a good dancer she thought.  She went back into the theater, her intention set.

11. Drew

            All through the movie Drew was hyper-conscious of Shelby sitting next to him.  He couldn’t help but notice she made a point of seeing that they were seated together, with Eric on the other side of her, Paula on the other side of him.  He felt a wave of jealousy when he noticed Eric had put his arm around her.  He chuckled to himself when he noticed Shelby took his arm off of her.  Eric was striking out big time.  Good for Shelby.  Eric was just a leech anyway.  If Drew had known how great Shelby was, he would never have set her up with a snake like Eric.

            At Shelby’s apartment he had felt a momentary happiness. Then Paula made her entrance, and a fool of herself at the same time, wrapped in that towel.  Oh, Drew knew that he she had managed to give him a thrill – it really was hard not to with a girl like Paula.  But that feeling quickly passed and he mostly felt irritated at her presence.  Dinner was no better. She yammered on constantly about all kinds of nonsense, continually demanding more ice for her drink, a habit he already detested. Yet it was obvious Eric found it all delightful. Well, he was up for a blonde.  As far as Drew was concerned he could have her. Drew knew that if nothing else, tonight had sealed his fate with Paula. He was done with her.  Once this movie was over, he just wanted to go home.

12. Shelby

            When Paula made the proposal to go dancing, Shelby looked quickly at Drew.  They were standing outside the movie theater, and the suggestion took her by surprise.  “Yeah, let’s do it,” she heard Eric saying.  Shelby was sunk. She didn’t want this evening to go on any longer. She just wanted it over.

            Drew asked her, “Shelby, what do you want to do?”

            “Oh, c’mon Shelb. When was the last time we were out with two such fine-looking dudes?”  Paula was giving her the look, the one that said, Do this for me.

            Shelby looked at Drew again. He was hard to read.  Did he want to go, or not?  Finally, she just said, “Well, maybe for just an hour or so.”

            “Great!” Paula declared, and they walked to Drew’s Jeep.

            Shelby noticed Drew was very quiet.  He never said he wanted to go, yet here he was driving them there.  Oh, well.  Just an hour won’t hurt.

            They got to the club and immediately Paula reminded Drew that he shouldn’t drink much since he was driving. Then she proceeded to order a Mango Tango martini, and screamed when “It’s Raining Men” came on.  “Let’s go, Shelby.  Remember this song?”  Shelby remembered the song, but had no intention of dancing.

            “I really am not in the mood, Paula.  You go have a good time.”

            Eric, Drew, and Shelby pulled up a table, and watched as Paula made her way around the dance floor.  There were plenty of other single women dancing to the song, so she fit right in. 

            Eric looked at Shelby and said, “Boy that Paula, she sure is a ball of energy.”

            “Yeah.”  Shelby really didn’t want to talk about Paula to Eric.  It seemed weird, since he was her date.  Although, truth be told, she really didn’t want to be on this date with him.  Everything seemed out of balance.

            “Burning Down the House” was the next song.  Paula came to drag Drew out on the dance floor, but he begged off.  Smart move, Shelby thought to herself.  So instead, Eric was dragged – albeit willingly – by Paula out to the dance floor.

            “I guess that is supposed to make me jealous,” Drew said with a rye smile.

            “Oh yeah, me, too,” Shelby laughed.  It felt good to laugh. The evening had been pretty dismal. She felt like she was fighting off Eric every five minutes, and it had made her very tired.  He was obviously in this for only one thing.

            “Well, it is probably better that Eric is with Paula. After all, he is up for a blonde,” Drew said matter-of-factly.

            “What?”  Shelby didn’t understand what he meant.

            “Oh, Eric likes to alternate: brunette, blonde, redhead.  He recently had a brunette, so a blonde is up.  Paula has those blonde highlights, so that suffices.”

            “Wow.” Shelby could not believe Drew’s honesty.  “Why are you telling me this?”

            “Because I’m sick of the game-playing I see. Eric.  Paula.  It’s so old.  I’ve been trying to figure out why I feel so bored all of the time, and now I know.  It’s these damn games people play.”

            Shelby felt something ignite inside of her. Something fierce and hidden and powerful. The music was too loud, but she knew what she wanted to do.  “Drew, do you want to step outside for a minute?  I need a break from this music.”  A slow dance was coming on, Cyndie Lauper’s “True Colors,” and Paula and Eric had fallen into each other’s arms.  Shelby didn’t care, but she didn’t know what Drew would think.

            Once outside, Shelby let it rip.  “You know what you said in there?  About game playing?  Man, I feel the same way.  I have stood up for Paula what seems my entire life.  When she had tragedies, when her grandma died, when her parents were non-existent, I was always there.  Well, today I decided I don’t want to be there anymore. Most of the time she is out having a good time, screwing up another relationship with her lies about alcoholism in her family and who knows what else, and by alternating between sex siren and ice princess, while I’m home lonely and worrying about her.  I’m sick of it. I have held her secrets and they are too heavy.  I carry them – she doesn’t. “

            “What secrets?” Drew asked.  He was fascinated by what she was revealing.

            And Shelby let it spill.  Everything that had happened to Paula in high school, how Shelby had taken a vow of silence about the rapes and beating, how Paula used that against her all the time and used it as an excuse not to get help.  “It wasn’t until today I really saw it,” Shelby confessed.  “Today when she came out in that towel. That was it.  Like I was finally able to admit the emperor has no clothes.  I thought it would be betrayal to tell someone everything I just told you, but you know what? She betrayed me all those years ago in high school. I’m done!  I just don’t know why it took me so long.”

            Drew reached into his pocket and dangled the car keys in front of her.  “I drove,” he grinned.  “Do you want to get out of here?”  Shelby nodded. And with that Drew reached out his hand and took hers, and together they walked to his Jeep, the ice they both felt in their hearts for so long melting along the way.

   #        

           

           

Short Story: "Ice" Part One (2007)

In the summer of 2007, I was a response leader for the National Writing Project Summer Institute.  At the time, the NWP was putting a strong emphasis on the participants writing, which gave me a lot of time to formulate this story.  I was inspired by students I saw on the campus of Florida Gulf Coast University (referenced in the story as FGCU), and a writing marathon that we did in Naples.  Here is the story I wrote that summer, in two parts. 

ICE  
an original story by Helen M. Sadler

1. Shelby

            “I can’t believe it.  I finally met someone new.” Paula’s voice came over the phone, excited and almost breathless.  “His name is Drew and I met him last night at Donatello’s Pizza.  He was there with some friends.  I went back to their apartment and watched them play poker.  It was a blast.”

            “What?  You just met him and you went to his apartment with him, and other guys, too?  You crazy, girl?”

            Paula assured, “Oh, Shelby, it wasn’t like that. He’s a real cool guy.  Kept his hands to himself. We’re just getting to know each other. He goes to FGCU, too.  Hey, you gotta know I knew it was safe.  I just hung out and watched them play poker.  They were a lot of fun.  Drew is the one who came up to me and started talking. He’s a really laid back kind of guy and, in fact, I’m meeting him again tonight for dinner.”

            Shelby was quiet for a minute.  A wave of jealousy washed over her.  Lucky girl has a date on Friday night.  But then she remembered –Paula was always like this with a new guy, and it never worked out. Issues.  The girl has issues.  “Well, Paula, it’s your life.”

            “You say that like it’s a crime.  I know you know I’ve made poor choices in the past.  This is different.”

            Shelby bit her lip. She wanted to rattle off the number of times and all the names of the guys she heard in the past were “different” – Reg, Bobby, Thomas, Carl, Simon, Al.  A never ending line of men – most Paula did wrong, some did wrong to Paula.  When you know someone since middle school, you got her history.  Somehow, though, Shelby decided to herself Just let it go.  She knew that as long as she was friends with Paula, the drama would continue.

            Paula, tired of Shelby’s silence, said, “Well, if you have nothing more to say, I’ve gotta go.”

            “Okay, bye.  Have fun tonight.”

            “Oh, I will.  Believe me!”

            Shelby clipped her phone closed and put her i-Pod back on. She laughed to herself when Foreigner’s hit from the ‘80’s Cold as Ice came on.  Only a matter of time, she chuckled to herself.  And I couldn’t have said it any better.

2. Drew

            Drew mentally tried to fight off the boredom of another night with the guys. Same old, same old, he thought.  Supreme pizza, pitcher after pitcher of Bud Lite, then Texas Hold ‘Em until the wee hours. His life had become a repetitive treadmill.  It was their usual routine, nearly every night, after classes and studying had run their course.  “Here’s the pizza, you guys,” the server Patti chimed.  “Anyone for more beer?”

            “Need you ask?” Sam cracked a smile.  “Bring it on, Patti-Baby.”

            Patti trotted away with the empty pitcher.  Drew remained pulled into his shell, dwelling on his own inner thoughts. Every day he seemed less likely to talk, yet every day he’d go out with Sam, Eric, and Josh, his college roommates.  Same old, same old.  They even sat at the same tired booth every time they came to Donatello’s.  Boring.

            Josh slugged Drew in the arm.  “Hey, check out that chick.  Look at her tank top. It says, “MAJOR BABE.”  Betcha can’t start a conversation with her.”

            Drew glared at Josh.  Where did this come from?  The guys usually left him to his own sullen self.  He looked over at the counter and saw the girl, who was waiting to place an order.  She did indeed have MAJOR BABE written on her tank, which was an Army camouflage design.  She wore short khaki-colored shorts, black platform flip-flops, and her hair was cut in a blunt style, just over her shoulders, and streaked light blonde.  He could hear her place her order: a personal veggie pizza and a Diet Coke with a LOT of ice.

            Sam egged Drew on.  “Come on. She won’t be here but five minutes and they’ll give her the pizza and she’ll be gone.  Go talk to her.”

            Drew got defensive.  “Why me?  Why don’t you guys go talk to her?”

            The guys exchanged glances.  Josh explained. “Well, you see, we did a little calculating and we figured you’re the one that needs to get laid the most.  I mean, how long has it been, dude?  You gotta get rockin’ here while you’re still young.”

            Drew could feel the heat rising up to his ears.  He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or angry.  “How the hell do any of you know how long it’s been since I got laid?”  He eyed them carefully, trying to put up a front.  But it was no use. They burst out laughing.

            “We all live in the same place – duh – we know your habits, “ Eric chuckled.

            “Go talk to Major Babe. Ask her about the shirt.”  Sam gave Drew another push, this time right out of the booth.

            “Okay, okay.”  Drew knew he could wait out the girl. She’d be gone soon.  But something inside of him was a bit curious.  Plus he wouldn’t mind getting away from these imbeciles for a few minutes.  They were really getting on his nerves.

            He hitched up his baggy black jeans and began to walk over to the seating area where Major Babe waited for her dinner. He had no idea what he was going to say.

3. Paula

            “I said I wanted a LOT of ice, not NO ice,” Paula told the clerk.  “Please – a LOT of ice.”  She waited at the counter and finally received what she wanted.  “Thanks,” she said as she turned around and crashed into the guy standing behind her.

            “Look out, you’re in my way.”

            The young man was college age, wearing a grass green t-shirt and black baggy jeans.  His hair was close cropped – just short of being shaved bald and he didn’t look to be in the best physical condition.  He wasn’t moving out of her way.

            “My friends and I noticed you and wondered if you’d like to bring your dinner over to our table and join us?”

            “Now why would I want to do that?” she retorted.

            “My name is Drew. Sorry, I’m forgetting my manners.  We’re just some college guys having pizza and thought you’d like to join us.  I mean, if you were going to eat alone, that is. No harm, no foul.”

            Paula considered his sincerity.  It did suck to eat alone.  “Where are your friends?”

            Drew pointed to the table where the guys suddenly tried to pretend they weren’t watching every move.  “They put you up to this, didn’t they?” she asked.  It was more of a statement than a question.

            “Well, in a way.  But I did want to meet you…”

            She looked again at Drew, who really seemed like an okay guy, then at the table of his buddies. How bad could it be?  She decided she was up for a little adventure. “Paula. My name is Paula. And yes, I’ll join you and your buddies.  But just for a bit, to help you out.  Fair enough?”

            “Fair enough.”

4. Drew

            Things had gone well with Paula that Thursday evening. She had stayed for several hours, hanging out while they played poker, watching them, occasionally making jokes.  She was interested enough in Drew to agree to a date the next night.

He met Paula at the Applebees not too far from campus.  They got a booth in the back, where they could be left alone and talk.  He really wanted her undivided attention. It suddenly seemed important.

            “So, what are you in the mood for?  They have pretty good food here.”

            “Well, I usually lean toward salads.” She ordered the chicken Caeser and he ordered a sirloin steak, medium.  She once again ordered her drink with a lot of ice.  “I’m an ice fanatic,” she said, “love to have my drinks REAL cold.”

            Drew felt uncertain about ordering a beer. He didn’t want to offend her, since she didn’t order a drink. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol with them last night. He really wanted a beer, though, to calm his nerves, but now he figured he’d look stupid if he called the waitress back, since he had followed Paula’s lead and just ordered a soft drink. Shoot.  This dating shit was too much to work out.

            “So, I know it sounds corny, but what’s your major?” she asked.

            “Criminal Justice.  How about you?”

            “Double major: Psych and Communications.  Love them both, couldn’t decide.”

            Drew officially felt stupid.  He picked his major because he heard it was easy.  He really didn’t even want to go to college, but it was pretty much required in his family.  He was just trying to get it over with.  Yet, here he sat with a girl that was enthused about her program.  He really couldn’t figure out how he felt about that.  He decided to order a beer.

            They received their food, and he got a tall draft.  “I just really enjoy a good brew with a steak,” he told her as a way of explanation.

            “Oh, you go right ahead.  I just want you to know, though…” she stopped and took a bite of salad,  “that I come from a long line of people who drink too much and it nearly ruined my life, so ya gotta know that about me.  Capiche?”

            Drew officially felt like the biggest ass who ever lived.  “I’m sorry about that, Paula, I really am.  I don’t have to drink.”

            “Well, that’s good. Because most people I know get started and they can’t stop.  It has wreaked havoc in my life and I’m not ready for more of that.  So, are you originally from around here?”

            “My family moved her when I was in sixth grade. We’re from Ashtabula, Ohio.  My mom got a job transfer, and my dad figured what the heck, they were probably going to end up in Florida anyway.  I always thought I’d go right back as soon as I could, maybe attend Ohio State.  But, here I am, still stuck in Florida.”

            Paula smiled and nodded. “I was lucky, I guess.  We moved here to be by my grandmother, but I was only five, so I just consider myself a Floridian. We’re from Indianapolis, which is where I was born.”

They talked through the meal and got to know each other better: more about school, a little about families, some mutually understood jokes about life in Florida, and Ft. Myers in particular, and how it was truly not the best place to be a young, single person.  Just not enough action, unless you count Ft. Myers Beach.  He felt much more comfortable after the beer, but he didn’t order another one. He felt that maybe this was a girl he could really enjoy being with, and he didn’t want to blow it.

            Drew paid the bill, and they walked out of the restaurant.  He wasn’t sure just what to do or say next when Paula turned to him and said, “Hey, let’s go to the new dance club in Bonita.  I think its called Cristina’s.  I’m in the mood to dance – how about you?”

            Drew stared at her.  Here was a Vision, in black sleek pants, a skimpy red satin top, and four inch high-heeled pumps that were painted in an array of watercolors: orange, red, blue, green, and purple.  In the restaurant he hadn’t really noticed what she was wearing, and how great she looked. He had never been with a girl so trendy and sexy, someone he enjoyed talking with, which is why he didn’t date much. Now he realized he was going to have to dance if he wanted to keep this going.  “Yeah, sure.  Let’s go to Cristina’s.”  Drew just didn’t have the nerve to tell her he couldn’t dance for shit.  Or that he had never in his life been to a dance club.

            Paula didn’t pick up the hesitancy in his voice.  “You drive,” she said cheerfully, tossing him her car keys.  “We’ll leave your car here.”

            After months of the same dull and repetitive life, everything now seemed to be happening too fast.  They got into her black Toyota Corolla Sport Coupe and the first thing he noticed was a Christmas ornament – yes, a Christmas ornament hanging from her rearview mirror. It was a long, glass icicle.  He suddenly had this chilled feeling, remembering a movie about a woman with an ice pick. Who was it? Sharon Stone?  Glenn Close?  He always got those movies about psycho bitches mixed up.  He wanted to ask Paula about it, but decided he didn’t want to sound paranoid. She was going to discover what a loser he was once she realized he was a dud on the dance floor. And then his Major Babe would be long gone, and he’d be back at Donatello’s shooting shit with the guys.  Life is just too freakin’ complicated. But he kept that to himself, and drove to Cristina’s, while Paula yakked away in the passenger seat, her words crashing over him like a tsunami.

5. Paula

            “Could you buy me another margarita?” she asked Drew, leaning on him so close that her perfume overwhelmed him. They had been at Cristina’s for an hour and already she was on her third drink.  Drew was carefully nursing a beer, and she knew he was remembering her words when they walked in: “Now, don’t you drink too much. After all, you’re driving.”  Oh, he couldn’t forget that, she knew. She could already feel that she had the upper hand and she planned to milk it for all it was worth.

            He ordered her another margarita, and meanwhile, she split for the bathroom. She was just getting warmed up. It was 90’s night at the club, and she was ready to dance. Paula secretly hoped that Drew would just keep himself at the bar, because if there was one thing she loved it was dancing alone when she was blasted.  And she was definitely blasted.

            The familiar strains of a song came on and she decided to forget the line in the bathroom and she headed out to the dance floor:

Ice ice baby

Vanilla ice ice baby

Paula danced in circles around the various couples on the floor.  She danced her way over to Drew and picked up her margarita. He made a move like he wanted to get up and join her, but she just leaned forward, gave him a kiss with her Scarlet Macaw red lipstick, and told him to stay put and watch.  Thoughts were running through her head – he’s up for the seduction.  Ha.  How easy men could be.  She looked over at him and winked.  He started to get up again, but she wagged her finger at him. No No No.  Stay put like a good boy she indicated. And being the kind of guy he was, sat right back down on the barstool.  Paula could tell he couldn’t do it fast enough, and she knew she him pegged right. He couldn’t and wouldn’t and probably shouldn’t dance. And that was fine by her.

6. Drew

            Drew watched Paula dance most of the three hours they were at the club.  He  finally had to pull out his VISA card because her drinking had run him out of cash.  He wanted to leave, couldn’t stand the music, and wondered if he could stand her.  He was dying to know what all that stuff was at the restaurant about drinking.  It just wasn’t making any sense. She drinks like a fish, he thought, and I’m going broke. What the hell am I doing here?

            He finally decided to he had to put an end to this. His head hurt from the music, he was out of money, and his VISA didn’t have much credit on it as it was.  He made his way over to the dance floor, and that is when she pulled him to her, pulled him into her breasts, the red satin covered breasts, and placed his hands on her butt, moving around seductively, making him quickly forget about the headache and the lack of credit and the questions he had in his mind.  This was it. This is what he came for. At last.

            After the music they were dancing to ended, Paula leaned in close to him and said, “Let’s get out of here.”  They held each other closely as they walked toward the door, he jamming his hand into his pocket to get her car keys.  Once at the car he was planning on a warm up for what was to come later. He would ask her, “your place or mine?”  Corny, he knew, but it would work.

            But, it didn’t work.  In fact, when they got back to Paula’s Corolla she silently got in.  He immediately could feel the chill.  She said, “That was fun, but I’ve had enough. Take me back to Applebees so you can get your car.”  He wanted so much to ask her what was going on, but something about her mood silenced him.  He drove quietly up U.S. 41, back to Corkscrew Road and to his car at the restaurant.  Before he had a chance to turn off the car, to see if they could talk for a while, she said, “Goodnight, Drew.  I’m tired.  It’s been fun.”  Fun?  He was so stunned he could barely move.  He finally leaned over to give her a kiss, just on the cheek, but she would have none of it.  “I said, GOODNIGHT.”  And he knew that was his cue. He opened the door and got out of the car.  He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should ask her what was wrong. But something warned him not to go there.  She was sitting in her car, on the passenger’s side, staring straight ahead. He just didn’t get it.  Against what was considered the gentleman’s way of doing things, he left her there, in the Applebee’s dark parking lot, and he went home, his head spinning from the strange turn of events.

            That night, in a hazy bubble of sleep, he dreamed of being somewhere north of Alaska, on a large ice float, floating up to the Arctic.  He felt warm, but yet there it was: ice, ice all around him.  It seemed he woke and slept and had the dream over and over.  Ice ice everywhere.

(The conclusion will be posted tomorrow)