Month: April 2025

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 52

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the Second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

…

Carlo had returned, as promised, just over an hour later, and over the map, he showed where the explosives had been placed, under the tank, and where the men were camped.

They were set to go off in the early morning, giving them several hours before they had to assemble for the assault.  According to Carlo, the explosives would neutralise the tank and immobilise about 30 of the enemy.

That was only one problem.

The other was the men that the new commandant had sent out of the castle to presumably hunt down Atherton and whatever resistance was left.  They were noisy and failed to see Carlo following them, listening to their conversation.

It was obvious they were not trained for stealth.

The first mission was to take those men out of the equation.

Then there was a third problem, the last of the resistance in the castle, those left behind by Fernando, had taken all the prisoners out of the castle and executed them.

Carlo had then killed those men and left them with the bodies of the murdered defectors, and, unlike his German counterparts, he had undertaken it swiftly and silently.

Our force of eight moved quietly in the direction Carlo last saw the soldiers heading, he assumed towards the underground wine cellar where Martina had taken me after I had been captured.

We managed to hide Chiara in a spot where the enemy if they came to the church, would not find her.  The plan was to find them before they got to or left the cellar.

Of course, like any plan, it could always be guaranteed to go wrong.

The last time I went from the cellar to the church, it had been by an old truck, and by my estimation, it would take us about half an hour by foot.  It might, by the time we got there, and found them missing, make us late for the main event.

I looked at my watch about a dozen times on that trek, fretting about time which for some odd reason seemed to be passing faster than usual.

Then, Carlo was waving his hands, a signal I assumed was to tell us to stop.  We were not far from the cellar.  I recognised the landmark used to find it.  We formed up in a line just inside the thicket line, a bunch of overgrown bushes providing excellent cover.

Beyond that, we could see intermittent flashes of light from torches.  The soldiers were making no attempt to hide their presence.

Blinky was beside me.  “What the hell are they playing at?”

“Perhaps they thought if they made a bold attack we’d wilt under the surprise.”

“Or just shoot them.  Why are we waiting?”

“Carlo is ascertaining their position.”

“You trust this Carlo.  He could be leading us into a trap up at the castle.”

I was surprised he’d taken this long to express his reservations.  “Don’t be surprised if he kills everyone in the German squad himself.  His home was in that castle.  It was his life.  They killed his friends.  He is not forgiving.”

Jack chose that moment to return from wherever he’d gone soon after we reached the thicket.  He had come with me from the church, and I wondered if he knew just how dangerous it could be.  He flopped down beside me, waiting.

“What’s with the dog?”

“We found each other at an ambush.  Been with me ever since.  I have no idea if he’s German, or Italian, or if he understands English.  But there’s no questioning his loyalty, he helped me take down Jackerby.

“Well, just as long as I don’t trip over him in the fray of battle.”

We watched the German soldiers who remained on sentry duty when I thought the entrance to the cellar was, and I assumed the others were down in the cellar.

It was what Carlo said was the case when he returned.

Ten in the cellar, two on guard, though I would not call what they were doing sentry duty.  They were smoking and talking, guns leaning up against a tree.

Easy shots for our sniper who at this moment had both in his sights.

Carlo kneeled beside me and said, “Cover your ears, pass it on.”

I did, and thirty seconds later there was a huge explosion followed by a storm of soil particles falling on his.  The sniper, in the instance following the boom, shot the two sentries.

German forces were eliminated.

The only issue was the castle was now alerted to our presence, so our arrival at the castle was going to be a little more difficult.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2023

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – Z

…

Z is for Zoo.  It seemed that who’s who in the zoo was about to be very much a statement.

…

There’s the easy way and the convoluted way to go to jail. 

The first, the easy way, commit a crime, hand yourself in, plead guilty, and the justice department will be falling over themselves to frogmarch you to the front gate

The hard way, trying to create a foolproof backstory with official evidentiary documents, to take you seemingly from one jail to another without raising suspicion.

Of course, it was never my intention to become a felon, but people are sometimes so stupid they don’t know when to back off.  And, of course, we are trained never to ‘lose it’ under any circumstances, but I did.

In front of about a hundred other prisoners who made very reliable witnesses.  He was kind of popular, so that made my continued presence in that prison untenable.

Hence the move.  No trial, an extra twenty years, I should see the world outside again when I was too old to enjoy it.

I would have time to contemplate the mistakes of the past for a long time.  Or not.  The prison I was going to was notorious for chewing up and spitting out newbies in their system.

I had a name, Louie.  It’s best not to call him that, I was told.  He was the one to look out for.  There were another hundred or so, all varying degrees of Louie-like danger, so my hands would be full for a while.

Along with six other new prisoners, we were taken inside.  There we were given the once over by the warden, whose expression when he looked at me was the very definition of hatred.  Then he had three of the guards drag me into a room up the passage. Special treatment, he said with a smile, that told me it was not a special I was going to like.

Once onside with door shit, two professionals, the guards beat me with their batons.  Bruises, abrasions, and barely able to walk, I rejoined the others, who all looked the other way lest they incur the same wrath.

An hour in the dispensary, then taken to meet my new best friend, it was the greeting I expected.

The guard stopped me outside the two-bunk cells that I would get to call my Hilton hotel room.  My roomie was lying on his bed, odd since he should be out on the exercise yard with his friends, but I was guessing he was going to lay down the ground rules.

“Your new roomie, Dyson.”

He glanced over at me, then at the guard.  “I’m paying the single rate.”

“Not any more.”  The guard nodded at me to go in and shake a plain to the empty bed.

This is going to be interesting.

I took a step towards the bunk, and he was out of his bunk and standing in my way.

I looked him straight in the eye.  “This can go two ways, Dyson.  You keep standing there, and I get to stake a few weeks on solitary.  Since I’m used to it, it’s no skin off my nose.  But you, you might not walk again, or maybe this time I’ll see if I can rip your arm off and beat you with it.  Lasy guy, I tried to prove it could be done, but he died.  You know where I’m from, and you know why I’m here.”

I made it menacing enough.  Most of the men in this jail didn’t frighten easily.

Tyson looked at the guard. 

“My money is on the fact he’ll do it.  Plenty of you idiots who don’t know when to leave well alone.  I’ll turn around so I can say I didn’t see who started it.”

Which is what he did.

Tyson backed down and sat on his bunk.  “Louie isn’t going to be pleased.”

“Not trying to please or displease anyone.  All I want is a quiet contract and to be left alone.”

And knowing that was never going to happen.

“Get along, Dyson.” The guard said, just before he left.

After I threw everything on the bed, not that it amounted to much, and certainly nothing worth stealing, it was time to get some air.

The cell was quite stuffy, and Dyson wasn’t the cleanest of men.  I might tell him later, when he is a little more friendly.

“Which way to the exercise yard?”

“Follow the passage to the end and turn left.  You’ll see it.”

“Don’t like exercise?”

“Don’t like the inmates.  You’ll see.”

I’m sure I would.  As far as I was aware, Louie had my resume, and when I read it, it was impressive.  Mostly enemy soldiers, but there were also a few who were not.

I came out into the sunshine, and when the others out there realised who it was, they stopped and glared at me.  Not in a friendly manner.

There were two waiting by the entrance, ready for what? Were they expecting trouble?.  I could see the man called Louie on the other side, sitting on the bleachers, his acolytes around him.

The two men were almost beside me when they stopped.  One of the left, short, obese, and sweating badly, said, “You have an appointment.”

The one on the right looked menacing.  He was in trouble because he had his hand in his pocket, so there was a ship, knife or another weapon there.

Np point in giving him an excuse to get beat up.

I shrugged. “I don’t remember making one, but if you say so.”

He nodded in the direction of the man I thought was Louie.  I shrugged again and walked.  Slowly.  If things went south, I needed a strategy.

Of course, there was never enough time.  We were standing in front of him.  No matter.  He was intent on ignoring me because he could.  He was the boss.  I’m not sure how or why.

A minute passed, then two. 

Never the patient, man, I said, “Listen shit for brains, you make an appointment you keep it.  I’ll count to three, and if your head’s still up your ass, then I’m going over the other side.”  I waited a few seconds, then said, “One.”

He glanced at me.  To do otherwise would lessen his prestige.

“Two.”

He smiled, then turned.  “Have you noticed people are always in a hurry?”  He said it to no one in particular.

“To fie,” I said.  “Yes, they are. I’m sure you don’t want to be one of those, do you?”

The smile turned to a frown.  “You should be more respectful.”

“Respect us earned, not given or expected.”

I saw the imperceptible nod to the enforcer and was ready.  Disarmed and arm twisted out of its socket, he was no longer a threat.  I threw the shiv over the fence, outside.

The enforcer hadn’t made a sound short of a grunt, but he stayed down.  No one else moved.

“Sorry.  I needed to verify who you are, Stanson.  The best of the best now is the best of the worst?”

“Whatever.  You’ve had your fifteen minutes.  I’m going over there,” I pointed to the bench on the other side of the compound.  “And rest in peace.  I won’t be so kind to the next fool you send.”

“As you wish.  But we still have to have words.”

“Then call my secretary and make an appointment.”

A final look at the red spots growing on his cheeks, and I walked away.  No one followed me.  It was not a victory, just a minor delay before he came back.

There had been a plan, and when I heard it, I sat back and laughed.

It was anything but a plan, except if I wanted to die before one day had passed.

Everyone knew who ran that prison. 

Louie.

And to get what they wanted, which I didn’t know about, simply because if I did and was captured and tortured, they would discover who was behind this charade, they needed to neutralise Louie

And the three attempts so far had failed spectacularly, and in the process had alerted him to what they were trying to do.

I told them it was a mistake.

They then made me an impossible promise, one I knew they would never keep because they knew I would not see it through.

I was surprised I got to see Louie, so perhaps one aspect of this mission might be true. Louie was scared, not of me, but of someone else.

The question was, who?

I pondered all of these questions in that dank gold called solitary confinement.  I was there firstly for my protection, no other prisoners were allowed near me, and secondly, I could not be seen to get away with harming another prisoner.

Then I heard the outer door being unlocked.

An unscheduled visit. 

Could it be that there was someone else in the prison who was facilitating a host, and not a friendly one?

There was no hiding spot in the cell, so all I could do was be ready if the guard was hostile.  A figure loomed out of the darkness into the dull glow of the low-wattage globe illumination and space in front of my cell door.  It had been the only light I’d had for days.

“Good.  You’re awake.”

My contact in the jail, the one whom I was to go to, if I got into trouble.  Why was he here? He was not supposed to approach me.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“There’s an opportunity.  Louie has been taken to the infirmary.  He will be alone.  You have 30 minutes to do what you have to.”  He dropped a bag on the other side of the door, then opened it.  “Change of clothes and tools.”

“Afterwards?”

“You disappear.  As promised.”

There were so many holes in this plan. I didn’t know where to begin.  “Who put this on motion?”

“The same person who put Louie in the hospital.  You’re wasting time.”

Three minutes to freshen up and change, then along the passage and up to ground level.  Out one door and in the next, along another passage, and we were outside the infirmary.  Another four minutes.

A nurse was sitting at a desk, with monitors on three beds with prisoners.  The middle one was Louie.  My guard pointed to the middle door on the other side of the passage we were standing in.

The monitors blinked, the screens went fuzzy, and then came back on.  Replay, so my presence in his room would go unnoticed.

He knocked and went into the room with the nurse.  I didn’t wait to see what he was going to do.  I crossed to the door and listened, then went in.

He watched me warily as I closed the door.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

“Why?” I crossed to his bed.  Handcuffed.  Precautions.

“You’ve come from Alexander, haven’t you?”

Alexander was the crazy man who made promises he couldn’t keep.

“He is crazy.  I told him that.  And yet here I am.  You know why I’m here?”

“He blames me for Forrester’s death.  I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then why are you on a video, clear as day, shooting him in the back of the head.  An execution.  You said he was a traitor, and traitors get their just deserts.  To you, maybe, but not his country.”

“And you’re going to execute me?”

He didn’t deny it, which he strenuously did in court before they found the video.  There had been a camera, but it was broken.  Someone else had installed another, one not so obvious, and when we reviewed the recordings, it was clear why it was there and had led to a dozen other arrests.  The footage of my brother’s death was collateral damage.

“It was my first thought, but you need to suffer.”

“He didn’t if it’s any consolation.  Just what does it have to do with you?”

“My brother.”

“You look nothing like him.”

“Well, that’s as much I’m going to tell you.”  I pulled the hypodermic syringe that was also in the bag of clothes and jabbed it into his leg.

Less than a second.  Justice.

“What did you just do?” 

“Give you a lifetime to reflect on what you did.”

I gave him a last look, the serum starting to work, relaxing all of his muscles, and in about ten minutes would completely paralyse him.

If he was lucky, they would recognise what had happened and give him the other syringe sitting on the bedside table.  It wouldn’t unparalyse him, but it would make it so he could live, only with full-time care. He could not move or speak, but behind that mask, his mind would be active, and he could play over and over the actions that got him there.

Justice for murdering my brother.

And this prison was now free of his influence and threats.

Did that mean I could take over?

No.  It simply meant I’d repaid a debt and was now free. 

My prison contact returned, took me out the back way through an unknown passageway, built secretly at the time of the prison itself, there in case the warden and his family needed to escape, when a car was waiting.

To go anywhere I told them.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 104

Day 104

Great are the days when writing flows easily, and bad are the days when it doesn’t flow at all. What you’re striving for is somewhere in the middle.

If that is at all possible.

Conditions have to be conducive, which means it doesn’t necessarily follow that you can write just anywhere.

That means you need, if it is at all possible, to set up a little, or big, nook someone in your residence where you can write.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be free of distractions, except, of course, the electronic kind.  Of course, if you are writing on a computer of any sort,t it would be better if it were not connected to the internet, where every few seconds there’s an alert, an email, a phone call, or breaking news headlines.

Nor do you really want to be near a phone, except if you’re expecting a call from your agent telling you you just got a multi-million dollar three-film contract.

OK, I’m projecting my own desires here…

But…

A writing room or nook would to me be a room with a view, my preference overlooking the ocean high on a cliff so that I could see the roiling ocean and dhimips battling against the odds.

Distraction.

Not necessarily, but on summery days it can provide the background for a lengthy piece of prose, or even a poem, an ode to days of leisure.

And to dream…

Yes inspired.

In such a computable and familiar place, it is possible to write without hindrance.  I do not have a room with a view, but I am surrounded by a thousand books, lounge chairs, and the tools to inspire me.

Writing isn’t difficult. It’s more about getting out there because the daily routine often gets in the way

But, my best writing happens at night after everyone has retired for the day, and the words come.  Often, it is no trouble to write a whole short story or several chapters of a novel.

But, then, having participated in the yearly A to Z blog month and twice yearly NANOWRIMO novel writing month has conditioned me to getting the job done. 

Searching for locations: The Kingston Flyer, Kingston, New Zealand

The Kingston Flyer was a vintage train that ran about 14km to Fairlight from Kingston, at the southern end of Lake Wakatipu, and back.

This tourist service was suspended in December 2012 because of locomotive issues.

However, before that, we managed to go on one of the tours, and it was a memorable trip.  Trying to drink a cup of tea from the restaurant car was very difficult, given how much the carriages moved around on the tracks.

The original Kingston Flyer ran between Kingston, Gore, Invercargill, and sometimes Dunedin, from the 1890s through to 1957.

There are two steam locomotives used for the Kingston Flyer service, the AB778 starting service in 1925, and the AB795 which started service in 1927.

The AB class locomotive was a 4-6-2 Pacific steam locomotive with a Vanderbilt tender, of which 141 were built between 1915 and 1927 some of which by New Zealand Railways Addington Workshops.

No 235 is the builder’s number for the AB778

There were seven wooden bodied passenger carriages, three passenger coaches, one passenger/refreshments carriage and two car/vans.  The is also a Birdcage gallery coach.  Each of the rolling stock was built between 1900 and 1923.  They were built at either of Addington, Petone, or Hillside.

I suspect the 2 on the side means second class

The passenger coach we traveled in was very comfortable.

This is one of the guard’s vans, and for transporting cargo.

The Kingston Railway Station

and cafe.

A poster sign advertising the Kingston Flyer

The running times for the tourist services, when it was running.

NANOWRIMO – April 2025 – Day 30

…

The Fourth Son

…

The reporter

When the story is over, you realise you’ve forgotten a major chunk of it.

It’s one of those wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and screaming.

I was just looking at the first few chapters and realised, what about that horrid reporter that confronted them in the restaurant?

While Cherise dealt with the problem, it occurred to me later that she would be perfect for the new king to get an outsider, and a cynic at that, view.

Yes, he does get a little payback later on at the media conference at the Embassy when he arrives back from Ruth’s home.

So, now there’s a new chapter or section where the ambassador summons her editorial boss, and they put a proposal to both of them.

This will also then lead to an interview of sorts on the plane when they are coming home, where he has become King

I’m also including a new chapter where he meets with Archie, an old friend and the head of the principality’s only newspaper and TV station.

And there will be a revolving door of interaction with the media.

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

Searching for locations: Huka Falls, Taupo, New Zealand

Huka Falls is located in the Wairakei Tourist Park about five minutes north of Taupo on the north island of New Zealand.

2013-03-12 12.28.21

The Waikato River heading towards the gorge

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The water heading down the gorge, gathering pace

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until it crashes over the top of the waterfall at the rate of about 220,000 liters per second.  It also makes a very loud noise, so that when you are close to it, hearing anything but the falls is impossible.

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 104

Day 104

Great are the days when writing flows easily, and bad are the days when it doesn’t flow at all. What you’re striving for is somewhere in the middle.

If that is at all possible.

Conditions have to be conducive, which means it doesn’t necessarily follow that you can write just anywhere.

That means you need, if it is at all possible, to set up a little, or big, nook someone in your residence where you can write.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be free of distractions, except, of course, the electronic kind.  Of course, if you are writing on a computer of any sort,t it would be better if it were not connected to the internet, where every few seconds there’s an alert, an email, a phone call, or breaking news headlines.

Nor do you really want to be near a phone, except if you’re expecting a call from your agent telling you you just got a multi-million dollar three-film contract.

OK, I’m projecting my own desires here…

But…

A writing room or nook would to me be a room with a view, my preference overlooking the ocean high on a cliff so that I could see the roiling ocean and dhimips battling against the odds.

Distraction.

Not necessarily, but on summery days it can provide the background for a lengthy piece of prose, or even a poem, an ode to days of leisure.

And to dream…

Yes inspired.

In such a computable and familiar place, it is possible to write without hindrance.  I do not have a room with a view, but I am surrounded by a thousand books, lounge chairs, and the tools to inspire me.

Writing isn’t difficult. It’s more about getting out there because the daily routine often gets in the way

But, my best writing happens at night after everyone has retired for the day, and the words come.  Often, it is no trouble to write a whole short story or several chapters of a novel.

But, then, having participated in the yearly A to Z blog month and twice yearly NANOWRIMO novel writing month has conditioned me to getting the job done. 

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York