Category: blogging

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 24

When I first saw it I thought it was an old country estate, converted and expanded into a golf clubhouse.

It wasn’t.  It is a purpose-built clubhouse and function center for corporate seminars and wedding receptions, as well as catering to the golfer, and golf tournaments.

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It also has a very good outlook over the golf course.

But, in my writer’s mind, this will provide inspiration for a story that could be set in a large country house,  with the central tower and lookout featuring in what might be a grisly death, and a group of guests who have gathered together to enact a mock murder that turns out to be very real.

Yes, the idea has been done to death over many many years, but I have a few new twists in mind.

Stay tuned.

Writing a book in 365 days – 130/131

Days 130 and 131

Writing exercise – use the following with new similies incorporated into the story:

His face was worn, like a … , The sky turned stormy, as though it was … , She was … as a … , He felt miserable as a …

…

I had been warned that the weather could change instantly, but I believed that to be an exaggeration.

Why?

I had been told that while the place I wanted to visit was once an old alluvial gold mine with some very interesting geological structures as well as an archaeological site that had the remnants of buildings dating back to what was believed to be an ancient advanced society, it was also owned by a mysterious old man, some of whom thought him to be a ghost whose permission had to be sought first before going there.

An old man, no one seemed to know his location.

It only added to the intrigue that surrounded the area.

Numerous newspaper reports suggested that it was Dargeville’s own Bermuda Triangle, where cell phones ceased to work, where apparitions could appear, of an old man, or a young girl dressed in period costume, where strange weather could erupt at any moment.

In my mind, something was going on there that someone didn’t want anyone to discover.

I’d stopped in at the diner, one of seven shops on a short main street that boasted a drapery, a hardware store, a drug store, a gas station, and a sheriff’s office. The opposite side of the road was a park, one that had just the bare minimum of maintenance.

Dargeville was literally a one-horse town. There was a horse hitching bar, and a horse was tethered to it. There was no sign of the owner, or anyone else for that matter.

Herb, the cook, the waiter, the server, in the diner was behind the server, and I could feel him watching me from the moment I stopped the car, till I walked into his diner.

The pie holder on the counter was empty. No, ‘only Dargeville can make such delicious apple pies’ apple pie was going to be tasted today, a slight disappointment.

“Where are you headed?” was his opening gambit.

“The gold fields.”

“You need permission. Old man Dargeville doesn’t like intruders.”

“Where can I find him then?”

“That’s just it, you can’t. He domes, he goes, but no one knows exactly where he is.”

“Where was he seen last?”

“Here. Three days ago. Took the last of the apple pie.”

We both looked at the empty pie holder. I could see several crumbs that had been left behind.

“Pity,” I said. “It was the other reason why I came here. Nowhere else can I find him.”

The man waved his hand, “Out there, somewhere.”

“No pie, and no old man. What does he look like?”

He looked at me thoughtfully, thinking perhaps, correctly, I was not going to leave that easily.

“Old, dusty, bushy-bearded, battered hat. Sometimes he drops a line in at the river that’s at the end of the park, that way.” He pointed across the street and along the road. “Past the gas station.”

There was a sudden crack of thunder, followed by a few more rumblings.

Odd. The sky had been clear, except for some distant clouds.

“Time to move on, before the weather sets in. You don’t want to get stuck here; the motel is not a place I’d recommend you stay.”

Very welcoming. Not!

I shrugged. “As you say, not a place to be stranded. Thanks for your help.”

When I stepped outside and looked up, the sky was the same as it had been all morning. It made the thunder I’d just heard … Or was it my imagination?

I looked back to see the man in the diner on his cell phone. Perhaps he was telling the old man that I was coming. Or someone else.

…

I checked the riverside fishing spot at the end of the park, almost opposite the gas station, and indeed it showed signs that someone had been there very recently, a roll-your-own cigarette still burning through the last of the tobacco.

The call had been a heads-up that I was coming to see him.

So, the old man did exist. I decided to go ahead and visit the site, and took out my notebook to find the page with the instructions on how to get there.

Along the road I was on, for a further five miles where there was a rusted sign with a skull and cross bones and Hazardous materials written under it.

Five miles up the road, I found the sign, almost hidden behind overgrown bushes, very faded. More words, freshly painted, were added under Hazardous, ‘to your health’. Beside it was a drawing of a man with his head cut off and blood spurting out of the neck.

Someone had a sense of humour.

It was a further two miles up a track that sometimes disappeared except for tire ruts. I was glad I brought the off-road SUV. At precisely two miles, I stopped. I had to. A brand-new steel wire fence and gate had been erected, blocking the way.

Previously, from all the reports, there had been no fences or gates.

Another crack of thunder had me looking up, and there was a change. The sky turned stormy, as though it was a roiling witch’s cauldron, clouds swirling and shades of grey from dark to light changing almost like an electronic display.

I could smell rain in the air. The wind picked up and swished through the trees. Another crack of thunder, this time coming after a bolt of lightning that wasn’t far away.

On the gate was a sign. “Trespassers will be shot”, with several bullet holes above and below the words to emphasise the fact.

It did make me think twice before I got a weapon of my own, and then while searching for a way over the fence, I found a pedestrian gate about thirty yards along to the right, that wasn’t locked.

Curious. Just on the other side, I found an almost burnt-out cigarette, the same as that at the fishing spot. Whoever had been there was here.

There was a worn track on either side of the fence, so I followed it carefully. It was one of those wooded areas where you always had the feeling someone was watching you. The scrub was dense but not very high. There were trees, but sparse in number.

Long before I reached it, I could hear a river, or creek perhaps, but the sound of running water.

A few minutes later, I reached the edge of a clearing, and on the other side, away from where the track led, I saw a girl, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, not of this civilisation, dancing. She was the epitome of a summer’s day, so brightly dressed and so carefree.

She had neither seen nor heard me coming. I stayed and watched for a few minutes, and then she disappeared into the woods. I thought of following her, but it was off mission. The weather was holding off, but it might not last. I continued on towards the river.

Coming out of the woods, noting I had been following the creek for about three hundred yards, before me were the ruins of several structures that looked to me to have been built of mud bricks, and part of a much larger structure. The whole area back from the creek was paved in stones that made up a very sophisticated design.

It looked a bit like a town square, built around a well, and on the other side, what looked to be the ruins of a temple. What the gold miners made of it was anyone’s guess, but very few of their writings included anything about any ruins.

Further on from that was a seat, and there sat a man with his back to me. Battered hat, dusty clothes. I walked towards him. He didn’t turn around, as if he were expecting a visitor.

I stopped when I was alongside the seat, and then he turned to look at me. His face was worn, like that of an old leather chair, from years of exposure to the elements. I wondered if he felt as miserable as he looked.

He sighed. “I knew you’d come.”

“Hello, gramps.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Searching for Locations: Venice, Italy

Venice is definitely a city to explore.  It has an incredible number of canals and walkways, and each time we would start our exploration at St Marks square when it’s not underwater

Everyone I have spoken to about exploring Venice has told me how easy it is to get lost.  It has not happened to me, but with the infinite number of ways you can go, I guess it is possible.

We started our exploration of Venice in St Marks square, where, on one side there was the Museo di Palazzo Ducale and, next door, the Basilica di San Marco.  Early morning and/or at high tide, water can be seen bubbling up from under the square, partially flooding it.  I have seen this happen several times.  Each morning as we walked from the hotel (the time we stayed in the Savoia and Jolanda) we passed the Bridge of Sighs.

Around the other three sides of the square are archways and shops.  We have bought both confectionary and souvenirs from some of these stores, albeit relatively expensive.  Prices are cheaper in stores that are away from the square and we found some of these when we walked from St Marks square to the Railway station, through many walkways, and crossing many bridges, and passing through a number of small piazzas.

That day, after the trek, we caught the waterbus back to San Marco, and then went on the tour of the Museo di Palazzo Du which included the dungeons and the Bridge of Sighs from the inside.  It took a few hours, longer than I’d anticipated because there was so much to see.

The next day, we caught the waterbus from San Marco to the Ponte di Rialto bridge.  Just upstream from the wharf there was a very large passenger ship, and I noticed there were a number of passengers from the ship on the waterbus, one of whom spoke to us about visiting Venice.  I didn’t realize we looked like professional tourists who knew where we were going.

After a pleasant conversation, and taking in the views up and down the Grand Canal, we disembarked and headed for the bridge, looking at the shops, mostly selling upmarket and expensive gifts, and eventually crossing to the other side where there was a lot of small market type stalls selling souvenirs as well as clothes, and most importantly, it being a hot day, cold Limonata.  This was my first taste of Limonata and I was hooked.

Continuing on from there was a wide street at the end and a number of restaurants where we had lunch.  We had a map of Venice and I was going to plot a course back to the hotel, taking what would be a large circular route that would come out at the Accademia Bridge, and further on to the Terminal Fusina Venezia where there was another church to explore, the Santa Maria del Rosario.

This is a photo of the Hilton Hotel from the other side of the canal.

It was useful knowledge for the second time we visited Venice because the waterbus from the Hilton hotel made its first stop, before San Marco, there.  We also discovered on that second visit a number of restaurants on the way from the terminal and church to the Accademia Bridge.

This is looking back towards San Marco from the Accademia Bridge:

And this, looking towards the docks:

Items to note:

Restaurants off the beaten track were much cheaper and the food a lot different to that in the middle of the tourist areas.

There are a lot of churches, big and small, tucked away in interesting spots where there are small piazza’s.  You can look in all of them, though some asked for a small fee.

Souvenirs, coffee, and confectionary are very expensive in St Marks square.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 27

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

I was taken to the hospital, despite the fact the paramedics deemed that I might not be as badly concussed as they first thought.  At the very least, I got a ride in the ambulance and painkilling pills that were very effective.

They kept me in the emergency department in between being taken for X-Rays, and I think something they called a CT Scan.  Whatever it was, it didn’t help my claustrophobia.  When that was completed, my mother was waiting in the cubicle.  Benderby, looking concerned, stood behind her.

After the attendant left, he said, “I’ll be going now.  Take all the time you need to recover Sam; I’ll make sure you don’t lose any wages over this.  And you can be assured that it will not happen again, and we will get the people who did this.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m just glad nothing worse happened to you.”

He said something to my mother in hushed tones and then left.  My mother had got over her initial reaction, and a more curious look had replaced the one of fear.

“Tell me you didn’t try to apprehend those thieves yourself, Sam.”

“No, I didn’t.  I didn’t know there was anyone in the building until I was hit from behind.  I’m not sure what they thought they were going to find there that was of any value, it’s just parts for some of the products built there.”

“People will steal anything for money these days.  You should know that.  Times are not as good for some.  Perhaps it’s not a good idea for you to work there is this is going to happen again.”

“You heard Mr Benderby.  He’ll make sure security is improved, and I suspect I was in the wrong place at the wrong time because I don’t normally go into the warehouse itself, that someone else’s purview.  So, stop worrying, and go home.  I’m fine.”

I wished she would go.  I wanted to check if Boggs had been brought in and see what had happened to him.  I also wanted to know if the perpetrator was Vince.  If it was, Nadia was first on my list for a visit when I got out of the hospital.

It seemed to mollify her concern.

“Mr Benderby said to tell you if you need a ride home, to call this number,” she gave me a piece of paper with a phone number on it, “and a driver will come.  He’s been very nice about everything.  You will thank him.”

“I will.  Yes.  Now go home.  Get some rest.  And stop worrying about me.”


Ten minutes later, I got off the bed and stood.  Well, I tried to stand, but my head wasn’t quite ready to accept that it was in command of everything else.  It took only seconds for the room to start spinning, and I had to lie down again.

My reconnaissance was going to have to wait for an hour or so.

A nurse came and checked my blood pressure and pulse, both high but not off the chart, and she went off looking concerned.

A few minutes after that an orderly went by with another bed, empty but recently used, and I recognised him as another of the boys Boggs and I went to school with.  He was destined for bigger things, but it seems he, too, never got out of the neighbourhood.

He saw me looking at him, stopped, and his expression told me he’d recognised me.

“Sam?”

“Angelo?”

“The same.  I’ll be back after I’ve dropped off this bed.  Won’t be long.  I won’t ask how you are, you must be sick if you’re in that bed.”

True.  And it was natural to ask, ‘How are you?’ when you see someone after having not seen them a while, even if you are in a hospital.  A weird custom indeed, which occupied my thoughts till he returned.


Angelo had been the smartest kid in our class, and we had all assumed that he would become a doctor, or a lawyer, one of those jobs that made piles of money.  He was also the boy whom all the girls swooned over.

Being his friend had benefits.

Unfortunately, Boggs and I, not being the two brightest kids, didn’t register on his friend’s scale.  In his favour, he was not a bully like Monty was, but I guess that went with being one of the school’s star athletes, but he did simply ignore us.

Now, it seems the mighty had fallen.  It was a destiny that seemed to befall anyone who came from our neighbourhood.

The same could be said for Monty, who got a sports scholarship to further his sporting career, but he too stumbled at the second hurdle, being done for performance-enhancing drugs, and banished to the boondocks from whence he came.

Now, as far as I knew, he was working for the Colosimo’s.

Angelo seemed bright enough.  That impression was confirmed when he returned with two bottles of soda and handed one to me.

“Hopefully it won’t kill you,” he said, sitting down.

“Shouldn’t.  I’m here because someone hit me over the head.”

“Bar fight?”

Once, in the old days, that might be the case.  “If only I could take the bragging rights, but no.  I work over at Benderby’s warehouse, and someone broke it.  Seems I got in the way.”

“Benderby’s eh?  Thought you said you’d die before ever working for them.”

True, we all said the same, in school, as naïve children who hadn’t yet learned how tough the world was going to be.

“Needs must.  My mother isn’t getting any younger, and it’s a struggle.  But I guess you already know that.  You were going to be a doctor, not a trolley pusher.”

His shook his head.  “As you say, reality trumps dreams.  Education costs, my parents couldn’t raise the money, and, well, I think you know the rest.”

A minute’s silence for the death of whatever dreams we may have had passed.

“Have you seen Boggs.  He’s here somewhere.”

“I saw him in ER, didn’t look too good, but I think it was mostly superficial wounds.  Apparently, some unknown assailants beat him up.  You two still hang out together?”

“Off and on.”

You weren’t with him when this happened.”  He nodded towards the bandage on my head.

“No.”  but, I thought, it was most likely the same person who inflicted both injuries.  Had Boggs set us both up for some reason?  It had to do with the treasure, and now Vince was in on the act.

“Does Boggs still go on about that Pirate treasure he reckons is buried here somewhere?  I mean, his dad used to bang on about it, and there’s no doubt it got him killed.  You reckon someone went after Boggs over it?”

Angelo hadn’t forgotten that even in school, Boggs had said he was going to be a treasure hunter when he grew up, and he had a map that would be the basis of his first quest.  That same map he told me was his father’s.

That same map that had got both of us beaten up.

“Is he here, somewhere?” I asked.

“Next ward.  Last I saw he was out; they gave him a sedative so he could rest.”

Squawking sounds came out of Angelo’s communicator, and only he seemed to know what it meant. 

He stood.  “Got to go now.  Perhaps we can catch up later.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

‘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: Florence, Italy

Florence is littered with endless statues, and we managed to see quite a few,

If those statues came to life I wonder what they might tell us?

Like castles on the shores of the Rhine, there are only so many statues you can take photos of.  Below are some of those I thought significant

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Michelangelo’s David directs his warning gaze at someone else.

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The impressive muscles of Baccio Bandinelli’s Hercules from 1533. The worked-out demi-god is pulling the hair of Cacus, who will be clubbed and strangled.

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Achilles with Polyxena in arm, stepping over her brother’s body

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Menelaus supporting the body of Patroclus, in the Loggia dei Lan

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Statue of Hercules killing the Centaur by Giambologna in Loggia dei Lanzi. Piazza della Signoria.

On the back of the Loggia there are six marble female statues, probably coming from the Trajan’s Foro in Rome, discovered in 1541 and brought to Florence in 1789

Writing a book in 365 days – 130/131

Days 130 and 131

Writing exercise – use the following with new similies incorporated into the story:

His face was worn, like a … , The sky turned stormy, as though it was … , She was … as a … , He felt miserable as a …

…

I had been warned that the weather could change instantly, but I believed that to be an exaggeration.

Why?

I had been told that while the place I wanted to visit was once an old alluvial gold mine with some very interesting geological structures as well as an archaeological site that had the remnants of buildings dating back to what was believed to be an ancient advanced society, it was also owned by a mysterious old man, some of whom thought him to be a ghost whose permission had to be sought first before going there.

An old man, no one seemed to know his location.

It only added to the intrigue that surrounded the area.

Numerous newspaper reports suggested that it was Dargeville’s own Bermuda Triangle, where cell phones ceased to work, where apparitions could appear, of an old man, or a young girl dressed in period costume, where strange weather could erupt at any moment.

In my mind, something was going on there that someone didn’t want anyone to discover.

I’d stopped in at the diner, one of seven shops on a short main street that boasted a drapery, a hardware store, a drug store, a gas station, and a sheriff’s office. The opposite side of the road was a park, one that had just the bare minimum of maintenance.

Dargeville was literally a one-horse town. There was a horse hitching bar, and a horse was tethered to it. There was no sign of the owner, or anyone else for that matter.

Herb, the cook, the waiter, the server, in the diner was behind the server, and I could feel him watching me from the moment I stopped the car, till I walked into his diner.

The pie holder on the counter was empty. No, ‘only Dargeville can make such delicious apple pies’ apple pie was going to be tasted today, a slight disappointment.

“Where are you headed?” was his opening gambit.

“The gold fields.”

“You need permission. Old man Dargeville doesn’t like intruders.”

“Where can I find him then?”

“That’s just it, you can’t. He domes, he goes, but no one knows exactly where he is.”

“Where was he seen last?”

“Here. Three days ago. Took the last of the apple pie.”

We both looked at the empty pie holder. I could see several crumbs that had been left behind.

“Pity,” I said. “It was the other reason why I came here. Nowhere else can I find him.”

The man waved his hand, “Out there, somewhere.”

“No pie, and no old man. What does he look like?”

He looked at me thoughtfully, thinking perhaps, correctly, I was not going to leave that easily.

“Old, dusty, bushy-bearded, battered hat. Sometimes he drops a line in at the river that’s at the end of the park, that way.” He pointed across the street and along the road. “Past the gas station.”

There was a sudden crack of thunder, followed by a few more rumblings.

Odd. The sky had been clear, except for some distant clouds.

“Time to move on, before the weather sets in. You don’t want to get stuck here; the motel is not a place I’d recommend you stay.”

Very welcoming. Not!

I shrugged. “As you say, not a place to be stranded. Thanks for your help.”

When I stepped outside and looked up, the sky was the same as it had been all morning. It made the thunder I’d just heard … Or was it my imagination?

I looked back to see the man in the diner on his cell phone. Perhaps he was telling the old man that I was coming. Or someone else.

…

I checked the riverside fishing spot at the end of the park, almost opposite the gas station, and indeed it showed signs that someone had been there very recently, a roll-your-own cigarette still burning through the last of the tobacco.

The call had been a heads-up that I was coming to see him.

So, the old man did exist. I decided to go ahead and visit the site, and took out my notebook to find the page with the instructions on how to get there.

Along the road I was on, for a further five miles where there was a rusted sign with a skull and cross bones and Hazardous materials written under it.

Five miles up the road, I found the sign, almost hidden behind overgrown bushes, very faded. More words, freshly painted, were added under Hazardous, ‘to your health’. Beside it was a drawing of a man with his head cut off and blood spurting out of the neck.

Someone had a sense of humour.

It was a further two miles up a track that sometimes disappeared except for tire ruts. I was glad I brought the off-road SUV. At precisely two miles, I stopped. I had to. A brand-new steel wire fence and gate had been erected, blocking the way.

Previously, from all the reports, there had been no fences or gates.

Another crack of thunder had me looking up, and there was a change. The sky turned stormy, as though it was a roiling witch’s cauldron, clouds swirling and shades of grey from dark to light changing almost like an electronic display.

I could smell rain in the air. The wind picked up and swished through the trees. Another crack of thunder, this time coming after a bolt of lightning that wasn’t far away.

On the gate was a sign. “Trespassers will be shot”, with several bullet holes above and below the words to emphasise the fact.

It did make me think twice before I got a weapon of my own, and then while searching for a way over the fence, I found a pedestrian gate about thirty yards along to the right, that wasn’t locked.

Curious. Just on the other side, I found an almost burnt-out cigarette, the same as that at the fishing spot. Whoever had been there was here.

There was a worn track on either side of the fence, so I followed it carefully. It was one of those wooded areas where you always had the feeling someone was watching you. The scrub was dense but not very high. There were trees, but sparse in number.

Long before I reached it, I could hear a river, or creek perhaps, but the sound of running water.

A few minutes later, I reached the edge of a clearing, and on the other side, away from where the track led, I saw a girl, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, not of this civilisation, dancing. She was the epitome of a summer’s day, so brightly dressed and so carefree.

She had neither seen nor heard me coming. I stayed and watched for a few minutes, and then she disappeared into the woods. I thought of following her, but it was off mission. The weather was holding off, but it might not last. I continued on towards the river.

Coming out of the woods, noting I had been following the creek for about three hundred yards, before me were the ruins of several structures that looked to me to have been built of mud bricks, and part of a much larger structure. The whole area back from the creek was paved in stones that made up a very sophisticated design.

It looked a bit like a town square, built around a well, and on the other side, what looked to be the ruins of a temple. What the gold miners made of it was anyone’s guess, but very few of their writings included anything about any ruins.

Further on from that was a seat, and there sat a man with his back to me. Battered hat, dusty clothes. I walked towards him. He didn’t turn around, as if he were expecting a visitor.

I stopped when I was alongside the seat, and then he turned to look at me. His face was worn, like that of an old leather chair, from years of exposure to the elements. I wondered if he felt as miserable as he looked.

He sighed. “I knew you’d come.”

“Hello, gramps.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

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

In a word: Cell

For those who break the law, they will be very familiar with the meaning of the word cell.  It’s a room a jail, not very big, with an uncomfortable bed, and no sharp edges.

And I’m sure the prisoners are not supplied with knives so they can dig through the mortar and remove bricks on their way to the great escape.  That, I’m sure only happens at the movies.

A cell can also be a building block in the creation of humans, animals, fish, and plants.  No doubt there are a million other things that require cells.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this cellular activity is whether or not there is life, and therefore cells, on Mars.  I’m guessing we’ll have to wait a little longer to find out.

We can have a cell phone, which in some parts of the world is also the name of a mobile phone.

Don’t get me started on what I think of cell phones, or how intrusive they are on our everyday lives, the number of people who seem to be continually glued to the screen, or how many near misses there are in the street and crossing the road.

On the other hand cell phones in the hands of a writer are very useful because when we get flashes of story or plotlines in one of those once awkward moments, we can now jot it down on a cell phone scribbling pad.

A cell can also be used to describe a smaller unit within a larger organisation, or, if you are a thriller writer who dabbles in espionage, you will be very familiar with the concept of a sleeper cell.

Who knows, in reality, there might be some living next door to us and we would never know.  Oops, been watching too much television again.

Digging deeper into the more obscure definitions of the word cell, we come up with a single transparent sheet that has a single drawing on it, one of many that make up an animated film, or film.  If a film runs at 32 frames per second, that means there are 32 cells.

There are fuel cells

There are dry cell batteries

And as a general warning, don’t go too near cell towers or you will be a victim of radiation that might be extremely harmful to your health.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.