Days 109 and 110

Writing exercise – a conversation in a restaurant, what they ordered last time, what they’re eating this time, what they like or dislike about the place, and how long since their last visit.

…

Just as I was walking out of the front entrance of my apartment block, I received a message.

The ring tone that went with it was a special one, attached to my mother, and it had been the first since I last left home two years ago.

And it was about the same person, a girl I went to school with, who I came to New York with after we graduated and where she only stayed for two weeks, I had stayed for two years.

He mail was short and succinct.  Nina was back for the day.  There was no reason why, and it was as cryptic as any of her messages.  I shrugged.  In a city as big as this, there was no way I’d see her, and for that reason, I simply shrugged and went to work, thinking no more of it.

I had bigger issues, the fact it was going to be a promotion or resignation.  I’d paid my dues, and it was time.

Of course, things rarely play out in reality the way they do in your mind.  All the way in, I went over all the scenarios, all the reasons, all the evidence meticulously collected to show Eaterson, the man who held my future in his hands.

He had even said, as recently as the week before, that I was due for a promotion for all the hard work and excellent results.  I had high hopes.

Instead, I walked out of his office, unemployed.  There had been much discussion during the previous week, with various candidates being put forward, and in the end, a rival won the day.  My turn was not far away, but I decided it was now or never.

There was not much resistance when I proffered my resignation, which meant his platitudes were rather hollow, so I handed him the document and told him I could go in two weeks or right now.

It was immediate, and was escorted to the door.

Things happen for a reason.  It just doesn’t appear to be the case at the time, but often becomes apparent later on.

Outside the door, looking back, I shrugged.  If anything, it had been a stepping stone to be chalked up to experience.  Right then, I had no idea how it would help me later on, but there would be time for rumination later.

I’d timed my meeting so that if it did or didn’t go south, I would be able to celebrate or commiserate at my favourite restaurant not far from the office.

For the first time in years, I was not in a hurry and could amble along the sidewall like a tourist rather than a harried employee. 

Outside, going to open the door, my hand reached the same time as another and when I stepped back, seeing it was a lady and manners took over. When she turned to thank me, I saw it was Nina.

She also stepped back and smiled.  “Kevin.”

“Nina!”

I opened the door, and she went through, and I followed her.  We stepped up to the front desk together. 

“Are you here to meet someone?”

“As it happens, yes.  You.  If you remember, we used to come here once a week, on a Thursday, which is today.  I had hoped you would still come here, and you do.”

The girl came back to the desk after taking another couple to a table.

“Are you together?” She asked.

I looked at Nina.

“If you are not here to see someone else?” Nina said.

“I’m not.”

“Then,” the girl said, “You are together.  Follow me.”

We weaved between the tables to the back near the bar and sat, almost the same table we had sat the last time we had eaten there, the day Nina left to go home.

Drink order taken, she left us with menus.  I think we both knew what we were having.

“Remember that last lunch, nearly two years ago, you said that I should try the lobster.  It was very expensive, but you said it would be a perfect way to cap off what had been a wonderful two weeks.  Lobster and champagne.”

“You never said.”

“I loved it, but it was expensive.”

“Then we shall have it again. It will be my treat.”

“I can pay my share.”

There was an element of the same defensiveness she always had if she thought her integrity was being impugned.  It was, if anything, the only fault she had.  On my part, after time to think about it, I could see why she didn’t like the idea of my paying for her.  I’d always believe it was my responsibility if I asked her out and forgot that we lived in a different world from the one my parents expected me to live in.

“And so you shall.  I’m sorry.  I keep forgetting.”

The drinks arrived as we ordered.  “I hope the service has improved.  They used to take forever.”

That was two years ago, even a year ago, but the management had changed, and everything changed.  It had become more professional and more orientated towards business people who were under a time limit.  I told her that since then, the service has been spectacular.

A few sips of the champagne and a few moments to see she had not changed, except in hair colour and length.  I had missed her, and my feelings towards her had not changed.  And I knew she had not found and married another guy since returning home.  Mother took an interest in matters like that.

“How is your job?  Did you reach the divisional manager?”

She knew my master plan and where I would be by now.  It was the job I had just missed put on.

“No.”

“Still at Benders?”

“No.”

“Oh.  What happened?”

“They didn’t give me the promotion.”

“OK.  Where are you now?”

“Here with you.”

“I mean…  Oh.  Do I assume that you resigned?”

“I did.”

“Can you afford not to have a job?”

“No.  That’s why I’m coming home.  I have a few things to clear up, and then I’m on the plane.  Silly question, but why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, see how you were going.”

“And…”

“Does there have to be an and?”  Furrowed brow, the prelude to a frown.

“No.  I’m just curious.  It’s just that you were always the one who never did anything without a reason.”

“Well, I’ve changed.  I came here to see you.  I took the chance that you would still eat at the same restaurant.  I had not expected you would not have a job.  I came to ask you if there was any chance you might be coming home soon.”

“Then you did have a reason.”

She sighed.  “Just answer the question.”

When I took a few seconds to consider the possible reasons, and knowing her as well as I did, I came to an interesting conclusion, one that caused a sudden ache in my heart.

Back when we graduated and went to the prom together, at some point we promised each other that we would tell the other if we were going to marry someone else.  It had been a given back then that we would marry the other when we achieved success.  I hadn’t, and not hearing from her believed she hadn’t either.

Perhaps I was wrong.

“Tomorrow, but probably in a day or two.  I have to finalise a few details before I can leave.  I’m sure my parents will be glad to see me.  Why?”

“Because I really don’t want to marry Giles.”

“Westerby?”

“My mother thinks I’m about to become an old maid left on the shelf and working her way through Oldbury County’s eligible bachelors.  Giles is the latest and he’s keen.”

“Because no one else will take him.”

“Perhaps, but he can provide a girl a life of luxury to which she could become accustomed.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of there’s nothing else in the offing.  According to my mother, my childbearing days are rapidly diminishing.”

“You’re barely into your mid-20s.”

“You know, mother’s.  You also have one, and she longs to hold a grandchild, yours preferably, and more likely than one from your brothers.”  She shrugged.  “We could go home and pretend we’re engaged.  It’d solve the Giles problem, and we could string the engagement out for a few months and then let it fizzle.”

“Or we could just get married.  I mean, we always said we would.  If no one else wanted us or had first right of refusal.”

“Would you still want to.  I mean, we were silly kids back then, all starry-eyed and full of impossible plans.”

“I meant it.  Didn’t you?”

“I did, but I never thought you’d remember.  I thought you were just saying what I wanted to hear.”

“I loved you more than anything.  It broke my heart when you went home.”

“I had to.  I missed home too much.  You were the only one, and as you can see, I waited.  And then I’m here giving you first right of refusal.”

“That sounds pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t think of a better way of putting it.  You are my first and, to be truthful, only preference.  But, if you have had a change of heart…”

“I have not.  Let’s have lunch, I think I can see it coming now, and afterwards, we’ll go to Tiffany’s.  If we’re going to do this, let’s do it in style.” I took both her hands in mine.  “Oh, and just to be formal, will you marry me?”

“Fine.  I had hoped it might be more traditional, but yes.”

I kissed her hand.  “Excellent.  We will make a stop after going to Tiffany’s.  There’s a special spot in Central Park where I’m told you can propose.  We’ll get a horse and carriage and flowers.”

“And photographs.”  She smiled.

“And photographs.”

“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“No.  But my horoscope this morning was too coincidental to not come true.  An old friend will come back into your life, causing you to make a life-changing decision.”

Glasses refilled, toast made, lunch arriving at the table, everything had turned out as I expected it would.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Days 109 and 110

Writing exercise – a conversation in a restaurant, what they ordered last time, what they’re eating this time, what they like or dislike about the place, and how long since their last visit.

…

Just as I was walking out of the front entrance of my apartment block, I received a message.

The ring tone that went with it was a special one, attached to my mother, and it had been the first since I last left home two years ago.

And it was about the same person, a girl I went to school with, who I came to New York with after we graduated and where she only stayed for two weeks, I had stayed for two years.

He mail was short and succinct.  Nina was back for the day.  There was no reason why, and it was as cryptic as any of her messages.  I shrugged.  In a city as big as this, there was no way I’d see her, and for that reason, I simply shrugged and went to work, thinking no more of it.

I had bigger issues, the fact it was going to be a promotion or resignation.  I’d paid my dues, and it was time.

Of course, things rarely play out in reality the way they do in your mind.  All the way in, I went over all the scenarios, all the reasons, all the evidence meticulously collected to show Eaterson, the man who held my future in his hands.

He had even said, as recently as the week before, that I was due for a promotion for all the hard work and excellent results.  I had high hopes.

Instead, I walked out of his office, unemployed.  There had been much discussion during the previous week, with various candidates being put forward, and in the end, a rival won the day.  My turn was not far away, but I decided it was now or never.

There was not much resistance when I proffered my resignation, which meant his platitudes were rather hollow, so I handed him the document and told him I could go in two weeks or right now.

It was immediate, and was escorted to the door.

Things happen for a reason.  It just doesn’t appear to be the case at the time, but often becomes apparent later on.

Outside the door, looking back, I shrugged.  If anything, it had been a stepping stone to be chalked up to experience.  Right then, I had no idea how it would help me later on, but there would be time for rumination later.

I’d timed my meeting so that if it did or didn’t go south, I would be able to celebrate or commiserate at my favourite restaurant not far from the office.

For the first time in years, I was not in a hurry and could amble along the sidewall like a tourist rather than a harried employee. 

Outside, going to open the door, my hand reached the same time as another and when I stepped back, seeing it was a lady and manners took over. When she turned to thank me, I saw it was Nina.

She also stepped back and smiled.  “Kevin.”

“Nina!”

I opened the door, and she went through, and I followed her.  We stepped up to the front desk together. 

“Are you here to meet someone?”

“As it happens, yes.  You.  If you remember, we used to come here once a week, on a Thursday, which is today.  I had hoped you would still come here, and you do.”

The girl came back to the desk after taking another couple to a table.

“Are you together?” She asked.

I looked at Nina.

“If you are not here to see someone else?” Nina said.

“I’m not.”

“Then,” the girl said, “You are together.  Follow me.”

We weaved between the tables to the back near the bar and sat, almost the same table we had sat the last time we had eaten there, the day Nina left to go home.

Drink order taken, she left us with menus.  I think we both knew what we were having.

“Remember that last lunch, nearly two years ago, you said that I should try the lobster.  It was very expensive, but you said it would be a perfect way to cap off what had been a wonderful two weeks.  Lobster and champagne.”

“You never said.”

“I loved it, but it was expensive.”

“Then we shall have it again. It will be my treat.”

“I can pay my share.”

There was an element of the same defensiveness she always had if she thought her integrity was being impugned.  It was, if anything, the only fault she had.  On my part, after time to think about it, I could see why she didn’t like the idea of my paying for her.  I’d always believe it was my responsibility if I asked her out and forgot that we lived in a different world from the one my parents expected me to live in.

“And so you shall.  I’m sorry.  I keep forgetting.”

The drinks arrived as we ordered.  “I hope the service has improved.  They used to take forever.”

That was two years ago, even a year ago, but the management had changed, and everything changed.  It had become more professional and more orientated towards business people who were under a time limit.  I told her that since then, the service has been spectacular.

A few sips of the champagne and a few moments to see she had not changed, except in hair colour and length.  I had missed her, and my feelings towards her had not changed.  And I knew she had not found and married another guy since returning home.  Mother took an interest in matters like that.

“How is your job?  Did you reach the divisional manager?”

She knew my master plan and where I would be by now.  It was the job I had just missed put on.

“No.”

“Still at Benders?”

“No.”

“Oh.  What happened?”

“They didn’t give me the promotion.”

“OK.  Where are you now?”

“Here with you.”

“I mean…  Oh.  Do I assume that you resigned?”

“I did.”

“Can you afford not to have a job?”

“No.  That’s why I’m coming home.  I have a few things to clear up, and then I’m on the plane.  Silly question, but why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, see how you were going.”

“And…”

“Does there have to be an and?”  Furrowed brow, the prelude to a frown.

“No.  I’m just curious.  It’s just that you were always the one who never did anything without a reason.”

“Well, I’ve changed.  I came here to see you.  I took the chance that you would still eat at the same restaurant.  I had not expected you would not have a job.  I came to ask you if there was any chance you might be coming home soon.”

“Then you did have a reason.”

She sighed.  “Just answer the question.”

When I took a few seconds to consider the possible reasons, and knowing her as well as I did, I came to an interesting conclusion, one that caused a sudden ache in my heart.

Back when we graduated and went to the prom together, at some point we promised each other that we would tell the other if we were going to marry someone else.  It had been a given back then that we would marry the other when we achieved success.  I hadn’t, and not hearing from her believed she hadn’t either.

Perhaps I was wrong.

“Tomorrow, but probably in a day or two.  I have to finalise a few details before I can leave.  I’m sure my parents will be glad to see me.  Why?”

“Because I really don’t want to marry Giles.”

“Westerby?”

“My mother thinks I’m about to become an old maid left on the shelf and working her way through Oldbury County’s eligible bachelors.  Giles is the latest and he’s keen.”

“Because no one else will take him.”

“Perhaps, but he can provide a girl a life of luxury to which she could become accustomed.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of there’s nothing else in the offing.  According to my mother, my childbearing days are rapidly diminishing.”

“You’re barely into your mid-20s.”

“You know, mother’s.  You also have one, and she longs to hold a grandchild, yours preferably, and more likely than one from your brothers.”  She shrugged.  “We could go home and pretend we’re engaged.  It’d solve the Giles problem, and we could string the engagement out for a few months and then let it fizzle.”

“Or we could just get married.  I mean, we always said we would.  If no one else wanted us or had first right of refusal.”

“Would you still want to.  I mean, we were silly kids back then, all starry-eyed and full of impossible plans.”

“I meant it.  Didn’t you?”

“I did, but I never thought you’d remember.  I thought you were just saying what I wanted to hear.”

“I loved you more than anything.  It broke my heart when you went home.”

“I had to.  I missed home too much.  You were the only one, and as you can see, I waited.  And then I’m here giving you first right of refusal.”

“That sounds pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t think of a better way of putting it.  You are my first and, to be truthful, only preference.  But, if you have had a change of heart…”

“I have not.  Let’s have lunch, I think I can see it coming now, and afterwards, we’ll go to Tiffany’s.  If we’re going to do this, let’s do it in style.” I took both her hands in mine.  “Oh, and just to be formal, will you marry me?”

“Fine.  I had hoped it might be more traditional, but yes.”

I kissed her hand.  “Excellent.  We will make a stop after going to Tiffany’s.  There’s a special spot in Central Park where I’m told you can propose.  We’ll get a horse and carriage and flowers.”

“And photographs.”  She smiled.

“And photographs.”

“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“No.  But my horoscope this morning was too coincidental to not come true.  An old friend will come back into your life, causing you to make a life-changing decision.”

Glasses refilled, toast made, lunch arriving at the table, everything had turned out as I expected it would.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

More about my story

…

So, like every ancient city, there was a concerted effort to build over caverns, dungeons, and make secret passageways for reasons only known to those who created and used them.

The city we’re in for the story has a large underground area, which the government allows visitors to explore, but with a guide.  A great deal of the catacombs are closed off, the excuse being that they have not been explored or they are not safe.

Of course the more sinister and reasonable explanation is that the government believes the catacombs hide the whereabouts of the resistance.  How else are they so cunningly able to avoid being detected and be able to turn up in places that take far longer for the police, secret or otherwise, to get there.

And, of course, it is a place where our spy must go to satisfy his own curiosity.

Having run into and been summoned by the local police chief, a circumspect man who does not work for or agree with the methods of the secret police but is wise enough not to interfere, our man needs him to get permission to explore.

Of course, the police chief has his suspicions, and our man has an idea that somewhere down there, the head of the resistance is hiding.  Or captured by the military and/or the secret police.  His relationship with the police chief is going to be an ongoing dance.

As for the girl in white, he has now discovered that she is the daughter of his target to watch over.  It briefly causes a little concern, but now he knows he will not be making a big mistake.  But there’s something else, while she might think she has the run of the city, out man doesn’t agree, and he’s going to have to extend the protective arm over her too.

Good thing he has help.

More about my story

…

So, like every ancient city, there was a concerted effort to build over caverns, dungeons, and make secret passageways for reasons only known to those who created and used them.

The city we’re in for the story has a large underground area, which the government allows visitors to explore, but with a guide.  A great deal of the catacombs are closed off, the excuse being that they have not been explored or they are not safe.

Of course the more sinister and reasonable explanation is that the government believes the catacombs hide the whereabouts of the resistance.  How else are they so cunningly able to avoid being detected and be able to turn up in places that take far longer for the police, secret or otherwise, to get there.

And, of course, it is a place where our spy must go to satisfy his own curiosity.

Having run into and been summoned by the local police chief, a circumspect man who does not work for or agree with the methods of the secret police but is wise enough not to interfere, our man needs him to get permission to explore.

Of course, the police chief has his suspicions, and our man has an idea that somewhere down there, the head of the resistance is hiding.  Or captured by the military and/or the secret police.  His relationship with the police chief is going to be an ongoing dance.

As for the girl in white, he has now discovered that she is the daughter of his target to watch over.  It briefly causes a little concern, but now he knows he will not be making a big mistake.  But there’s something else, while she might think she has the run of the city, out man doesn’t agree, and he’s going to have to extend the protective arm over her too.

Good thing he has help.

Day 108

So, the keynote here is that as writers, we should not repeat ourselves.

Repeat what?

I think what the bottom line is here is that we shouldn’t write basically the same thing over and over. I noticed that movies tend to take the view that if the first is successful, they just switch a few things around, substitute the bad guy, and it’s business as usual.

This was prevalent with a couple of John Wayne westerns, Rio Bravo and El Dorado. It was much the same with Superman 1, 2 and 3, and the Spiderman movies.

The thing is, I’m almost guilty as charged with several of my books. The problem is to get out of your comfort zone and write something completely different.

I have a YA fantasy story across three volumes about an unlikely princess saving the realm.

I am in the process of writing a Sci-Fi novel simply because I wanted to go into outer space. The only way I’ll ever get there is inside my imagination, and that being the case, it’s a riot.

I keep trying to write a romance novel, it has always fascinated me how the writers of Mills and Boon stories manage to fit them into 187 pages. I try, but brevity doesn’t;t seem to be my thing. At any rate, I get so far, and then it veers off into espionage.

I’m guessing I’m going to have to try harder not to veer off the path.

Day 108

So, the keynote here is that as writers, we should not repeat ourselves.

Repeat what?

I think what the bottom line is here is that we shouldn’t write basically the same thing over and over. I noticed that movies tend to take the view that if the first is successful, they just switch a few things around, substitute the bad guy, and it’s business as usual.

This was prevalent with a couple of John Wayne westerns, Rio Bravo and El Dorado. It was much the same with Superman 1, 2 and 3, and the Spiderman movies.

The thing is, I’m almost guilty as charged with several of my books. The problem is to get out of your comfort zone and write something completely different.

I have a YA fantasy story across three volumes about an unlikely princess saving the realm.

I am in the process of writing a Sci-Fi novel simply because I wanted to go into outer space. The only way I’ll ever get there is inside my imagination, and that being the case, it’s a riot.

I keep trying to write a romance novel, it has always fascinated me how the writers of Mills and Boon stories manage to fit them into 187 pages. I try, but brevity doesn’t;t seem to be my thing. At any rate, I get so far, and then it veers off into espionage.

I’m guessing I’m going to have to try harder not to veer off the path.

Day 107

Does your story germinate or evolve in your sleep?

…

There are sweet dreams, and there are nightmares.

For writers, they can be something else entirely.

Because I write mostly late at night and into the early morning hours, the story I’m working in is still fresh on my mind, and sometimes when I’m not sure where the story is going to go next, I put my head on the pillow with the express desire of working out what the next plot point is.

Most of the time, it works.  Sometimes, other ideas pop into my head.

The good thing is that I can use that time just before going to sleep to review what I have written and where it can go.  The real problem sometimes with that process is that I forget what it was I came up with when I wake the next morning.

This is aside from the fact that I have been known to have nightmares, things from a past life that I’ve tried very hard to repress.  These are not the sort of dreams that fuel stories, but can lead to becoming an activist to prevent it from happening to others.

Not all people have suffered in such a manner.

Then there are the dreams, not that there are many and those that I remember are quite weird, and sometimes when I could a dream interpreter, I just don’t get how or why they happened. 

Or perhaps I should be questioning the interpretation.

What I would seriously like is to be able to drop back into a particular period and actually observe what it was like.  A story I am writing goes back to 1928, and in London, I’m catching the night version of the Flying Scotsman, and it’s difficult because there are not so many photographs of diaries of those who travelled back then.

I can imagine, but it’s not the same as being there.

There is one other sort of dream that I have had, and to be honest, this one was scary because it was so real.  I went back in time, I don’t know how far back it had to be, 1700s or 1800s, a small cabin, sleeping in a bed near the kitchen, in a hut with no rooms. 

Could it be something to do with reincarnation, and I was dreaming of being back there in a previous life?  I know now for a fact our forbears lived in the country in the late 1800s, but before that, in Dorset, England, in villages, so it is quite possible could have been there then.

It’s only happened twice, but it was very real. 

Day 107

Does your story germinate or evolve in your sleep?

…

There are sweet dreams, and there are nightmares.

For writers, they can be something else entirely.

Because I write mostly late at night and into the early morning hours, the story I’m working in is still fresh on my mind, and sometimes when I’m not sure where the story is going to go next, I put my head on the pillow with the express desire of working out what the next plot point is.

Most of the time, it works.  Sometimes, other ideas pop into my head.

The good thing is that I can use that time just before going to sleep to review what I have written and where it can go.  The real problem sometimes with that process is that I forget what it was I came up with when I wake the next morning.

This is aside from the fact that I have been known to have nightmares, things from a past life that I’ve tried very hard to repress.  These are not the sort of dreams that fuel stories, but can lead to becoming an activist to prevent it from happening to others.

Not all people have suffered in such a manner.

Then there are the dreams, not that there are many and those that I remember are quite weird, and sometimes when I could a dream interpreter, I just don’t get how or why they happened. 

Or perhaps I should be questioning the interpretation.

What I would seriously like is to be able to drop back into a particular period and actually observe what it was like.  A story I am writing goes back to 1928, and in London, I’m catching the night version of the Flying Scotsman, and it’s difficult because there are not so many photographs of diaries of those who travelled back then.

I can imagine, but it’s not the same as being there.

There is one other sort of dream that I have had, and to be honest, this one was scary because it was so real.  I went back in time, I don’t know how far back it had to be, 1700s or 1800s, a small cabin, sleeping in a bed near the kitchen, in a hut with no rooms. 

Could it be something to do with reincarnation, and I was dreaming of being back there in a previous life?  I know now for a fact our forbears lived in the country in the late 1800s, but before that, in Dorset, England, in villages, so it is quite possible could have been there then.

It’s only happened twice, but it was very real.