810** I'M DOING SOMETHING CRAZY **
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Chapter 1
The sun is hot on my back, magnified by the glass that separates me from the boiling temperatures settling amongst the congested buildings. It's what creates the stifling atmosphere that is New York City in August. The dull sound of car horns and screeching bus brakes rise up, the constant background noise filling the void of the conversation I'm embroiled in as I try to make sense of what I just heard.
"Are you kidding me with this, Aro?"
"Do I ever kid with you, Bella?" He gestures for me to sit in one of the plush chairs that face his desk, my body trembling with rage while I blindly follow his order. I cross my arms and legs, dissatisfied.
"Come on, an article about a man and his dog? Have I not proven myself around here at all?" I stare hard at my editor, standing behind his desk, leaning on the railing lining the windows that overlook the bus terminal across Eighth Avenue. My left heel slips off from the shaking of my dangling foot, gripping to life on my toe while I clench my fists under my armpits and try my best to contain my agitation in front of my boss.
"Sure you have, kiddo, but what is the one thing you and I have discussed over and over? Your writing is really stellar. I think you could really make a name for yourself, but you're lacking the heart. You're missing all the fluffy bunny stuff that readers want."
"They want news, Aro. This is hardly news."
"You do the news just fine. But I'm doing you a favor here."
Raising my eyebrows in challenge, I swallow before the curse words start flying. "How do you figure?"
Crossing to the desk that separates us, he picks up a cigarette and his lighter. You're not supposed to smoke in New York buildings, but everyone ignores Aro's habit. I grab one from the pack he offers and light it, exhaling angrily into the room. "At the end of the day, after bombings and fires and murders and lord knows what else this world feeds our citizens, they want to relax with a glass of wine and read about something good."
Scoffing, I think of the happy go lucky rookie that wears bows in her hair. Fucking bows. "Let Angela write it. She's sappy enough for the entire newsroom."
"I want you to do it." He punctuates his statement with his cigarette, pointing it at me as the ash falls on his desk.
"Why?" The whiny quality of my voice is not something I'm proud of at the moment, but for fuck's sake. Fluffy bunnies? Me?
"Bella, I love ya, you know that. But… you're hard. You need some heart."
"I'm sorry? I have heart." My protest makes me sit up and grind the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray. "I give to Unicef and those school kids begging for new sports equipment in front of the grocery store."
"You're a veritable philanthropist," he says with a laugh. "Look, your factual reporting is top notch. You never miss anything, you never give the fact checkers anything to worry about. But news isn't just about reporting back the right time and place of something that happens. There's a whole other side. Where's the story about the family that suffered because of the fire? The people that get robbed on Christmas Eve?"
"Like I said, Angela…"
"You, Bella. That's it. You need to be well-rounded if you're going to get anywhere."
Standing, I pace back to the window and look out over the street ten floors below. "I can't believe you're making me do this!"
"It's this, or…"
"You'd fire me?"
"No one's getting fired, Bella. But I'm doing this for your own good."
A lump forms in my throat. Aro's nurturing of my career has never been something I've questioned before, but I'm seriously at a loss with his current train of thought. "You got a funny way of showing it."
Aro walks over next to me and lays his hands on the railing. "Listen to me, kid. You know I think the world of you." A snort escapes me, but he ignores it. "You were a firecracker right from the start when you cornered me at dinner and lobbied for a chance here. You are my most diligent and best researcher. You've proven you have the talent for good reporting."
"And here it comes. But?"
"The last piece you wrote about the refugee camp in Syria…"
"That was good reporting, Aro," I protest.
"It was." He nods, agreeing. "But Bella, Sam said you stepped right over a mother who had just lost her child, still warm in her arms, to interview the doctor serving the camp."
The image is clear in my mind. Hundreds of sick people lying on the ground, waiting to see the doctor that wouldn't be able to help a third of them. Crying, screaming, wailing. I know exactly who he's talking about, the woman in black reaching up to grab my leg, looking for anyone to help.
"I wasn't going to get another chance," I answer defensively, secretly ashamed that Aro of all people might think less of me.
"I know, Bella. I know. You always get your story. But you could do so much more. Too much war, crime… it's taking the life right out of you and you're too young. You need to find that other half of yourself that I know is in you. The half that has some feeling about what she's reporting."
"Reporting is supposed to be unbiased and unemotional," I argue futilely. No one will ever say Bella Swan goes down without a fight.
"It is, and you have that nailed. I'm asking you to stop reporting. Stop going after what you think is the story and write about what you feel. You'll end up thanking me."
I can still feel her hand on my leg. See the tears streaming down her face. But I'll never admit it.
"Don't hold your breath."
"Who the fuck lives in Maine?"
"Thank you, that's what I said!" I chew my dragon roll as Michael refills my sake glass. "Of all the people to send on this bullshit story? He sends me? Me?"
"Isabella, just suck it up. Do what he's asking for. Write it and get your ass back home."
Glaring across the white marble counter, I reach for my cigarettes and blow smoke right across his sushi. Raising an eyebrow, he waves the smoke away and continues eating. "I don't even like dogs."
"No, dogs don't like you." He smiles, trying to be funny, but I can't deny it stings a bit. I know I have a tough exterior, but having Aro tell me I have no heart, well, I really feel that one. He's been more of a father to me than my own was, and his opinion matters. Even if it is shitty and wrong.
"Dogs were not a presence in my life. I don't see how Aro thinks that writing an article about one is going to lift whatever unbecoming edge he perceives I have off of me."
"What's the story about?" he asks, one ear on me as he scrolls his phone, checking the market, more concerned with his career than the conversation we're having. A personality trait we have in common. We complement each other nicely; it's nice to have a companion to share time with when you want it, someone to go to dinner meetings with, and occasionally roll around in the sack when our schedules and libidos match.
I pull the info Aro texted me up on my phone. "Aro told me I'd find the story once I meet," I scroll for the name. "One Edward Cullen from Ogunquit. Seriously? That's the name of a town?" I add under my breath. "I guess he has a special dog. It probably shits rainbows."
Michael sputters on his sake and wipes down the crisp, white shirt he's dribbled on, cursing. "What does it do?"
"I have no idea. And I don't care. Why Aro thought this would be good for me is beyond all comprehension."
"And how long is this going to take you? We have dinner with the firm next Tuesday at Daniel," he grouses, still wiping sake from his Armani.
"Well, it's not like I'm not going to write it quickly. I'll get this mutt's deal, whatever that is, on paper and take some pictures. I'll be home by Sunday morning, tops."
Already moving to the TV to switch on CNBC, I watch as he puts his feet up on the coffee table. "Are you staying tonight?"
Putting my cigarette out in his Waterford ashtray, I grab my attache. "No, I'm going to my apartment, I leave tomorrow morning."
"Okay. I'll see you at Daniel then, seven-thirty for drinks before dinner."
Walking over to him, he accepts my quick peck while keeping his eye on the screen. "If I survive. I hear there's grass and stuff in Maine."
"Don't bring your Blahnik's."
Looking at the curving road ahead of me, I curse at the GPS in my rental as it maneuvers me through trees that are too green and foliage I'd rather not see. Quaint shops filled with antiques line the street and I light another cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window defiantly, trying to sully nature. I miss New York already. I miss taxis, I miss the subway, I miss potholes the size of your head that the steam of the underbelly rises out of.
But I'm nothing if not determined to show Aro he's wrong about me and deliver exactly what he wants. I can do this, I can write from the heart. I just wish the subject were a bit more worldly. Give me a tribe suffering from famine in Uganda, or the struggle of women living under the hand of oppressive Jihad husbands. Not the mundane day by day of some yokel that thinks his pet is better than anyone else's.
The mechanical voice from the navigator tells me my destination is coming up on the left, and I groan when I see the stereotypical outdoor walkways and railings of a motel. "Thanks, Aro." Maybe this was the best of the best around here. Parking in front of the outdoor pool that's basically in the middle of the lot, I remind myself that the better I do my job, the quicker I'll be blissfully on the way home.
Rolling my luggage across the asphalt, I spy the office door and enter the small room, decorated in flowered couches and nautical pictures. Wrinkling my nose, I make note of the brochures laid out for tourists, scanning quickly to see if there is a worthwhile restaurant among them. I see a bunch of flyers advertising food, all incorporating the words 'crab' and 'shack' and think maybe I'm not that hungry.
"Hello! Welcome to the Sea View Motel! I'm Alice, you must be Bella Swan?"
"What gave me away?" I ask wryly, moving towards the desk the short brunette is perched behind.
"We don't get many people coming through here on a Wednesday. We're normally a weekend to weekend place."
"Right. Well, here I am, checking in."
"Great!" She bubbles and moves to a computer. That's a good sign, hopefully they have wifi. "I've got you staying through Tuesday, is that right?"
"Yes, unless I finish up my business earlier."
"Well, you won't get the deposit back on the room," she says apologetically.
I wave my hand at her. "That's fine, work's paying, not me. In fact, I insist you charge them as much as you can."
She looks at me confused but nods her head. "Okay, I've got you in room 210, that's a nice one. Overlooks the pool and has just been updated with a whirlpool tub!"
"Lucky me." I regret my snark the moment it leaves my mouth and smile at her. "Sorry, long drive." She nods, a sympathetic smile lighting up her face. "Is there a good restaurant around here?"
"Well there's The Lobster Shack-"
"Something without the word shack in it, preferably," I interrupt.
"The Lobster Pound over at Perkin's Cove or Billy's Chowder House. They're two of my favorites."
Staring at her, waiting for a steakhouse to be mentioned, I realize there isn't one forthcoming. "I'll take the one that doesn't have a crustacean in the name."
"Chowder House it is," she says cheerily, and I feel a bit guilty for having the fleeting idea she wouldn't know what crustacean meant. She hands me a piece of paper with the motel name across the top and directions written clearly. "There are really a lot of great restaurants around here, and bars if you're one to drink."
"Any place make a good dirty martini?"
"I'd say you'll find what you want at Billy's. Big bar."
"Perfect." I grab my room key, which is an actual key dangling from a plastic triangle, and make my way up to the second floor, pulling my bag down the concrete walkway to the end, passing plastic lawn chairs and tables outside every room. Opening the door, I'm mildly surprised at the cheeriness of the yellow room. It's large and clean, smelling fresh instead of shore-mildewy, with a large desk and flat screen TV.
My stomach growls and my brain needs liquor, so I make my way out under Alice's direction to the restaurant. Driving through what appears to be the main street in town, I make sure to store some mental notes about my first impressions, to be able to put some background imagery into my piece. There are lots of people out enjoying the warm, late summer evening, strolling under the glow of lamp posts that take the edge off the twilight sky that is surrendering to night. With delight I notice a Ben & Jerry's storefront, crowded and bustling not too far from the motel, and the souvenir and knick knack shops seem to be open late, enjoying the last summer dollars before fall sets in. A nice lobster ashtray, that's what Aro will be receiving from my little trip.
Pulling up to Billy's Chowder House, I have to admit it has a certain charm, if not completely predictable. White plank siding and rope railings line the dock-like entryway, and I know once I open the doors there will be fishing nets and life preservers, crab pots and a live lobster tank to greet me. Opening the door with a sigh, I find I'm not wrong. My stomach flips as a quick flash of me on a boat as a child hits me while I take in the kitschy fisherman decor. It's familiar, but I know I've never been here, and I certainly wouldn't choose this type of restaurant now unless I was forced to.
They certainly don't have restaurants like this in Manhattan.
The seafood aroma isn't entirely unpleasant as I pass the hostess podium, waving her off from seating me at a table and heading to the bar in the back room. Alice wasn't wrong, it's large and surprisingly inviting, made of that golden wood that's a far cry from the sleek glass and black interiors of the watering holes and restaurants I'm used to.
Picking a seat away from the many TV's all airing a sporting event of some sort, I look out the window across the bar only to see the blackness of the marsh that surrounds the restaurant. No stoplights, no blinking 'do not walk signs', no police flashers. Nothing but… nothing. Maybe it's pretty in the daytime.
"Welcome to Billy's. What can I get for you?" A guy wearing a Billy's Chowder House shirt places a cocktail napkin in front of me and rests his hands on the bar, waiting.
"Can you make a dirty martini?" Pulling the menu propped behind a ketchup bottle towards me, I start looking at my choices. Seafood, seafood, and more seafood.
When he doesn't answer me, I look up with a raised eyebrow. "You know what that is, right?"
"Chopin or Belvedere?"
Surprised, I answer with Chopin, the obvious choice. "You don't strike me as an Absolut girl," he explains, answering the question I hadn't voiced before walking off and grabbing the necessary bottle and vermouth. I frown at the humor he apparently feels from my sarcasm and feel a bit of remorse. I'm going to have to do a better job of being nice if I'm going to get this animal lover to open up to me tomorrow. There is no way I'm going to let some hippie and a mutt make me fail.
He pours what appears to be the perfect martini, three blue cheese-stuffed olives swimming in the clear liquid, and waits while I taste it. Closing my eyes, I nod. "That's perfect."
"Phew. I had to look it up in the book." He nods to a dog-eared copy of "The Bartenders Guide" next to the cash register. His warm smile tells me he's kidding and I can't help but smile back. Eyeing him over the rim of my glass, I can appreciate that he's good looking, in a Maine sort of way. Built, reddish brown hair, nice blue-green eyes. "Do you know what you'd like to eat?" he asks, taking me from my thoughts.
"Is there anything that isn't seafood?"
"You don't like seafood?"
"Only if it's raw and served on a bamboo plate."
"Well, there's a steak, but I would really urge you to try the lobster mac and cheese." My lips purse, and he takes it for what it is, distaste. "You have an aversion to Lobster? A fancy girl like you?"
What the… "What is that supposed to mean?"
He leans his elbows on the bar in front of me. "You don't strike me as being from here."
"Maybe I'm on vacation," I lobby back with a defiant rise of my chin. I'm not used to being called out. Especially by someone I don't know. It's downright rude.
"Maybe, but for someone on vacation, you don't seem too happy about it. Or dressed for it." He makes a pointed look at my lightweight Chanel jacket and smiles, the warm grin of before turning into a devastatingly teasing, handsome lift of his lips that graces his increasingly interesting face.
Taking a sip of my pleasantly perfect drink, I can't help but concede. "You got me. I'm here on business."
"Well, that's no fun, is it?"
"Normally, it is. Not this time."
"Drinks on me then." He winks and I find myself not annoyed by it as I usually am from men in bars, looking to get laid during happy hour. "Be right back." He knocks once on the bar in front of me and strolls off, getting the order of a couple he seems to know.
I occupy myself by looking at the menu until he comes back. "Did you decide yet? I hear those lobsters calling you... 'eat me, eat me in cheesy goodness!'" he wails loudly, making me blush at the attention we're getting from the other diners.
"Okay, okay. Lobster mac and cheese. Just stop doing that."
"Good girl." I almost protest his choice of words, but somehow it only adds to his boyish charm, taking the edge off a derogatory term I normally find offensive. He punches in my order and asks if I'd like another martini. Nodding, I'm surprised when he brings the bottles in front of me to prepare it this time. "So what business brings you here?"
"I'm here to write an article." I admire his strong forearms as he moves the bottles around, the veins prominent. He's not bad to look at for a guy who lives in Maine.
"You're a writer?"
"Yes, for The New York Times." Normally, saying that makes me feel important, but in front of him and the casual setting it only sounds boastful.
"Oh, wow. That's the big time, huh? What are you here to write?"
"Some lame story about a guy and his dog."
"You don't like dogs?" He expertly pours my drink, bringing the liquid perfectly under the rim and topping it off with another skewer of olives.
"Not particularly."
"Maybe you'll like this one."
"I won't be here long enough to get to know it."
He looks at me inquisitively, hands moving the used utensils into the sink below him. "How do you expect to write a good article if you don't give it your all?"
"I…" Sputtering, I hear the words in Aro's voice.
The bartender doesn't seem to notice he's tripped me up, and looks towards the waiter coming behind the bar. "Hey, your dinner's here, and I'm on my way out." My plate is placed in front of me and I can't deny it looks and smells pretty damn good. I look up to the bartender, retreating from me with a few backwards steps. I don't want him to go, I feel the need to apologize to this stranger about my poor attitude concerning one of his town's residents. "It was nice to meet you, and good luck with the article. Enjoy your time here." He pauses, and smiles again. "It's a great town and I bet that man and his dog won't be so bad."
He rounds the bar with my eyes following him, and on his way out a female that's slipped behind the bar hugs him warmly. Interesting. He accepts hugs from a few other women and shakes some hands, an odd display of a man leaving when his shift is over. The girl behind the bar yells out over the crowd at his departure, "Hey, give Joey a big kiss for me!"
"Will do!" He waves and says goodbye to some other people before slipping through the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen.
Not that it matters since I'll probably never see him again, but damn.
All the good looking ones are gay.
Hey hey! It's been a while!
So here's another that has taken me years to work on. I'd start it, write something else. Read it, write something else. Work on it, start something else.
I'm sure the writers out there understand that sometimes something just doesn't hit you right... until it does.
Anyway, hope you enjoy it.
I am usually very good about finishing a story before posting, and then having a strict posting schedule. I'm leaving my comfort zone on this one, hoping it pushes me a bit and to see how the other half lives (you crazy, fly by the seats of your pants kind of kids). I do promise not to abandon it, my hope is to post once a week (Tuesdays) but forgive me if I'm a day off here and there.
I will post updates, teasers, etc to Facebook so follow me there if you don't. I will, as always, answer all my reviews hopefully on time LOL.
Thank you to Carrie, my BB Rah Rah Beta - I should put that on a shirt - who thinks I can accomplish this and for Lay, who is that 'fly by the seat of your pants' kind of kid I admire.
This is for Squiggy.