Striking Out

Striking Out Now Available on Smashwords

2010-11-22T05:30:00.000-08:00

Readers,

Welcome to Striking Out, a comedy about a man who is head over heels . . . for a woman who is not his wife!

Please enjoy this sampling. If the first ten chapters from the original serial interest you, please visit Smashwords where the entire novella is available for download. You can now get Striking Out on your eReader!

Thank you for your interest.

-Matt Bloom

Welcome!

2008-12-10T11:43:00.000-08:00

You have reached the site of Striking Out, Matt Bloom's comedy about a young man who is head over heels . . . for a woman who is not his wife!

The novella was published serially, every Monday and Thursday, from March 3rd to August 7th in 2008.

For those of you who have been here before, you'll notice the site has a new look. And you can now features original illustrations by Kerry LaPrees HERE!

For more by Matt Bloom, visit readmattbloom.wordpress.com.

Thanks for visiting!

#10. The Party, Part III

2008-04-02T19:25:00.000-07:00

#10. The Party, Part III

Patrick and Susan went back out on the deck. “I’m a little tired of having to shout at you,” Susan said, raising her voice above the din.

Patrick felt the thumping in his chest resurge. “What do you suggest?”

Susan pointed at a tree on the edge of the yard. “Let’s sit down. I’m starting to get tired of people anyway.”

“So you’re going alone?”

“No, you’re not people. You’re person. C’mon,” she said, and put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, sending shockwaves through him.

They crossed through the line of tiki torches and nestled into separate nooks at the base of the trunk, a thick root between them. It was like a natural chastity belt, Patrick thought.

“It’s starting to get chilly,” Susan said.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” Patrick said, and touched her arm. His heart beat even faster.

“I’ll be all right,” Susan replied, seemingly unaffected by the touching of which Patrick was so conscious. He took a deep breath and told himself he was overreacting. Everything was going to be just fine.

“So are you a party-girl?” Patrick asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know about party tips, at least.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I go to them on occasion, when I’m invited. It’s not like college, where there was always something going on.”

“Was there?” Patrick said. “I suppose I’ve heard rumors that people are really social and whatnot in college, but all I seem to remember is studying my brains out to get that 3.9 and spending every free waking second with April.”

“Oh well, you met somebody. That’s great,” Susan said. “Did you have a class together?”

“No, actually. April didn’t go to school. She had intended to follow her dad’s advice and work at the factory out of high school, but when it closed down, she was stuck. That’s when she started waitressing. But I actually had class with her older sister, Jackie, who went her own route because she sort of hates her father.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Susan said.

“Yeah, it’s a real interesting family dynamic. But anyway, I met April through her.”

“You had a crush on Jackie first, didn’t you?” Susan smiled.

Patrick raised his eyebrows, impressed. “I don’t know how you . . . but, yeah. Good looks do run in the family. Even my mother-in-law is a good-looking lady. But I never went out with Jackie or anything. I just fell into a group of upperclassmen – that included my now sister-in-law – to have lunch with. A few times April came to visit and we really clicked. Then April started visiting more often. Before long she was having lunch in the university cafeteria almost five days a week.”

“Aww, that’s so cute,” Susan said, looking at him as one would a Dalmatian in a fireman’s hat.

“Cute, sure,” Patrick muttered, and sipped his drink. “Our relationship is like a puppy. A teddy bear. Just bursting with cuteness.”

“Sorry,” Susan said as she grimaced into a frown and sunk a little.

“No, no, it’s fine. Sorry,” Patrick said, embarrassed. “I guess – I just don’t share the sentiment. It’s too hard, too much work, too much commitment for me to think of our marriage as cute. That’s all. You’re allowed to think whatever you want.”

They stared off ahead in silence for a moment, watching the dancing and laughing by torch light on the deck. Then Susan squinted, and said, “Tony said something about marriage the other day.”

“Whoa,” Patrick replied. “That’s scary.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he just meant someday. Like it’s a goal, you know? I’m pretty sure.” She paused. “Still – marriage is a big word for a relationship that’s not really serious yet. The boy lacks tact somewhat, I think.”

Patrick laughed. “Yeah, sounds like it.”

“He reminds me a little too much of my ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? What was he like?”

“About Tim’s size. Played baseball. Loved to drink – a real passion in life. Frat boy. Juvenile, but able to hide it when he wanted to. Manipulative. That’s what I’m afraid of with Tony, the manipulation. I’m always wondering if he’s really as embarrassed as he comes across, really thinks it’s that important to please me, or if he just wants to seem that way. I don’t really know how to explain it, just that there’s more there than he lets on. But I don’t know, maybe he’s just not ready to open up just yet.”

“You sure you weren’t a psych major?”

“Thought about it, but then I realized I don’t like people enough,” Susan said, shrugging a shoulder toward Patrick. “Just learned a few things about relationships, that’s all.”

Patrick nodded. “So what happened to Mr. Ex?”

Susan sucked on her straw, swallowed. “He went to jail.”

“What?”

“Well . . .” Susan began, looking up into the branches, “my theory is that it was when he realized manipulation wasn’t working anymore – you know, when I decided I was going to be a smart girl for the first time ever – it was then that he first thought hitting me might do the trick.”

Patrick leaned back, stunned.

Susan glanced over at him. “But the good part of this story is that its heroine decided immediately on impact that she was not about to be in an abusive relationship, and pressed charges. So that’s how my first serious relationship ended, in the county lock-up.”

Patrick put his hand over his mouth, shook his head. “Wow. That had to have been hard.”

“Oh yeah. I cried for . . . probably three days straight,” she said matter-of-factly. “For him, for me mostly, for all the time I’d wasted and for how stupid I’d been. I cried for my education, which had been severely damaged by the whole mess. Luckily I managed to get my GPA up over 3.0 by graduation.”

“What happened to him?”

“Gone. I told him I didn’t want him here, and it was one of the best things he ever did for me when he respected that and moved back to his home town.”

Patrick nodded. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s in the past now, though. Susan’s doing just fine, now,” Susan said.

“That’s good to hear,” Patrick replied.

He looked at Susan and tried to imagine what it must be like to go through something like that. To get into a serious relationship with somebody who could hurt you so deeply. He couldn’t help but compare himself to this guy, and to Tony. Patrick wasn’t overbearing, he thought. He wasn’t out to hurt anybody. Certainly not April. He had absolutely no intention of hurting her.

Patrick was getting used to the smell of Susan’s perfume. The darkness was dimming her eyes. He was beginning to feel all right again.

“Hey, speaking of parties –” Patrick said, breaking the silence.

“Were we speaking of parties?” Susan replied.

“A few minutes ago. It’s a perfectly good segue. Anyway, I happen to know of a party – of sorts, anyway – that happens every Tuesday night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Two words: cosmic bowling. Three more words: 10th Street Lanes.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. I go with my friend Wendell – and all the random people he brings along. We’ve got a decent-sized following these days.”

“Wendell? How’d he get a name like that?”

“I’ll let him answer that one himself.”

Susan shrugged. “Okay, sounds good. I need stuff to do mid-week.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d appreciate chances to meet people, with all your college friends moved away and all.”

Susan smiled. “You remembered. What else did I tell you that night I have no recollection of now?”

“That you used to be a lesbian.”

“Shut up,” she said, and punched Patrick’s arm.

The two of them sat beneath that tree and talked for another two hours before they agreed it was time to go home. When he got home, Patrick climbed into bed beside his sleeping wife and felt good about everything. Absolutely everything.

#9. The Party, Part II

2008-03-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

#9. The Party, Part II

“Yes, m’lady?” Derek replied to Susan.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, glancing over at Patrick.

“Right away, miss,” Derek replied.

“And I’ll buy the gentleman’s drink,” she said, smiling.

“Very well. Let me just scribble this down – yes, here’s your bill, miss,” Derek said, holding up an imaginary slip of paper.

“Put it on my tab, will you?” Susan replied.

“Of course,” Derek said, and handed her the reddened glass. “I daresay your word is as perfect as the face God gave you.”

Susan smiled brighter. “You schmoozer.”

“I’ll not deny it.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Hi there,” he said.

“Hey. Didn’t know if you’d be coming,” Susan replied.

“I wasn’t sure either, today,” Patrick said. As his heart beat faster, fueled by the perfume filling his lungs, he was determined to say something about his wife immediately. “April’s sick. I was going to stay home with her, but she said she’s feeling better and told me I should come.”

“Oh,” Susan cooed. “That’s too bad she couldn’t make it. Sweet of you to want to take care of her.”

Patrick puffed up. “Well, I try.”

“Hey,” Susan said, excitedly. “You have to check out the deck.”

“Do what she says,” Derek said. He spread his arms. “Enjoy my sanctuary.”

Susan started away from the bar and Patrick followed, hearing Derek shout from behind him, “Bar’s open, folks!”

Patrick glanced down at the drink he was holding. “That was all joking about the tab, right?” he asked over the music, which was increasingly loud as they approached the back of the house. “I mean, does Derek want to get reimbursed at all?”

“I sure hope we were joking,” Susan replied, looking back as she led. “But party tips help well enough, I’m sure.”

“Party tips?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

They walked through the open patio doors onto the deck, around which Derek had set up tiki torches and on which stood four large beach umbrellas with fiber-optic lights underneath them. The effect was the appearance of a dance club, as the colors fluctuated beneath a dark canopy.

“Isn’t this awesome?” Susan said, gazing up and around her.

“Holy crap,” Patrick said, looking all around, feeling his chest pound with the subwoofers stationed on either side of him.

“You don’t know what party tips are?”

Patrick shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve ever been to a party like this. I mean, not since high school, really. And those were pretty lame by comparison.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, it’s just a few bucks to give to the host as a thank you for throwing the party, defray the cost a little.”

“Oh, sure. Good idea.”

They stood and sipped their drinks as they watched people dance across the deck and out on the lawn. It was a warm night and everyone was having a good time.

“So where’s your boy toy tonight?” Patrick asked.

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Well, I mean that guy you were seeing.”

“How do you know about him?”

“You told me. That night, at the restaurant.”

Oh, she mouthed. “Right. Him. Tony. I . . . don’t know where he is tonight. Probably at home.”

Patrick nodded with raised eyebrows. “Not too keen on Tony, then?”

Susan sipped her drink. “I don’t know yet. Just seems a little shady, is all.”

“Shady?”

“Yeah. Calls a lot. Like almost every day. He brought flowers to my apartment once, after we’d only been on a few dates and said, ‘I was hoping these were your favorite.’ They were lilies. I told him they were very nice, and thanked him, but then he said, ‘Are they your favorite?’ Like he wouldn’t drop it. And I said, ‘Do you want me to tell you honestly?’ and he said ‘Yes’ so I told him I like lilies very much, but my favorite is actually white roses. He seemed really embarrassed then, almost upset.”

Patrick looked at her incredulously. “Okay . . .”

“Yeah, like all that mattered was that he’d gotten it wrong, and he wasn’t paying attention to the fact that I actually appreciated the gesture. Eventually I convinced him that he was sweet to bring me flowers, and it was okay after that. We’re still going out. It’s just that little things like that are still coming up. He tries to order for me in restaurants and sometimes he gets it wrong, so for his sake I had to ask him to stop. Just a little awkward, you know?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Patrick replied. “But you like him? You’re still seeing him?”

“Hmmm, yeah,” Susan sighed. “I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to take before sparks fly. For that reason I’ve never been good at knowing when to pull the plug.”

Patrick nodded musingly. “Don’t ever go into nursing.”

Susan laughed. “Doesn’t the patient’s family usually decide that sort of thing?”

“Never start a family.”

“Ooo, harsh,” Susan said, laughing still.

Patrick put up his free hand. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sorry I went the morbid route.”

“Sometimes things just slip out when you’re nervous,” Susan said.

Patrick looked at her. “Am I nervous?”

Susan pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. I still haven’t gotten to know many of these people yet.”

“Oh, right,” Patrick said, lowering his eyes. “Well, I could introduce you to a few people, anyway.”

“That’d be good. If I do recall, I believe the last time I had the chance to meet people from work, you monopolized my time all night,” she said, pointing at Patrick accusingly.

Patrick put a hand to his chest. “I sincerely apologize. I don’t even like Monopoly.”

It wasn’t funny, really, but Susan laughed anyway. Patrick smiled and began taking her around to meet their coworkers. The introductions went on rapid-fire for about an hour, until Patrick found they couldn’t seem to sustain a three-way conversation, as Patrick and Susan would hit on a good topic and the third wheel would inevitably drift away. When they got to talking about their favorite drinks – both settling on Long Island iced teas as decidedly in their top five, if not top three – a giddy smile appeared on Susan’s face and she said, “Let’s go find Derek.”

She grabbed Patrick’s arm. It was the first time she had touched him all night – and ever, for that matter.

They passed through the crowd searching for their host and found him as drunk as they had expected he would be. Patrick clapped him on the back to break him free of the conversation he was in with two other guys. “Hey Derek,” he shouted over the din.

Derek’s head swiveled from side to side as he tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. “Eh? What’s that, now?”

“Turn around.”

“Yessir.”

“Do you know how to make Long Islands?”

“That I do not,” Derek said, putting a finger in the air. Then he lifted his arm over the crowd and pointed back toward the bar. “But Bruno does.”

“Bruno?” Patrick said, looking over the crowd to see a 250-pound linebacker type standing behind the black countertop. “You mean Tim?”

“Yeah, Tim, whatever,” Derek replied, and turned back around.

This time Patrick led Susan to their destination. They pushed between the now occupied bar stools and ordered. Tim was an actual bartender on the weekends, but had taken the night off for the party. Patrick was impressed at the ease with which Tim eyeballed his pours, gracefully combining the liquors, sweet n’ sour mix and Coke. He produced their drinks in well under a minute.

“I feel like I should tip you,” Patrick said.

“Maybe just a kiss from the lady,” Tim said, leaning in Susan’s direction. “Small price to pay for a Tim’s Long Island.”

“Settle for a high five?” she asked.

“Fair enough,” Tim replied.

The two slapped hands, Susan smiled – that gleaming white smile – and she and Patrick walked off together.

“Wow,” Susan said, after sipping through her straw. “This is amazing.”

Patrick wanted to say, You’re amazing. He shook his head like an Etch-a-Sketch to erase the thought. “Yeeeah. Tim-Bruno really knows what he’s doing.”

“He may have just propelled Long Islands to the top of my list. This is a life-changing experience, here.”

“Life-changing,” Patrick echoed. He felt a little dizzy as he sucked on his straw. She likes me, he thought. We’ve been inseparable all night. She likes me. Shit.

“Shit,” Patrick whispered. Susan didn’t hear.

#8. The Party, Part I

2008-03-26T19:59:00.000-07:00

#8. The Party, Part I

Over the next week Patrick stopped trying to talk to Susan. She was busy, he was busy, and there really was nothing to say. Maybe she was going next Saturday, maybe she wasn’t. Either way, Patrick was going with his wife. He had a date. And besides, he thought, Susan would probably come with that guy she was seeing. He was probably a great guy. Sure he was.

On Friday night, April came home from work feeling light-headed, and went to bed right away. A few hours later she was feverish, and Patrick measured her temperature at 100. Patrick fell asleep beside her and awoke early to hear her vomiting into the trash can beside the bed, first puke, then mumbled cuss words. She came out of the bedroom mid-morning to lie down on the couch and watch cartoons next to Patrick, who sat cross-legged in the chair by her head. This scene changed little throughout the afternoon, as April passed out of and back into consciousness, and Patrick listened to the fan blow over the low volume of the TV. Neither said anything about the party until that evening.

“Hey, what time is it?” April asked.

“About six.”

“That late already?” she said, and paused. “I thought I’d be better in time for the party.”

“You did? Are you kidding?”

“I’m an optimist.”

“You haven’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. Now you want booze?”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” April replied, and sat up, clutching her stomach. “No, I don’t want to go.”

“I never thought you would,” Patrick said. He swallowed. “I guess we’re not going.”

April said nothing. She just got up and walked to the bathroom, shut the door. Patrick waited. He looked at the clock again. He sighed and looked back into the TV screen. When April returned she sat down in the same spot again and stared at the TV along with Patrick. The familiar scene from the previous twelve hours took shape.

“You know, I’m feeling better. I’m definitely not going out, but I’m better anyway. You don’t have to stay,” April said.

“What’s that?” Patrick looked at her.

“You should go, it’ll be fun. You’ve taken good care of me today, I think,” she said, and smiled weakly.

Patrick smiled back.

He made April a dinner of chicken noodle soup, crackers and Diet Coke, ate a sandwich, took a shower because he hadn’t all day, threw on party clothes – the nice jeans, the tight ones with the frayed bottoms, the dark blue button-down shirt, the brown casual dress shoes that April had picked out for him – said goodbye and got in the car, checked his part, cleared his throat.

Derek’s house wasn’t hard to find because, though it was yet early for prime party hours, the street was packed with cars. Patrick had to park almost a block shy of the house and walk the rest, but when he arrived he was greeted with a warm reception.

“Patty!” Derek exclaimed when he opened the door. “Wait, can I call you Patty? Do people call you that?”

“Um, no,” Patrick replied.

“Oh, I see,” Derek said, and feigned embarrassment. “My my, what a faux pa. Bad host,” he said, slapping his wrist. “Do entrez, Sir Patrick.”

“Am I knighted now?”

“Of course. All the men here tonight are knights, all the women ladies. Nobody trumps my guest list. Nobody.”

Patrick walked into a crowd and beheld with wide eyes a spacious living room that opened into a kitchen/dining room almost as big. Everything was black and white, with the exception of red shades and lamps. Patrick felt like Alice in Wonderland.

“Drink, Patrick?” Derek said, leading Patrick through living bodies into the kitchen. “I know I made a big deal out of the refrigerator full of beer, and I must apologize for that.” He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “It was a gross understatement.”

Derek turned and put his hand on a small, black bar with white stools in front of it. He walked behind the bar and opened the windowed cabinets set into the wall and exposed an extensive liquor supply.

“Gin, vermouth, rum, vodka – I’ve got about a thousand mixers in the mini down here – I know, I know, you can tell me you’re impressed later. Patrick, it’s time to tell me what you’ll have. You name it, it’s your night.”

“My night?”

“Yes it is, Patrick. You and every other sexy man here. But don’t you worry,” he winked and pointed at himself. “Straight as an arrow.”

Patrick laughed. “I’m kinda partial to vodka cranberries.”

“Don’t be embarrassed about that,” Derek said, getting to work. “It’s fruity, it’s delightful. We can’t all be alcoholics who sip straight whiskey through straws” – here he gestured to himself again – “but anyway, here you are.” He handed Patrick the drink. “And if you get tired of liquor, don’t you worry, the right-hand refrigerator is indeed fully stocked with three imports and five domestics.”

“Hey barkeep,” said a voice at Patrick’s shoulder. He turned to see – and deliciously smell – Susan not twelve inches from him.

#7. Cosmic Bowling

2008-03-23T20:00:00.000-07:00

#7. Cosmic Bowling

Patrick and Wendell got to the bowling alley and walked into darkness illuminated by black lights and multicolored lasers shone through billowing smoke from the machine by the door. The smoke only filled about half the room, leaving the far-side lanes to a pathetically laserless fate.

Patrick looked at Wendell skeptically. Wendell shrugged. “Eh, it’ll do.”

They got their shoes and balls and took a lane. All that was left were the far lanes, where red, purple and blue eyes moved around ineffectually. Though Wendell muttered something about this being lame, Patrick didn’t care much. He was even a little thankful they could see each other better in the smoke-free pale light.

“So what’s new with you?” Wendell asked as he tied his shoes.

The first thing Patrick thought about was Susan. “I don’t know,” he said. He wanted to tell Wendell about her, but how? This wasn’t like in college, when it was expected he would bring tales of romantic glory back to the dorm. Now he felt sheepish about it, stupid. It isn’t cool to talk about crushes when you were married, Patrick thought. There’s no fun in it. Actually, it seemed a lot scarier to think about it coming out of his mouth, becoming real.

“How’s April?” Wendell asked.

“She’s . . . she’s okay. Hates her job, still. Complains about it a lot. But we’re trying to save up for a new place, so she just keeps on with it.”

“What kind of place? Another apartment, or are you guys thinking house?”

“Just a bigger apartment. Yeah, she wants a bigger place, but she wants a kid, too. I mean, we want kids, but there’s barely any room. So I don’t know. We’re just working and working and saving and on and on like that, feels like.”

Wendell laughed. “You make it sound so exciting.”

“Exciting isn’t exactly a word I’d use,” Patrick said, and reached forward to set up the computer for a game. “Good, though.”

Wendell sighed, as theatrically as he could. “I wanna get hitched, Pat.”

“I know you do.”

“The girl with the eyes – aquamarine. She’s in here Pat, I can feel it. I mean, somewhere along the timeline, the one that starts here and goes on for months, years – however long it takes – she’s on it, here. Do you know what that means? It means we must return. I means we must come here each and every week. We must cosmic bowl me into a wedding band. Preferably platinum. My rich bride will not skimp.”

“You go first,” Patrick said.

“My sea nymph shall have treasure unparalleled beneath the sea, my good friend. And Poseidon himself shall be my father-in-law.”

“You need to replace that copy of The Little Mermaid, pal.”

“I have really been jonesin’ for it,” Wendell said, and stepped up to bowl.

“I’m getting a beer,” Patrick said.

From that point on, Wendell and Patrick did go every week. April never went because she almost always had to work, and even when she had the night off she chose to stay home because A: she could not bowl and B: she could only stand so much of Wendell’s “artsy-fartsy talk.” So it was just the two of them for about a month, until Wendell started bringing strangers along. Literally, the people Wendell tended to invite had been complete strangers to him until he presented himself to them in a bar or coffee shop the week before, or sometimes the same day. Sometimes his guests just didn’t quite fit, like Harry and Cindy, a middle-aged couple who thought they needed a Tuesday night activity and thought Wendell was just too adorable to say no to. But people like that didn’t stick with it. The regulars included Kristin and Christina, best friends to the point of almost being conjoined; Charlemagne, Christina’s 16-year-old younger sister with few social prospects outside of her older sibling; and Robert, who didn’t seem to have any friends at all. They were all chain smokers, and Patrick was a lot slower to tolerate them than Wendell was to treat them like family.

With every newcomer, Wendell never missed the opportunity to share the desire of his heart, to meet his aquamarine beauty and have ten children with her. It touched everyone’s heart to various degrees, and all vowed to help Wendell find her. In the meantime he was quite content to make out with Kristin on occasion.

Meanwhile Patrick was dying for the opportunity to spend time with Susan again, and all he could think of was inviting her bowling. There were so few chances to talk to her, though, that he just couldn’t figure out how or when to ask nonchalantly. He knew it wouldn’t do to ask her as if for a first date – he needed bowling to just come up in conversation. He needed to drop in a suggestion, not actively invite her. He decided that if his vows meant anything, they certainly included not asking women other than April out on dates.

Then Patrick got lucky. Derek, one of the few FOP workers determined enough to reach over cubicle walls to create any social interaction, passed around flyers one Friday inviting everybody in the call center to another office get-together: this time, at his house. Derek had been working at the FOP for long enough and was now making enough that earlier that year he had decided to take out a mortgage on a house. The result was a very impressive bachelor pad, complete with three bedrooms, two baths, a finished basement with a flat-screen TV and game room, a spacious back deck, a full-width front porch and two refrigerators: one for food and one for beer. Patrick was ecstatic. It felt like going back in time to a high school party, in a real house, but this time he was actually invited. And Susan would be there.

Patrick didn’t want to want Susan to be there. He wanted to be excited only about the social gathering and about free beer, and be only passively interested that someone he knew – this Susan person – was probably going to attend as well. He knew perfectly well that he was married, and as such, he went straight to the wife to ask her if she wanted to go.

“Holy shit, he’s got a finished basement? That rocks!” April said.

“So you’re in?”

“Hell yes, I’m in. Sounds like your work friends aren’t as lame as I thought.”

“Yeah, should be fun,” Patrick said, and began furiously erasing those green eyes from his mind.

#6. Patrick and Wendell

2008-03-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

#6. Patrick and Wendell

The next day was a lot like the last. Patrick barely said a word to Susan all day. He was sitting at home, anticipating another boring night, when his friend Wendell called.

Wendell had been Patrick’s roommate in college and had done even less with himself than Patrick had since graduation. Wendell was an artist and refused to be anything else. Having never entertained any illusions of living on his own after graduation, he moved back in with his parents and immediately got to work painting full-time. At this point he had only sold one work, through a coffeehouse gallery, for $20. It was his least favorite work: a 5″ by 8″ daffodil floating above a green field, backlit by moonlight provided by a vanGogh rip-off starry sky. He bought a DVD of Dude, Where’s My Car? with the profits.

“Hey man,” Wendell began, as always.

“Hey.”

Around a group, Wendell was quite gregarious. Until he got warmed up, however, he came across much more as hard thinker, slow talker. “So . . . I heard they’ve got cosmic bowling down at 10th Street on Tuesday nights.”

“Listening intently.”

“And, uh, dollar drafts.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well, what do you think?” Wendell asked.

“Of what?”

“What do mean, of what?”

“I’m kidding. Sure. When do you want to go?”

“I was thinking . . . now? You know, if that’s cool with you.”

“Now’s good,” Patrick replied.

“All right.” Silence.

“You need me to pick you up?”

“Yeah man, that would be great. Mom and dad are on a cruise.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

“Okay.”

Wendell lived half an hour away, in the next town over. His parents had a terrific ranch-style house there, with a spacious basement apartment that had been his studio for the past two years. It had been Wendell’s dad’s idea to install an exterior stairwell leading directly down into the apartment, so he could enjoy the semblance of independence. April said his parents were just asking for Wendell to never grow up, but Patrick often thought it was a pretty nice setup. The parents barely charged anything for rent, and he didn’t have to worry about utilities or even food. He didn’t have to maintain a car of his own because he just borrowed the family sedan when he needed to, and rode his bike the rest of the time. He was just free to do what he wanted, be it painting or relaxing or making out with a new girl every month. Wendell’s shaggy good looks and carefree lifestyle would be enough to make Patrick intolerably jealous if Wendell weren’t such an infuriatingly decent human being.

Patrick didn’t bother knocking, just pushed the door open and started down into Wendell’s lair. Clothes, canvases, paint, toys – remote control cars, Legos, Nerf footballs – crowded a narrow pathway leading back to the entertainment center, where Patrick invariably found his friend when he came over.

Patrick stopped beside the couch, where Wendell sat staring at the TV. He was watching some Japanese game show in which, at the moment, people dressed in bright green and pink jumpsuits and helmets were storming through walls of huge white paper panels, hoping to miss by luck the one panel in each wall with brick behind it.

“Oh, man,” Wendell muttered to himself, as a middle-aged man smacked his helmet into the wrong panel and fell to the ground. His body was framed with animated chirping birds.

“Hey,” Patrick said.

“Holy shit,” Wendell replied, dramatically throwing his arms into the air. He turned to see Patrick standing by the couch.

“Guess you didn’t see me.”

“Geez louise, Pat. I can taste my heart,” Wendell said, pointing to his throat.

Patrick laughed. “Cosmic bowling?”

Wendell shook off his shock, put his thumb up. “Right on.”

They got into Patrick’s car and began the trek all the way back toward the vicinity of Patrick’s apartment, which was only two minutes from 10th Street Lanes.

“So what’s new?” Patrick asked.

“Um.” This was often Wendell’s response when asked a serious question, followed by at least half a minute of silence as he mulled over possible responses. “I broke my vegan streak.”

“Was it red meat again?”

“Yeah. I always seem to go all the way when I break the diet. Never fish, not even eggs – steak, it’s always what does me in. My grandparents sent us the meat, straight from the farm. Oh, holy of holies, this cow. This was delicious bovine. This was meat nirvana.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“No you don’t. You can’t really appreciate meat until you’re a vegan.”

“What about Denise?”

“Um . . .” long pause, “her best friend died.”

“What?”

“Yeah, her best friend since fourth grade. So she dropped out of school here and went back home. Couldn’t handle it.”

“Wow,” Patrick replied. “Was that hard to handle? I mean, for you?”

“Uh . . . no. No, at that point we’d only been on two dates. I don’t know at what point the best friend dying is rough on the significant other, but I wasn’t even significant yet anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, she told me in an e-mail.”

“Oh.”

“Damn, she was cute. I finally found a girl with two good dimples, and . . . oh well. Maybe I should concentrate on eyes next. I’ve always wanted a girl with aquamarine blue eyes. I wrote in my diary once when I was four that when I got married it would be to a girl with aquamarine eyes. Or a mermaid. You know, actual marine life, but with breasts. This is the girl I will find cosmic bowling. I can feel it.”

Instantly Patrick began thinking about Susan, and what it had been like to have her pale green eyes all to himself for the better part of an hour. He smiled, half at Wendell, half at the face in his mind.

“I’ve never seen a mermaid bowl,” Patrick said.

“Fine, just the eyes, then. You’re right, it’s a far more realistic goal.”

#5. Church

2008-03-16T20:31:00.000-07:00

#5. Church

Patrick had grown up going to church. It was something he was used to on Sunday mornings, a cleansing feeling like going to the dentist. April had had no such inclination when she met Patrick, so it had taken some convincing to get her into the habit when they’d gotten serious. Patrick had found for them a nearby Baptist church that resembled to a reasonable extent the church in which he had grown up. It had pews, a few stained-glass windows and a nice, big cross behind the central pulpit; when Patrick had seen that, he knew he’d found a respectable establishment, a House of God. April hadn’t been too pleased that they didn’t know anyone when they started attending, but Patrick had made the point that they didn’t know anyone who went to church anyway. So he began coaxing her to come with him every week, a trend that continued over the next two years. Of course, April’s attendance was still pretty inconsistent, as she had never intended to exorcise the Saturday-night-party-girl within her, who had little regard for the all too often hungover trying-to-be-religious-for-her-husband-Sunday-morning-girl. This weekend, however, neither April’s gregarious sister nor any of her lively friends had a single keg to speak of between them, so April was “good to go for a little Jesus action.”

Patrick, whose attentiveness at church had been basically impeccable up to this point in his adult life, was distracted beyond all reasonable attempts to focus on this particular Sunday morning. As April struggled with her nose in her hymnal, Patrick hardly looked down as he sang upright with full chest, but this was only because he knew the songs by rote. In fact, his mind knew nothing of Jesus or peace or hope or sacrificial love that morning. Instead his eyes searched the crowd on the off chance that Susan went to First Baptist and he’d just never noticed her before. His nose discreetly tested the air at various angles in an effort to detect that perfume she’d been wearing the other night. She was, in fact, the only person to whom Patrick was subconsciously singing, whether she could hear him or not, whether God cared or not.

When the music was over Pastor Jacobs took the pulpit, and Patrick blinked himself back into reality. April took his hand as they sat. He glanced over at her and realized he had forgotten entirely that she was there. He took a deep breath and opened his ears to the Word.

Pastor Jacobs began with an introductory anecdote that Patrick had heard at least twice before, so Patrick’s thoughts began to wander again. He wondered what Susan did on Sunday mornings. Was she at church? Was she asleep? Was she out shopping someplace, for something sexy? Or pajamas. Or just a sensible pair of slacks to wear to work. Was she by herself, or with friends? Or – oh yeah, Patrick remembered, there was that guy. Was she with him? No, not on a Sunday morning. They hadn’t been seeing each other that long. Unless she slept with him. Would she do that? Patrick didn’t think so.

“Turn with me to the book of Matthew, where we’ll get into our lesson for today . . .” Pastor Jacobs was saying.

Patrick let go of April’s hand to grab a black Bible from the pew in front of him. He leafed through the pages, listening for Pastor Jacobs’ leading. “Chapter 5 – let’s see – starting with the first verse . . .”

Patrick sucked in breath when he came to the page. He cleared his throat, loudly and suddenly, as his heart dropped. ADULTRY. It was staring him right in the face.

Pastor Jacobs leaned further over the pulpit. “Hmmm? Oh, I see – sorry, Chapter 6.”

“What?” April whispered.

“Nothing,” Patrick replied.

“You see where I was confused,” Pastor Jacobs continued. “No no, not the fifth chapter of Matthew. Feel free to kill and cheat on your spouses this week – we’re not working out of that passage today.”

Everybody laughed, no one louder than Patrick. Despite the correction, Patrick couldn’t help but turn back to Chapter 5 and peruse it.

He hardly noticed when the offering plate came around. April reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill just as the golden receptacle came to her. Patrick looked up from his Bible only when she reached across him to pass it along. He snapped the book shut as he watched the plate pass on.

Twenty? he mouthed to her.

She nodded. He shrugged and put the Bible back on the pew in front of him. He wondered if that was even ten percent of what they’d made that week, but since April took care of the money, he didn’t worry about it.

April had listened intently to the sermon about charity and being sincere in giving. She had started thinking hard about how much she was going to give to the church this week around the middle of Pastor Jacobs’ message. She tried doing the math in her head but couldn’t figure out how much a tithe would be, so she decided to go with her gut. Twenty bucks was about all she wanted to give, but afterward she still wasn’t sure if it was enough.

“Do you think it was enough?” she asked Patrick as they walked to their car.

“What?”

“Our offering,” she said.

“Sure. I mean, I don’t know. I make the same every week. You tell me.”

“I mean, did it feel like enough. I wonder if we should give to a charity or something.”

“The church does charities.”

“I know, I mean give right to the charity. Something we feel good about, like kids with AIDS or something. It would set a good example for our kids.”

Patrick nodded as they got into the car, but said nothing.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t know. Sure.”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Yeah, well.”

“What?”

“You do the money. Give to charity, sure. Sounds good.”

“It’s good to know you’re so concerned about the world around you,” April said, her face turned away.

Patrick said nothing in response. All he was thinking about was Susan, and this continued throughout the afternoon of watching tennis on TV. Patrick wondered if Susan played any sports. Oh, the questions he could ask her, ones that he just hadn’t gotten to yet on Friday night! He wanted to pick her apart, learn everything he could. She intrigued him. He wanted to know what was behind those eyes, what she held in that mind. What mystery was there, in her past, in her present. He wanted to show her he could be better than this other guy, that he was the kind of guy who stuck around. After all, he was married.

It was April’s idea to go see a movie that night, so they went to see some romantic comedy that hardly made Patrick crack a smile. All he could think of as he held April’s hand was how much better he could do than these fools in the movies. He could be romantic when he wanted to be. He knew how to lay on the charm.

April went to bed early that night, so Patrick stayed up to read. He could hardly pay attention to the words on the page, thinking about what the next day would bring. No, he told himself and God, he would not think of Susan like the guys in the movies did. He wasn’t trying to have sex with her. He didn’t even want to picture her naked. No, this was different, this was something else. It was appreciation of beauty. No more and no less.

Over the course of the next day Patrick and Susan hardly said a word to each other, they had such heavy call loads. They took their lunch breaks at different times. Patrick went to the restroom at the end of the day, thinking he would at least say goodbye to Susan before she left, but when he got back to his desk, she was gone.

Patrick tried to watch TV, tried to read, tried to do some job searching online that night, but he lacked the resolve for any of it. He went to bed before April got home and stared at the ceiling as he laughed at himself. Why had he been so excited about work today? he asked himself. What exactly had he been expecting? A romantic interlude by the drinking fountain? A passion-filled confession of unrequited love – on her part, of course – out in the parking lot? Time to rid his mind of it, he thought. Time to absolve himself of the madness the weekend had brought.

He woke only briefly when April flipped off the nightlight and gently slipped her arm over his chest.

#4. April's Good Day

2008-03-12T18:53:00.000-07:00

#4. April’s Good Day

April came home in a far better mood than she had the night before, because although she’d been just as stressed out at work, she’d made twice as much. When she opened the door and saw that all the lights were out, she immediately turned them on and went to the table. She knew Patrick would leave a note. He always did.

She frowned when she read it, because she wanted to celebrate with her husband. She hadn’t had a night like this in months. Apparently he’d had a good day, too, so all the better. Only, he wasn’t there.

She sighed as she put down her pouch. She stood in the kitchen for a long while before she reached for the phone and pressed one on the speed-dial. Her mother answered.

“Hi, Mom. Patrick’s not home, and I just wanted to tell somebody the good news,” she said.

“That I had a really good night,” she said. “Yeah, I made really good money.

“I know. We’re getting closer all the time.

“Yeah, I know you hear the ticking from way up there. We’re gonna be ready to have it soon.

“Yeah, well, that can wait. We’d be okay with a baby in here, for the first year anyway. We’ll just have to move all the office stuff around.

“Of course you can’t. You’ve been waiting since our wedding day.”

April smiled. “Well, I’m working on it! God, put a lid on it, Mom.

“I’m kidding. Mom, I was just joking. I know you know it’s my life.

“Okay. Yeah, I know it’s kinda late. Say hi to Dad for me.

“I love you, too.

“Right, a boy. We’ll do our best. Love you, bye.”

April went into the bedroom and changed into pajamas. Then she went into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of potato chips and a beer and fell into the couch.

Patrick came in a couple hours later to the flickering light of the television. April flinched. “Oh god, you scared me. I must have been falling asleep.”

Patrick responded with a tight smile. He moved quickly toward the couch and kissed her.

April looked up at the clock. “Holy cow. When was the last time you were out until one?”

“Long time. Hey, babe . . . uh, are you in a good mood? You look like you’re in a good mood?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Spent about thirty bucks.”

April’s jaw went slack and she leveled him with a momentary glare. “Wow.”

“Yeah, got a little carried away. We had a great time.”

She threw her hands up. “Oh well. I made good money tonight. But damn, did you drive drunk?”

“No, I didn’t drink that much, I just drank pricey. And dove into a couple of appetizers. And dessert.”

“My love, you are a pig,” April said, and shot him a goofy smile.

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, yeah. I definitely won’t be spending that much next time.” He sat down beside her.

“What’re you watching?” he asked.

“I dunno. Some shit.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said, and looked at him. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Wanna do it?”

Patrick smiled. “Do it? Are we in fourth grade? Should we even be sexually active at this stage, darling?”

“No. We’re the bad little kids who sit in the back of the room.”

“That is so disturbing.”

“Wanna?”

Patrick breathed in sharply. “I’m pretty tired. Like you said, when am I ever up this late?”

“Right,” April said. She nodded, and rose from the couch. “I understand.” She walked toward the bedroom, stripping off her shirt as she went. “We all get tired sometimes.” She stopped at the door and took off her pajama bottoms. “I’m pretty tired, too. Think I’ll sleep naked tonight, being so hot and all.”

Patrick smiled, and rose from the couch. “Birth control?”

“Ye-e-e-s.”

“All this week?” he asked as he followed.

“Ye-e-e-s.”

Patrick stepped over April’s pajamas as he entered the bedroom. He reached down, picked them up and put them carefully on the corner of the dresser so they wouldn’t fall off.

#3. Patrick and Susan

2008-03-09T19:42:00.000-07:00

#3. Patrick and Susan

Patrick had wondered what Susan would look like outside of work. He’d had no idea whether she would dress goth or slutty or not much different than at work, or whether she wore more makeup or less or whether she did her hair differently or whether she wore high heels or boots or whatever. Now he knew: tank-top, jeans and flip-flops. As usual, she wore hardly any makeup; she didn’t need it.

Someone flagged her down and she approached the table. “Susan!” Derek shouted at her. “Drink with me!”

She opened her mouth and looked down at all the eyes that were on her. Some lusted, others judged, others were friendly. Patrick’s sank into his empty shot glass.

“Um, okay,” she replied, shrugging.

Derek came around to the middle of the table, took the two remaining glasses and handed one to her. “One, two, three, blow,” he said, and put out his flame a second before Susan caught on.

“Salud,” he said, and tipped his head back.

Susan drank about half, then looked as if she were struggling to appear pleased with the taste. “Mmmm,” she said. “But I’m more of a margarita girl.”

“Suit yourself,” Derek said. He took the glass from her hand, smiled big, and gulped her half-shot. “But remember this: drunkenness is the road to awe.”

“I need to pee,” Helen said to no one in particular, and left her chair for the bathroom.

Susan frowned at Derek and looked questioningly around the table. “Is there any place to sit?”

“We’ll ask the waiter for another chair.”

“There’s a free one.”

“Oh, um,” Patrick piped in. “Helen was sitting here. I don’t know –”

“Have a seat,” Derek said. “We’ll fetch her another chair.”

Susan pulled out the chair next to Patrick. He looked up at her. She was tall – really tall, like a supermodel. Almost as tall as he was, at six-two. “Hi,” she said, and her green eyes sparkled.

Patrick cleared his throat. “Hey.”

So it was they sat together that night, through the drinks and the appetizers and more drinks. Neither one of them spoke much. Susan was new and didn’t know anybody, and Patrick never really talked to his coworkers much anyway.

“Susan, how’d you get to be so beautiful?” Derek asked her at one point, out of the blue.

“Genes,” she replied, and looked at Patrick with a crooked smile. He laughed.

“Oh . . . oh, she’s a quick, quick wit,” Derek said. “So quick. There’s the quick and the dead, so I guess that leaves me dead, but what a way to die! No, a better question. I do have better questions. Like who are you, for instance? We all have an identity, a personage, if you would, or will, and yours is a lovely personage. Where does your personage come from, m’lady?”

“From Cincinnati.”

“Cincy, great. Lovely town. I hear. I don’t really know, but you’re from there, so that’s good. What brought you here?”

“College. A lot of my friends stayed around here, so I did too. But then they all got married and left.”

“Haven’t found your shining knight in armor yet, then.”

Susan shrugged, and looked down into her margarita glass as she swirled its contents with her straw. “I uh . . . I’m seeing somebody now, so, maybe.”

“Oh god, it hurts so bad,” Derek said, suddenly clutching his chest. “Did you . . . yes, you poisoned the tip, didn’t you? Naughty. Awfully rude.”

Susan laughed, and shook her head over her glass. Then she pointed to Patrick’s hand. “How long?”

“Hm?” Patrick said, as though he hadn’t been listening intently to everything she said. She lifted her hand to jab her finger down and his eyes followed the gesture. “Oh,” he replied, fingering the ring. “Almost two years.”

“What’s her name?”

“April.”

Susan nodded. “I like it.”

“What, the ring or the name?”

She smiled. “Both, I guess. Is it white gold?”

“Silver.”

She nodded again. “Where is she?”

“At work. She’s a waitress at the Corner Stop.”

“Does she like it?”

Patrick tossed his head. “Um . . . no.” He chuckled. “No, she couldn’t hate it more.”

“Oh,” she replied, sincere pity on her face.

They listened to other conversations for awhile before Patrick asked, “So how did you ending up Fopping?”

“What-ing?”

“F-O-P.”

She smiled. “Oh, yeah. I guess I thought I’d be pretty good at convincing people to give to a good cause.”

“What made you think that? What was your major?”

“Chemistry.”

Patrick laughed. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Sure it does,” Susan said, then looked away in thought for a moment. “Only the right combination of elements can make a compound. I’m just good at figuring out what element people are and being what I need to be to make the bond.” She turned her palm upward. “Chemistry.”

Patrick smiled into her beautiful eyes.

#2. A Job Well Done

2008-03-05T19:36:00.000-08:00

#2. A Job Well Done

The next day, Friday, was a great one for Patrick. It was as if God had sprinkled extra doses of generosity all over town; Patrick doubled his entire week’s pledges in just six hours. Naturally, he was smiling about it, even cheering under his breath. He knew he was within just a few months of a raise.

“You seem awfully pleased with yourself today,” Susan said. She smiled brightly at him with one hand on her phone, pausing before making another call.

Patrick nearly leapt out of his chair. This was the most she had ever said to him. “Uh, yeah,” he said, and laughed, embarrassed. “I thought I was being discreet.”

“Yeah, well, keep a lid on it. I’m trying to work,” she said gently, scowling with her eyes but still smiling.

This was the first time Patrick had had a chance to really look at her, straight on and up close. She had short brown hair that cupped her round ears, thin lips tinged pink with lipstick, a small, mousy nose that Patrick thought no man could find anything other than heart-rendingly cute, and then there were her eyes. They were pale green, like a cat, like Catwoman, like someone who had a strong will, but at the same time, delicate. Everything about her was delicate, somewhat dainty: the way she touched her mic, the way she typed, the way she walked, as if the headset, keyboard and floor were all cherished possessions on which she would hate to leave any marks. She was a girl – woman (was it time to start calling them women? Patrick wondered) – who handled life with care, responsibly, thoughtfully, and maybe even passionately. Patrick wondered what her passions might be, what she saw to be her path or calling in life. He wondered what she might think of his passions, if she might share them. He had thought all this before, faintly, but talking to her face-to-face for the first time made his imagination flare.

Susan adjusted her headset and turned back to her phone to dial. Patrick turned to his computer screen and, upon seeing his reflection, thought about April’s reddish-blonde hair that she tied back and her opaque blue eyes and her thick lips and her long nose, features that came together to make a pretty face. He had a pretty wife, he thought as he perused the list on the screen. She was shorter than Susan, and Susan was a bit skinnier. He glanced over at her for a moment. Susan was wearing a skirt. April almost never wore skirts. They both had very nice legs. They both did, he considered.

At five o’clock Patrick’s manager announced that they had had a record day and congratulated everyone on a job well done. Someone suggested that they all go out and celebrate that night. Patrick’s stomach always bunched up when people from work went out, because he was never quite sure if he could afford it, or if he could, if he should spend the money. April took care of the money, because she was far more responsible than Patrick, and she had to deal with cash all the time anyway. So they got into fights about what they could and couldn’t do and especially whether one was okay with the other doing it alone, as Patrick would be that night because April was working. So what sounded simple and fun to all the single people in the room sounded like a war cry to Patrick.

“Sounds like fun,” Susan said. “You can brag about how well you did.”

Patrick turned as the words floated like musical notes into his ears. He hadn’t realized she was talking to him at first. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. Sounds like I’m not the only one.”

She smiled in response and started getting ready to leave. Patrick did the same, and when he had logged off his computer he rose and said, “Well, see ya.” He had never felt the need to say it before, but he figured they had talked enough that day.

“See ya there,” she replied. Patrick nodded and left.

When he got home he mulled over his options. He could stay in all night, maybe rent a movie, and make his wife happy by being home when she got there. He knew she wouldn’t be mad if he went out, but if he went without her and spent a bunch of their money, she’d be upset. He looked around as he weighed the options, and thought again how much he hated this apartment. One thing they were trying to save up for was a nicer place, one without horrible drafts and drug dealers next door. It would be a long time before that happened, though, and in the meantime Patrick had a hard time turning down any opportunity to get out.

So when the time came he made up his mind and put a note for April on the kitchen table. Big day, gone out with people from work. I’ll try not to spend too much. I love you, Pat.

Patrick stepped out after making sure he looked nice, but not like he was trying to impress anybody. He cleared his throat repeatedly on the way to the restaurant, and tried out his voice to make sure it was steady and wouldn’t crack tonight. He smelled his armpits to make sure he could still smell a hint of the deodorant he’d put on that morning. He pulled his pant legs down at red lights to make sure they covered his socks while seated. He checked his part and combed his hair with his fingers, checked his part, combed with his fingers. He checked it one more time before parking.

“Oh, Patrick. Just in time, man,” Derek said when Patrick sat down beside him, toward the end of the table. “We’re starting off with something special, on me.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, nodding hello to the dozen other faces at the table. Susan was not among them.

The waiter came then with a tray that looked to be on fire. He set it carefully down in the middle of the table as sweat dripped from his forehead. Those sitting close by reached forward to take the flaming shot glasses and pass them down the table. Once everyone had a glass, Derek stood up and raised his high.

“This is to FOP, and to the ridiculous amassing of wealth made possible by its intrepid fundraising caller-people. May we forever be FOP-a-licious. Here here!”

Everybody cheered, and Derek quickly continued, “Now slap the table twice, bam bam – ” he demonstrated “ – blow out your flame and down it. Ladies, sip if you like. Men, don’t disappoint me. Ready? Don’t forget the blowing it out part now – you know who you are . . . Lindsay – ready?!”

The table rumbled with slapping hands, man-made wind doused the flames and all heads tipped back. Patrick didn’t take shots very often, and felt the burn that needed no flame all the way down to his stomach. He bellowed once it was down, though nobody noticed amidst the laughing.

He tapped Helen on the shoulder and pointed to her water. “You mind?” he rasped.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” she said, and handed him the glass. He sucked about a quarter of it through the straw. “I didn’t drink mine,” she whispered to him. “You want it?”

Patrick squinted at her and shook his head no. “I think it would kill me.”

“We still have a nice fire going,” Derek said, looking at the tray. “Two extra.”

“I knew Debbie wasn’t coming, but where’s that new girl?” someone said.

“I don’t know, but I and one other lucky alcoholic are going to be claiming those pretty quick here if our latecomers don’t show,” Derek said.

“There she is.”

Patrick turned around and saw Susan searching for them by the front door.

#1. Patrick and April

2008-03-02T21:20:00.000-08:00

Striking Out

A novella
by Matt Bloom

#1. Patrick and April

It took sixteen hours for the baby to come. It was a boy, though Patrick and April and all the family had known that for months. But all those sonogram pictures couldn’t prepare them to see little Eric for the first time. He had gained nine pounds inside of his mother while Patrick watched and felt the kicking and squirming along the way. Meanwhile April had watched her husband and studied the awe in his face when he touched her. She knew he often needed her gentle hand to reassure him that everything was going to be all right, and now they had proof in a thirty-second old baby boy.

Patrick breathed shallowly as he looked over his exhausted wife, whose arms shook as she lifted them to take her son. He brushed a hand over her sweat-soaked hair and left it there. His other hand was on her shoulder. He looked from hand to hand, and back again, and at her eyes, which were fixated on the baby. He knew that just below his gaze, Eric was trying hard to focus on his father, but Patrick couldn’t quite summon the strength to look back.
In fact, it scared all hell out of him.

* * *

Patrick’s affair had begun and ended the same week the doctor believed Eric was conceived.

He had been working with the Fraternal Order of Police, making phone calls to raise money, for several months when Susan started. He noticed her across the room basically because there were no other very attractive women in his call center. He didn’t talk to her at all until a couple of months later, when the manager rearranged the office to accommodate increased personnel and they wound up side by side. Even then they said little more than “Hello” and “Goodbye” to each other, and communicated mostly through silent smiles from time to time.

April was a waitress at a local cafe. Six months before the affair, she came home late one night after work with a headache. She was fuming mad and couldn’t wait to vent to Patrick, who had been at the apartment watching television all night.

“Pat, I’m sick,” she said as she fell through the door.

Patrick put the TV on mute. “What’s the matter?”

April kissed him and plopped herself onto the couch. She tossed her pouch onto the coffee table in front of them. “Dick.”

“Oh,” Patrick replied knowingly.

“That fat, sadistic bastard. Why doesn’t he quit? Doesn’t he want more out of life than to screw me over all the time? I’m sick of it. I am so sick of his bullshit.”

“What happened?”

“First off, because we’re short tonight I get stuck with about nine tables.”

“Geez.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re only supposed to have five,” Patrick recalled.

“Yeah. And so I’m already going like crazy, and when you’re that busy you’re gonna make some mistakes. So I had a couple of complaints, but I took care of it. I didn’t get this lady’s coffee, I forgot silverware a couple of times, drinks, that sort of thing. Nothing major. But this one old, crotchety geezer gets all bent out of shape because I brought him regular coffee instead of decaf. He said he told me three times he wanted decaf. Please. He told me once, in an undertone, that he wanted decaf. Fine. I apologized, but it wasn’t good enough for him. No, he had to ask for the manager, and guess who was on tonight?”

“Dick.”

“Hell yes, Dick. And let me tell you, he chewed my ass out. He gives me this whole damn speech about my attitude and how I need to shape up and how I’ve been written up before and blah blah – ugh! I could have kicked his ass right there. I mean, sure, maybe I had some edge to my tone, but is it my fault we were short girls? That’s not my damn fault. I could just pop that man’s head off his neck, I swear.”

Patrick shrugged. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll quit, that’s what I’ll do, next time he pulls that shit.”

“April, you know we can’t –”

“Oh, I know, I know.” She grunted. “But I really want to sometimes.”

“Well, I guess you could look around some. Couldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah,” April said, staring at the TV with her arms crossed. “I should.”

They sat in silence for about a minute, watching the muted TV.

“God, I’m hungry,” April said, and walked into the kitchen. “How was work?” she shouted from the other room.

Patrick sighed. “You know. Nothing to say. Work was work.” “Yeah,” she replied absentmindedly.

“You know I’d like to quit sometimes,” Patrick shouted from the couch. “Remember how I went to college and got that degree thing? How I was so excited that now that I’ve graduated, I can finally fulfill my dream of hitting strangers up for money?”

April chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I should go back and ask my professors if this is what they meant by ‘public relations’.”

“Hey, don’t you be getting any ideas, though. If I can’t quit, you definitely can’t. One of us needs to be working full-time, or this sister’s not gonna be too happy.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to risk making you unhappy.”

April poked her head out into the living room. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Patrick shrugged. “I like to think there are two people in this relationship we’re trying to keep happy.”

“Oh yeah? Well fine, if you feel like it, you quit your nice, cushy, air-conditioned, full-time sit-down job any time you like, and see how you like living on what a waitress can make. Not all of us are brainiacs with college degrees.”

“All I’m saying is, sometimes we brainiacs get a little bored making phone calls all day. One fine day I think I’d dig something a little more challenging.”

“Oh, and us dumb people are just fine waiting tables forever?”

“No, babe, c’mon. You know that’s not what I mean.”

“You just be thankful for what you got. We’ve talked about this, Pat. You wouldn’t have time to look for something else during the day, and we got a lot to save up before we can afford to have you not working.”

“Holy crap, calm down. I’m not quitting, I’m just talking.”

“You better be,” April said, returning to the kitchen. “Scare me when you talk like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Patrick replied, unmuting the TV. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Coming Soon!!

2008-01-29T15:20:00.000-08:00

Hello readers! This will be the site of a serialized novella by Matt Bloom. We hope that you will join us every Monday and Thursday, starting March 3rd, to read more of the story as it unfolds. The following is a preview of what you can expect from Striking Out:

Cast of Characters

Patrick - He has a baby on the way but is scared to death of the responsibility of being a father, especially considering the difficulty he has had with just being a faithful husband.

April - She has been married to Patrick for two years, working as a waitress to help pay the bills. Strong-willed as she is, this is not the kind of woman to take competition lightly.

Susan - Beautiful, charming, intelligent . . . just incredibly unlucky with men. Patrick, for instance, may be everything she's looking for in a guy, with the exception of that pesky ring.

Wendell - Patrick's quirky, cosmic-bowling-loving best friend is searching for the perfect girl, and just may have found her in Susan. He may be the right choice for her, too - nevermind that he still lives in his parents' basement.

Eric - Patrick and April's baby boy is on the way, but what condition will his parents be in when he arrives?