It has now been seven days of writing, and today will commence as day eight. I am at 18,244 words — 3 days ahead of schedule, but trying to provide a cushion in case there is a day I cannot write, or I suffer from brain fart.
The two hardest things for me so far has been typing without (or with very little) editing, and trying to keep it interesting, seeing how I must omit a lot of truth…which is, as the cliche goes, much stranger than fiction, and probably a better read. I'm not a good fiction writer. My talent is more in the area of debate. I could easily crank out 50,000 words if I had a sparring partner and a heated topic.
That said, I am posting an excerpt somewhere in the middle of what I've written. My main character's name has changed from Dani to Deni. This will be out of order, so you will just have to imagine what took place before and after, (lol):
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Deni believed that once she got into the house, she could pay the monthly bills – even if she had to take on a part-time job. As long as she made her house payment she would never have to worry about having a roof over her head again. It was the last week in October and she wanted an answer soon. Next month she would have to either renew her lease on the office, or let it go. Winter was coming on, and it was already getting cold outside. She wanted a permanent home. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped it as she signed on to her e-mail.
Good Morning Deni,
I just made reservations for a room Friday Nov 4th, 5th and 6th at the Super 8 Motel in Praterville. This is a small town approximately 45 minutes south of Indian River.
2 double beds, non-smoking………ok?
Matt
“A” room? Oh Good LORD! She snorted coffee up her nose and slammed the cup down on the desk. He booked ONE ROOM with two beds. That might as well be one room, ONE BED. Now she was getting nervous. She was nervous, yet oddly excited. But mostly just nervous — in her stomach. She knew what one room, two beds meant. Everybody knows what one room, two beds means. It means they would be having sex if things escalated on their own. It means he wants to have sex and he is going to make it easy just in case she wants to have sex, too. Did she want to have sex with Matt Donovan? Shit…he could be her dad… and she couldn’t even remember what he looked like. Deni had been with men of different ages, and she wasn’t above having a little “recreational sex” now and then, but she’d never been with anyone 22 years older or 22 years younger than her. Did older guys even do things the same way? Deni was up now out of her chair, pacing and fanning her hands as if they were dripping wet, her stomach in knots. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she started, “I wonder if he will want the lights on or off. I hope he wants them off. Should I wear a nightgown and robe, or pajamas, or just be cool and wear sweats. I’ll have to paint my toenails, and…”
She stopped in her tracks. This is stupid, she mused. She’d been to a kazillion field trials, and very little time is actually spent in the motel room. Field trials equal long days. You’re up before dawn and by the time all the dogs are caught up, it could be dark again. It’s not uncommon to be feeding dogs on a tie-out at 10 pm. A motel room is just a place to shower and flop for a few hours before the next day’s classes. Matt would flop on his bed and she will flop on hers. Come to think of it, she and Ray had double bunked with many a beagler over the years. It’s just part of the sport – to share costs whenever possible. Of course, this time neither she nor Matt had any dogs in the trial, but just the same, she was being silly. It probably meant nothing. Nothing at all. She was fine. Absolutely fine.
That said, she smoothed back her hair, walked into the bathroom, and threw up in the sink.
Matt grabbed 2 photo albums and a journal from the shelves in his office and placed them next to his half-packed duffle bag. There was over 40 years of beagle history gold in those albums, and he figured any editor worth her salt would get a bang out of seeing them. Most people just talked about the old legendary great hounds; they never got to see them run first-hand. Matt Donovan judged them…or owned them. They were the dogs of his time, and he had scads of photos that had never been published. He would explain every photo to her, “That alone will while away the entire evening if she doesn’t want to have sex.” Matt chuckled aloud at his own badness. He really didn’t mean that, he just felt compelled to say it. He thought it highly doubtful Deni would want to roll around in the sheets with the likes of this old man. Ellie was about Deni’s age, but lightning never strikes twice, and just as well. Matt was done with romance, period. He and Deni had gotten to be trusted and comfortable friends, and that was enough. He wasn’t opposed to an occasional grapple, though.
Hell, he was still a man.
Deni was scouring her computer for pictures. Deni never deleted anything; she was a pack rat of .jpgs, documents, and miscellaneous data. Having published Beagles Today for the last 4 years, she knew all of that information would be handy to keep. You never know when you might need a picture of a certain dog or judge. Besides, it was beagling history – who won what trial and when, who made what dog a champion…and a big picture of said champion, etc. Matt had occasionally sent pictures and write-ups of the various fox trials and of past years’ Canadian Invitationals, so she went on a hard drive hunt to see if she could identify him in pictures. If he sent it in, it was archived somewhere on this computer and she’d find it. She had a huge picture of Matt that she printed in an article about a famous International Field Champion that he had finished three times over. That had never been done before. The only problem was, it was in 1985 and Matt was a strapping, handsome man of 50 with dark hair, and a dark, full-face beard. She needed a current face to put with the voice on the other end of the line, a voice that had been flirting somewhat shamelessly with her lately. Not one to be outdone, Deni gave as good as she got and hoped she wouldn’t regret it later. They were within a week of the banquet and the e-mails were becoming so frequent that she suggested they sign up for an instant chat service, and that had become their new way of communicating most of the time. They were still serious about dog talk, about her housing situation and the magazine, but now it seemed, at least once per day, there was some innuendo, or playful double entendre.
A couple of pictures appeared in the search window from Matt’s past article submissions to the magazine. In most of them he was either shaking someone’s hand or stacking a dog on the winners’ bench. She zoomed in on the photos and tried to remember if this was how he looked almost three years ago when she met him briefly at the Vermont derby trial. There were so many people at that trial, and Deni was meeting them all for the first time, she simply couldn’t retain every name, much less put faces to each name. She did remember Matt to more of a degree because she knew he was from Canada, and that he had been her Canadian go-to for their trial results, upcoming events, etc. When Deni announced to all of her contacts that she would be “out of office” attending the Vermont trial, Matt shot her an e-mail saying he would most likely be there as well. She told him she hoped so, she would like to meet him in person and thank him for his contributions to the magazine. Few Canadians had much faith in Deni and Beagles Today in the beginning, but Matt was always willing to act as liaison. The fact that Deni covered the Canadian events like she did was just one of the things that separated her magazine from the others. She didn’t see borders when it came to this sport, and neither did Matt. Dogs were trialed, campaigned, and bred back and forth freely. It was all about the dogs, not the flags.
She finally found a fairly recent picture of Matt taken indoors in a clubhouse. He was handing someone a trophy and shaking their hand, but he wasn’t wearing a cap and she could make out his face pretty well. Deni wished she had paid closer attention in Vermont so she wouldn’t feel like she was going out of town with a complete stranger. What she mostly remembered was that he didn’t look to be a man of 69 years. He was in better shape than most of the men at the trial who still had young kids in tow. In this picture, Matt’s hair was mostly white, just slightly too long, so it was curling around the edges. He had no beard now, but he had a smile that was pleasant enough, and Deni decided he wasn’t too hard to look at. She lit a cigarette, sipped her whiskey and coke, and stared at the picture a good long time. “…only because I need to be able to recognize him at the airport.” she told herself.
Cathy Murphy and Helen Reeves were behind the registration table at the lodge, taking banquet tickets and greeting guests when Matt came through the door with a blonde on his arm. Cathy spotted him first, her eyes widened, and she elbowed Helen hard. Helen looked up from the table and her jaw literally dropped open when she saw Matt and his lady guest. It would be a newsworthy event on its own if Matthew Donovan were to bring a lady to an event, simply because he was known throughout the circuit as a confirmed bachelor. He travelled alone, won some trophies, shook hands and visited with everyone, and then left alone. Almost everyone admired and respected Matt, save the few who were jealous of his success over the years. Deni had lost a little weight, but that big smile and mop of curly blonde hair were a dead give-away – even across a crowded room. This was big news. Cathy hissed at Helen, “Do you know who that is with Matt? That’s Deni Benson from Beagles Today!”
Helen glared at them as they approached the table. She knew who Deni was. She’d met her in Vermont in 2003. “Of all the nerve…” she replied to Cathy still peering at them over her reading glasses.
“Now, now, Helen.” Jim Reeves had walked up behind Cathy and his wife. “Let’s not be inhospitable to our first Hall of Fame inductee and…his guest.” Helen turned to look at Jim and found him giving Deni the once over. She pulled a Cathy move and elbowed her husband at the beltline… hard. Jim winced, but recovered in just time to extend his hand to Matt.
“Matt,” Jim lied through a forced smile, “it’s always good to see you.”
“Aye, and yourself.” Matt grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. “Deni, I’d like ya to meet Jim and Helen Reeves, publishers of Pack Beaging, and generous sponsors of this award. Jim, Helen, I’d like you to meet Denice Bens…”
“We’ve met.” the Reeves said flatly, and in unison.
For a few seconds it was like a Mexican stand-off. Matt still had a grip on Jim’s hand and was looking him dead in the eye, Helen’s eyes were now fixed on the camera around Deni’s neck, Deni was side-glancing to Matt, the corners of her mouth upturned in a coy smile. Cathy Murphy’s eyes were darting from person to person, trying to gauge their reactions, and it was all she could do not to wiggle out of her skin. This is just too good, she said to herself, making a mental note of everyone she would have to tell. Colin should see this. He would shit. “Where’s that husband of mine?” Cathy said aloud, breaking the silence and looking over both shoulders for him. Colin was at the bar, already three drinks into the night and ordering the fourth.
Matt winked and said to her, “Don’t you worry yourself, Cathy. I’ll find him and say hello.” He took Deni’s arm in his and said, “This way, Good Lady.” and they proceeded into the dining room.
“For God’s sakes, Helen, shut your gob.“ Jim said, “You’re gonna catch flies.”
Matt and Deni were giddy from the wine they had with dinner, and between fits of giggling, they gabbed non-stop on the drive back to Praterville. They laughed about the wide-eyed stares they got, and how Cathy was almost frantic to snag some juicy gossip, finding excuses to sit at their table or follow them around. Deni was driving Matt’s truck at his insistence, and he was watching her with amusement as she groped around in the dark to find the knobs for the headlights, and fumbled around for the ignition. It was a big truck, she could barely reach the pedals, and by the time she got the seat adjusted all the way forward, the shoulder harness was across her neck. She didn’t know these back roads in the Adirondacks, and she kept speeding up and slowing down. “What the heck is wrong with this tub?” she said at one point, “the speedometer says I’m doing 80 and there’s no stinkin’ way.”
“Relax, Good Lady.” He chuckled. “This truck was bought in Canada, remember? The top set of numbers is in kilometers. Your American miles-per-hour is the smaller set of numbers under it.”
“Well, shit.” She said, and they both giggled again.
Matt quietly stared at Deni’s profile the rest of the way back. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration as she navigated the truck around those dark and winding back roads. The blonde curls that were slightly coiffed earlier had now fallen loosely around her face. He was in awe of how Deni had also navigated the unfriendly waters at the banquet tonight. She seemed quite at ease, taking pictures, making notes, and shaking hands like this was her 20th year to attend. She might think of herself as weak and emotionally frail right now, but he knew this lady has the nerve of a bulldog. He was proud of the way she carried herself, and nobody would have guessed the turmoil she was going through at home.
Deni really didn’t feel like eating at restaurants all weekend – she was afraid the food would upset her stomach, so when they reached Praterville, Deni asked if they could stop at a food store and get a few items to keep in the room. Matt seemed delighted to do this, and they found a supermarket across the road from the Motel. They each grabbed a hand basket and cruised up the aisles on a culinary treasure hunt, each selecting items for the other to try. She picked out rotisserie chicken salad with grapes and walnuts, and some assorted cheeses, and he picked out smoked salmon steaks. When they finally checked into their room and unpacked, he presented her with 3 bottles of wines from Pelee Island. Deni grinned as he opened a bottle and poured some into the little plastic hotel glasses. She studied his face, tickled at how he could look so serious pouring that expensive wine into cheap plastic glasses. She thought about his induction into the Hall of Fame earlier, how most of the beaglers at the banquet had known Matt for years and years, and how proud they were to see him honored in that way. She was such a newbie in this sport by comparison to them.
Matt was sitting on his bed, and she was on hers. They were facing each other, knees almost touching, and he handed her the plastic glass of Merlot. They raised their glasses and he said, “To an extraordinary evening.”
“Indeed!” she said.
Matt took a drink and then placed his glass on the nightstand that separated the beds. He went to his suitcase and brought out 2 photo albums. Deni was intrigued, but when he sat down on her bed next to her, she caught her breath. If he noticed it, he didn’t let on. Instead, for the next two hours, Matt went page by page, explaining each picture to Deni – pictures of people and dogs she had only heard about. “Before ye get too starry-eyed,” he began, “just remember that the longer the dogs are gone, the greater they become in everyone’s memory. Have you heard of Field Champion Went’s Whistler?”
Deni looked at the black and white picture Matt was pointing to — of Whistler being posed by his owner in front of a 4th place trophy. “Of course I’ve heard of him. Everybody knows of Went’s Whistler!”
“Aye, but what they don’t know is that Whistler had no hunt to ‘im a’tall. He waited until the other dogs got the rabbit up, and when they did, he would run that rabbit track backwards as well as he did forward.“
“You mean Whistler was a backtracker!?” Deni’s eyes were as big as goose eggs now.
“Good Lady, if you only knew.” Matt chuckled.
And this was the way it went until they came to the last picture in the second album. He told the stories, and she laughed. He had such a well-developed sense of humor, and the way he described the pranks and mishaps he had endured with his fellow doggers over the years, she could picture it all. She tried to soak it all in — the stories, the expression in his eyes as he told them, the pattern of his mouth when he spoke, the perfect, square shape of his hands as he turned the pages, and the faint scent of his skin in close proximity to her. She gazed at his silver hair, his dark brown eyes were ruggedly lined but his face was still quite handsome with strong features, and she had to remind herself that he was 72 years old. Occasionally they would make brief eye contact, but would quickly turn their attention back to the pages. Sometimes their arms would touch. There was definitely some chemistry building…nothing earth-shattering, but stirring just the same. Neither made a move beyond where they were, so Deni broke the spell. “Okay, I think I’m going to step outside, smoke a cigarette, and then get ready for tomorrow. It’s probably going to be an early day, right?”
“Yessss, well, the rest of our trip is a social one, Good Lady. We have no dogs in this race, so we’ll get there when you want to get there. You’re the one on vacation.” He got up, walked to his side of the room, and placed the photo albums back into the suitcase.
When returned, she went into the bathroom to freshen up, brush her teeth, and change into her pajamas. When she stepped out of the bathroom her heart gave one quick leap to her throat. The lights were turned off except for one small lamp by the window which cast a soft warm glow in the room. Matt had placed all of their belongings on his bed, and he was in hers, reclined with his hands behind his head, and covered from the chest down. And from what she could see, he was undressed. As she stood there, he was staring her into her eyes so intently that she couldn’t look away — as if it were an unspoken agreement that they would do this thing, and now the moment had arrived. Deni swallowed hard and walked to the bed. Matt lifted the covers, and she crawled in beside him. Still not knowing what to expect, yet strangely calm, she lay there facing him, their heads on the same pillow. She reached over and touched a silver curl of his hair, and stroked his cheek. Then looking down from his gaze, she placed her hand on his chest – her fingers combing through the hair and finding the skin beneath. And when Matt lifted Deni’s chin and placed his lips on hers, she closed her eyes and drank his breath in deeply…and she learned that passion between a man and a woman was neither defined nor diminished by age.
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Cheeps 