Sunday, March 27, 2011

Excerpt from The Truth About Dating

Another sample for Pixel of Ink's Sample Sunday!  This is from The Truth About Dating

Chapter 5 - Speed Dating

The 4-minute Date people had rented out an entire bar. I had dressed up in my best color, black. I was wearing a bold red lipstick. I sat in the parking lot and gave myself a pep talk. “You want to meet people.” I looked at myself in my rearview mirror. “You can do this.”

On the way inside, I passed a yellow Trans-Am with the license plate “I4HUSKR.” You have to live in Nebraska, or be a football fan to understand or at least be aware of the rabid intensity of Husker football fans. My stepmother bought an Omaha t-shirt when she and my father came here to visit. Back in Florida, a man passed her in the grocery store and told her “Go Big Red!” She had no idea what he was talking about.

Inside the bar, there was a registration table where the organizers were signing people in.

“Don’t tell the other participants where you work or live,” a 20-something woman with frizzy blond hair and a wedding ring said as she took my money. “Don’t tell them your last name.” She handed me a sheet of red-colored paper. “This is your score sheet. Each participant has a number. Write down his number when he sits. At the end of four minutes, you give them a fumble or a touchdown. When you turn in your score sheet, we tally the votes. Any couple that touchdowns each other gets their picture and email sent to each other. You take it from there.”

I was number seven. Lucky seven! I took this as a good sign, got a pint of Guinness, and found my table. The tables were small and round. Each one had two chairs and a numbered placard. Speed dating came for all age groups. This organization had evenings for mid 20s to 30s, mid 30s to 40s, and mid 40s to 50s. Thirty to forty would have been ideal, but they didn’t offer this option. After careful consideration, I had opted for the mid 30s to 40s. Thirty seemed too young, but the upper range of 40 seemed too old.

To calm my nerves, I set about meeting the women on either side of me. Number six was a schoolteacher. Number eight was an internal medicine resident. The resident was 39. She had a nerdy, bookish look that I found charming. She seemed like the kind of person who would always keep an interesting conversation going. The schoolteacher was 34. She had that midwestern perm that makes 25-year-old women look like soccer moms. I thought that men would choose her more than the resident, because she looked more predictable. I wondered where I fell in. Both women seemed more nervous than me, but I doubted they were. I can fake confidence well, and I was pretty sure that I was more terrified than anyone around me. I specifically didn’t look around at the men, because I didn’t want to form any preconceived notions. The question I’d finally decided to ask was, What’s your dream life? I figured it would give me insight into their long-term goals.

They started late, which didn’t help my nerves. The first man sat down and the games began. He was number seven also. The male number seven.

Me—Hi. Uh. I have a question prepared. Do you have a question you want to ask me?

#7—Uh, no.

Me—Okay. Well, here is mine. What’s your dream life?

#7—Uh, gosh, that’s a hard one. I don’t know. To live in Western Nebraska.

Me—Oh, do you like it out there?

#7—I grew up in Western Nebraska, near mmmmrh (unintelligible).


#7—Western Nebraska.

Me—Yes, but where?


Me—I can’t understand you, where?

#7—(laughing) You’re not from Nebraska, are you?


#7—Let’s see (sizing me up). You’re from Iowa? (Creative thinker, Iowa is just over the river from Omaha.)


#7—Then where?

Me—New York.

#7—New York?


#7—New York?


#7—New York???!!


#7—THE New York?



#8—Hi, I’ll need you to write your number on my list. I’m legally blind.

Me—Okay. My name’s Quinn, nice to meet you.

#8—I can tell your age by your voice.

Me—How old am I?

#8—I knew you’d ask me that. Let’s see. 32.

Me—I’m 38.

#8—Yes, I could tell. I also don’t judge people by their appearances, because I’m blind. I just see their insides. My blindness is not hereditary so I won’t pass it on to my children. But I wouldn’t mind passing on the human knowledge I’ve learned from being blind. It’s very interesting to see how people treat you when you’re blind. I only use my cane at night, and people are much nicer when I have the cane. Otherwise they say things like, ‘What are you, blind?’ and I tell them, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

Me—Why don’t you use your cane during the day?

#8—I don’t like the way people treat me.

I could hear my neighbor on the left, the teacher, questioning the men just before they got to me. She had the kind of voice that carried. She did the same routine with each one.

“Are you religious?”

“Well, yes.”


“Uh, yes. Protestant.”



“Weekly attendance at services?”

(Meekly) “Sometimes.”

By the time they reached me, some of them had broken into a sweat. I thought they’d enjoy my easy question, but it seemed to cause them as much anxiety as the schoolteacher’s drilling.

Me—What’s your dream life?

#1—I don’t know.

Me—What would you do, if you won, say, 30 million dollars?

#1—I don’t know. Make sure my kids are taken care of. I can’t really think of anything else. Buy a home. Uh, oh, and help people.

Me—Do you have a question for me?

#1—What do you do?

Me—I can’t tell you that. I signed a statement saying I wouldn’t reveal where I worked. So did you.

#1—What? When?

Me—When you walked in here.

#1—(annoyed) Everyone else has been telling me where they work.

Me—Well, they’ve been breaking the rules.

#1—I work at Colson’s.

Me—You shouldn’t tell people that. Any one of the women here could be a stalker.

#1—I’m not worried, (placing his hand on his breast, over his jacket) I’ve got a gun.

Me—(thinking—”Where’s that damn bell?”)

#2—Where you from?


#2—I been there once. What a rat race. Those people there, they’re like little ants crawling around an anthill. They look like a swarming mess, but somehow they all know where to go.

#3—How old are you?

Me—I’m 38.

#3—I’m 60. Got three grandchildren.

Me—Did you know this was supposed to be for mid 30s to mid 40s?

#3—Yeah. Last week I did the twenties one. Didn’t meet anyone.

#4—Hi, where do you work?

Me—You can’t ask people that. You signed a statement saying you wouldn’t. It’s against the rules.

#4—Well, everyone’s been asking me how old I am. That’s breaking the rules.

Me—Is it? I don’t remember that in the statement.

#4—It’s in there.

Me—Well, here’s my question. What is your dream life?

#4—Wow. That’s tough. I don’t know. I guess it’s to have more corvettes. I own three.

Me—Is that your corvette in the parking lot? The red one with the ‘I4HUSKR’ license plate?

#4—Yup, that’s me. One of my other ones says BOY TYME. I wanted IM4NURU, but of course, that was taken.

Me—What’s NU?

#4—What’s NU? (incredulous)


#4—You’re not from around here, are you?


#4—You from Iowa?


#4—(shock). Then where? Kansas?

Me—New York.

#4—You live in NY?

Me—No, I live in Omaha.

#4—Then you’re FROM Omaha.

#5—I’ve got three kids.

Me—Oh really? What are their ages?

#5—22, 25, and 27.

Me—(thinking—is your oldest one single?)

Me—What is your dr—


Me—(confused) What is your drea—



#6—Wait, I have one more.

Me—Okay. What is your—

#6—I don’t know!

Me—What is your dream life.

#6—Hmmm. I like that. Let’s see, I’d travel, try to spend some time helping other people out. Buy a house somewhere quiet. What’s your dream life?

Me—I’d buy a house in the mountains, have a big family, make time to paint.

#6—You’re an artist?


#6—What medium?


#6—Cool. What mountains?

Me—Well, I like New Mexico.

#6—Oh, NM is great! (smiling sheepishly) You’re really pretty.


Saturday, March 19, 2011

Excerpt From Searching For Meredith Love

I'm going to post excerpts from my novels, for Pixel of Ink's Sample Sundays.  Check it out!

Here is an excerpt from Chapter Five of Searching For Meredith Love

The next morning, Meredith woke up early. Pushing up, she looked out the window. The sky was a steely gray. Mendra’s warm, compact body was curled into a ball against her right thigh. It would be terrible to disturb her. Everything was contriving to keep her in bed. She fell back into the pillow, closing her eyes. Then Ben Abel’s face appeared behind her eyes and she sprung up like a jackrabbit, shocking Mendra out of her dreams. Was it real? Yes! Ben Abel had asked her out, just as she’d hoped he would. She picked Mendra up and held her up to her face. “Dreams can come true!” she told Mendra.

On the way to work, she remembered Kira's invitation to dinner on Friday. Taking the stairs two at a time, she dashed into Kira's office. Kira was already there. She often came in at 7:30 so she could leave early for her second job. Kira was munching from a bowl of dry Cheerios as she stared at her computer. Without really looking away from the screen, she said, “You’d better have a damn good explanation for being so chipper this early in the morning.”

Meredith shifted her weight. Her right knee was hurting a little from her reckless sprint up the stairs. “I have to cancel our plans for Friday. I got a better offer.”

“Oh boy. It better be a hot date.” She turned to look at Meredith.

Meredith came inside and shut the door. She sat down, still bundled in her coat. “It’s Ben Abel!” she squealed. She felt like a fourteen-year-old. “He asked me out yesterday when I was leaving. He biked here yesterday just to ask me.” Every sentence was an affirmation.

“He’s a babe. I wondered if he liked you when we were at happy hour. You played it cool, though. I would never have guessed.”

“Kira, I knocked down a chair going after him!”

“Did you? I hadn’t noticed. You must have done it very gracefully.”

It took fifteen minutes for Meredith to tell her every detail of their two minute conversation outside Family Practice. Back at her desk, Meredith was contentedly reading through her email when Sarah called.

“Eli is having a party on Friday. He wants you to come.”

“Eli barely knows me,” Meredith protested.

“He specifically asked me to invite you. You have to come. He said he never gets to see you anymore.”

Meredith doubted that any of what Sarah said was true. “I can’t go.” Just get it over with. “I have a date.”

“You what? With whom?”

“A resident here. Ben Abel. You don’t know him.”

“He asked you out?”

“Yeah,” Meredith said.


“Just.” ...last night, she added silently.

“Is he still there?”


“Oh my God!” Sarah screamed the last word into Meredith's ear. “You have a date!” Meredith started to feel guilty about not telling her sooner. “The virgin queen has a date.” The guilt vanished.

“I’m not a virgin,” Meredith whispered, peering into the hall to see if anyone was within earshot. She hoped that sticking to the facts now balanced out the lie earlier.

On Friday, the night of her big date, Meredith left the office at two. She showered and shaved and sanded her feet with pumice. She’d already picked out her dress, a tight-fitting black velvet number that she’d worn only once before, when she lived in New York. She had a garnet choker she’d bought here in Albuquerque. By 4:30 she was ready, so she added a little make-up just to kill the time. She started with her standard, lipstick, but then began brushing on mascara and blush, then a little eye shadow. When she looked in the mirror, she felt like a prostitute, but as she reached for a tissue, her doorbell rang. “Shit!” Meredith exclaimed. She’d totally lost track of time and now she’d have to answer the door with gunk on her face. Definitely not part of the fantasy.

Ben stood on the porch holding a small bouquet of irises and rose buds. “Hi,” Meredith said. Her giant grin was spreading again. “These are beautiful,” she said. “No one’s brought me flowers since high school. Thank you.”

As Ben stepped into the room she saw he was also dressed up. He wore a navy suit with a tomato red tie and a slate blue shirt. He’s got style, Meredith thought to herself, surprised. She was filling a jelly jar with water for the flowers, still wondering how she was going to get back to the bathroom to cream off the rest of her makeup.

“You look incredible,” Ben told her.

“I do?”

“Yes. The dress, the hair, your look pretty in jeans and no makeup, you’re beautiful in jeans and no makeup, but right now you’re stunning.”

Meredith decided the makeup could stay. She went for her coat and when she turned back around, Ben was on his knees, offering his fingers to Mendra to sniff. Meredith couldn’t remember when she’d last vacuumed. She could picture Ben's navy pant legs covered in cat hair. “This is Mendra.”

“She’s got a lot of presence,” Ben told her.

Meredith had been worried about the drive up to Santa Fe, but her fears were unwarranted. As it turned out, she and Ben had other things in common besides physical attraction. They both liked to cook, hike, camp, and watch Antique Road Show on PBS. They had graduated the same year from high school. Ben had first gone to art school for two years before switching to a pre-med program at another university.

“You’re kidding.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Why?” Meredith asked. “What made you turn from art to science?”

“It’s not turning away,” Ben argued as he moved deftly between cars on the two lane road to Santa Fe. “Science is a very creative process. Medicine really feels like an extension of my training in art. What about you? What did you do after high school?” Meredith had noticed he never let the topic rest on him for more than a few minutes.

“I went to art school, too. In New York. I got my BFA.” She felt foolish revealing this.

“God. I had no idea we had so much in common. And you also continue your creative process. Computer programming is just another form of design, wouldn’t you say?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never thought of it as anything more than an abandonment of my childhood dreams to be a painter.”

“You’re too rough on yourself. What’s your medium?”

“Oils were.”

“I was a sculptor. I like the three-dimensional aspect, being able to turn pieces around and work from all sides.” He laughed. “Still do.”

Meredith laughed too. “I’m sure your patients appreciate being compared to fine art.”

“Huh? Oh, I get it.” He chuckled. “That’s funny, Meredith. Actually, I didn’t mean my patients. I was referring to the sculptures I do at home.”

“You still make art?”

“Of course. I mean, yes. Not nearly as much as I used to.” He paused. “I take it from your ‘oils were’ response that you’ve gotten away from painting?”

Meredith could see her reflection in the glass window to her right. “I haven’t picked up a paintbrush since I graduated.”

They drove in silence for awhile.

“Does your job do it for you?” Ben asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

“You know. Give you an outlet for expressing yourself?”

“No. Honestly, it’s not a very creative job.”

“How can you stand it, then?”

“It’s easier than you think. To push all of that aside. I never even think about it anymore.”

“So you kissed?” Kira was at Meredith’s, sitting in an overstuffed armchair Meredith had rescued from a trash heap. A cup of coffee was balanced on her knee and she was methodically adding multiple packs of sugar. Meredith was across from her on the floor, drinking herbal tea because she was wired enough.

Meredith smiled. “We did.”

“When, how long, how was it? I want every detail.”

“We were sitting in his truck, talking.”

“Parked where?”

“In my driveway. We were just talking and then he started playing with a strand of my hair. All at once I couldn’t speak. There was this horrible, gaping silence...”

“Which probably only you noticed.”

“Maybe,” Meredith conceded. “And while I was in that state he leaned in and kissed me.”


“A minute. No, thirty seconds. Maybe less. Then he leaned back and started staring at me again so I turned to look out the window and said, ‘I wonder if it’s going to snow tonight?’”

“Good one.”

“Thanks. So he laughed and turned my head back around to face him. And then he kissed me again.”


“Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes!” Kira moved so suddenly her coffee spilled. Meredith thought of all that sugar and wondered if she’d get ants.

“Well, we were making out. Really it was closer to thirty minutes.”

“So you invited him in...”

“No! God! After making out with him for thirty minutes, he’d think I was inviting him in to have sex.”

“Did you want to have sex?”

“Gosh, yes! But I barely know him. What if he’s an IV drug user or a male slut...”

“I don’t think that Ben is either of those things.”

“It’s been a long time, Kira.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle.”