Karen Heidrich

Bargain

Knowing the rumble of her ex-husband's truck, Carlyle Witherspoon looked up as Billy Wayne parked on the street in front of her aunt’s house.  "Un-freaking-believable," she muttered.  With her fists jammed on the leather tool belt like a gunslinger in a western movie, she marched out of the garage shadows. 

Billy Wayne stepped out and slapped a hand against his thigh, signaling his mangy-looking dog to jump out of the truck bed.  Man and dog had been loyal companions since the day they rescued each other in the liquor store parking lot.  Billy Wayne snapped the end of a coiled lead to Butch's collar, buried in the thick chow-lab fur, and they strutted into the yard.  “I brought you a present, sweetheart.” 

"Don't call me sweetheart."  She took comfort in the loaded pockets of her tool belt and the hammer hanging down the side.  Billy Wayne had never been violent, not during high school or their eight-year marriage. 

"You can't still be mad." 

"Oh, I'm not mad.  I'm cautious."  Her words had no affect on him, judging by his lazy grin. 

"I guess you have a right to feel that way."

It had taken a long time but his cocky charm had finally lost its old power.  "I haven't seen you in almost two years and I've been here just a few days.  You can't blame me for being suspicious." 

"Don't get all ruffled up.  If I hadn't run into your mailman, I never would've found you." 

If ever there was a time she regretted not taking her mother's advice, this was it.  If she'd rented a post office box, Billy Wayne could've wrapped the aforementioned present in brown paper, slapped some stamps on it, and saved himself a trip.  The distinct metallic click of a car door interrupted her thoughts.  She turned as a slim leg slithered out from the passenger side of Billy Wayne's truck. 

Jeez, is there no end to the drama stumbling out of that vehicle?  She half expected to see a string of clowns follow Billy Wayne's very young, very blond companion. "I see you brought the whole clan along."  She gestured toward the truck.

Billy Wayne stopped the woman's progress with a look and turned his attention back to Carlyle.  “I thought, since you moved out to the sticks, you might like some company.” 

"You've got to be kidding," she said. 

Billy Wayne gave Butch enough of the nylon lead to investigate the flowerbeds that edged the porch along the front of the cottage-style house.  “I thought you’d have a big yard out here, and I need to leave Butch someplace for awhile."

“Not here.” 

"I tried to leave him with my folks--”

"Great idea."

"But they refused."  He reigned in the curious dog.  "Butch can sleep in the garage.”

"It's full of boxes," she said, gesturing toward the garage.  She threw her arm back so hard it could've slipped out of socket, but she was trying to make a point. 

”Come on, sweetheart.  He won't be in the way."

"First of all, he’s already in the way because I had to stop when you drove up.  Second, when my vacation is over, I can’t stow him in my purse and take him to work with me.  And third, you know Butch and I hate each other.  You wasted your time driving down here.” 

Butch growled as a man walked away from the bank of mailboxes at the start of the cul-de-sac.  A beat-up straw cowboy hat shadowed most of his face.  Wearing jeans and boots, he could've been cast in the same mold as Billy Wayne.

Butch followed the man with his beady-eyed gaze, growling quietly.  As the man made his way up the drive next door, he waved in her direction. 

"You know him?" Billy Wayne asked.

"Not yet."  She had no intention of explaining to her ex-husband that she wasn't interested in her neighbor.  Taking her therapist's advice, she'd given up men to practice self-love.  Or was it self-exploration?  Self-something. 

"So, aren't you going to invite me in to meet your aunt?"

"If you mean charm my aunt, you're out of luck.  She's in Greece.  I'm just watching the house," she said and sauntered up the porch steps.

"See, you can use Butch for protection.”

She faced him from the top step, surprised the dolt was actually trying to bargain with her.  “I don't need protecting."  Distracted by the cowboy next door, Carlyle missed seeing the other woman walk up and stand behind Billy Wayne.  She wore large silver hoops in her ears attached to diamond studs and sunglasses so huge Carlyle wondered if she was hiding from the paparazzi.  There was a time when facing one of his girlfriends would’ve made Carlyle's chest ache, but she was surprisingly apathetic.  My therapist would be proud. 

Billy Wayne crooked a finger at the woman, and she flung a half-empty bag of dog food at him.

The obvious disdain in her stance was enough to rival the dog’s temperament.  Whether she took attitude lessons from Butch or it was her own finely cultivated style, the woman would need all the help she could get to keep Billy Wayne in line.  She sported a sizeable bump above the top of her low-rise jeans that could only mean one thing.  Billy Wayne would need a new truck with room for a car seat.

He tossed the dog food on the porch.  “He likes the crunchy stuff.”

Carlyle kicked the bag back and it landed on his lizard skin boots.  "Stop trying to give me things I don’t want.” 

"He was your dog, too." 

"I divorced him."  Intimidation was not part of the bargaining process.  He would've known that if he hadn't refused to go to therapy. 

Butch continued to inspect the flowerbeds, sending a bee in her direction.  She swatted the insect away with more drama than was necessary in lieu of what she wanted to do to Billy Wayne.  At least she couldn’t be arrested for assaulting a bee.

He reached into his back pocket.  “I also brought these worm pills.  I don’t know if they’re any good.”

“Jeez, he has worms?”

 “I don't know.  He eats dirt.”

“He also licks his own butt.  Did you bring toilet paper?”

“Look, Carlyle, I really need you to do this.  She’s scared of the dog,” he said with a flick of his head in the other woman's direction.

"The dingo ate my baby."  The words flashed through her mind.  “Seriously," Carlyle said, "you’re being very mature about your situation.” 

“It's about time, right?"  He offered the leash to her. 

She smiled, wanting to be happy for him, but the situation made it difficult.  Taking the dog would send the wrong message.  Nine months later he might leave a basket on the porch with a note saying the girl's scared of the baby.

He shrugged, tied the leash to the porch, and thumped Butch on the chest with a manly show of affection.  “See ya,” he whispered and walked away. 

"You can't leave him here.”  Seeing her words didn't slow him down, she clawed at the knot in the leash.  Butch pulled it tighter, trying to follow Billy Wayne.  "You're not helping," she yelled at the dog.

Billy Wayne pushed his girlfriend into the truck and called out, “I’ll come back for him when I can, sweetheart.”  

Don't call me sweetheart.  The words exploded in her head as he pulled away, blue novelty lights glowing from the belly of his truck.  A mature man did not drive a vehicle decorated like a float in a Thanksgiving Day parade, she thought, collapsing against the porch rail. 

Fiction Revision Account: 

While fiction writing is more creative than the bulk of required academic writing, the dynamics of the creative writing course are liberating.  Although not required, I felt compelled to write something fresh for the course, something challenging.  Minot suggests transforming memory fragments into a story but I found I was unable to put enough distance between myself and the subjects I chose. 

Still working with the transformation process, I wrote "Debt Paid", based on the life events of a stranger I met in an airport.  For simplicity, I deleted two of her siblings as well as her older child and his father.  I set my first scene in the hospital even though she was on her way there when I met her.

"Debt Paid" is a 1500 word short-short story with two main characters, several secondary characters, and three scenes.  Based on the text, the story I wrote does not fit Minot's definition of a short-short story.  More important, I do not know if it fits his definition of sophisticated fiction.  I vacillated on whether or not to present it for class discussion for two more reasons.  First, I could not expect to turn it into literary fiction based on a class discussion, my goal for the piece.  Second, my writing passion falls in another genre. 

For class discussion, I chose a previously written scene from a larger work, Applied Therapy, a novel in progress.  It has progressed from a relationship story between three women to a story of divorce and new romance.  I wanted the kind of feedback only such a varied group of people can provide.  I wanted to know how my style would be perceived.  I wanted a male perspective.  I wanted to know what did not work more than what did.  Did I get what I wanted?  Yes and no. 

The revision above is based on both the original student exchange with Heidi and the class discussion.  Heidi found holes in the scene, places where what happened in my imagination did not make it to the page.  This part of the experience emphasizes the need for readers throughout the writing process.  Although Heidi's critique was not about grammar, she mentioned the scene had problems, also noted by Professor White.  I revised mostly for comma problems, underlining technique, and dialogue tags. 

Although I recognize my grammar weaknesses, I realize people have different critiquing strengths and reading interests.  This is another reason for various readers.  Some critiques are more focused on characterization and the class seemed to agree on the need for more description of two of my five characters.  In the revision above, I added to the description of the dog in paragraph two, clarifying his breed and his relationship with the protagonists.  Based on class discussion, there was also a need for more description of the girlfriend, a secondary character.  To keep the reader from focusing on her when she enters the scene on page one, I describe her as slim, blond, and young.  Later, on page five, she is seen from behind Billy Wayne and I describe that face-to-face meeting literally, by describing her earrings and sunglasses.  The description moves down from there to her "bump" which also needed clarification.   Wanting to use the context of the paragraph to show she's pregnant, I added two words "car seat". 

I cannot help wondering what the silences mean during a class discussion.  Does it mean they hate it or cannot find the words to help?  From those who participated in the discussion, the scene and the work as a whole seem to fit the style of a romance.  Focusing the piece has been one of the biggest challenges.  Another challenge is finishing it.  Success may be in creating two novels, one based on the romance and the other on the female relationships. 

"Debt Paid" is included with this submission because it was written for this class.  It represents my first attempt to write sophisticated fiction.  Was it a success?  Based on my writing experience and the limited amount of time given to the study of fiction, I am pleased with this draft.  I would like to know where it is lacking in form and density.  Any comments would be appreciated. 

Debt Paid

Amanda felt like a neon sign on a white-washed wedding chapel.  The bright pink shorts and rhinestone-studded tank top might not have looked out of place sitting poolside at a Las Vegas hotel but, standing at the foot of a hospital bed in the middle of the day--. 

"You're lucky your daughter was with you when this happened, Mr. Tyler."  The nurse plunged a needle into one of Jim's fattened veins as he stared at the ceiling. 

"It's the first time I've ever been glad she works nights."

The nurse turned to Amanda, "What do you do?"

"Don't ask."  Amanda hugged a huge leather tote bag to her chest.  "It's probably the source of his heart attack."

"These things happen."  The nurse connected the needle in Jim's arm to a bag of fluids on a rolling coat rack and yanked it closer.

Amanda stopped the rack before it ricocheted off the chair next to the bed, adding to the headache that started while she was in the emergency room.  It had been chaos in surround sound - a daytime talk show in one corner and Sponge Bob in the opposite competed with some hysterical Korean ladies with high-pitched voices she couldn't understand, and two clerks arguing over who paid for lunch.

The nurse peaked under a towel covering the bedside chair.  "I didn't see your grandson lying under there.  It looks like he built a secret military base." 

"It's the Salvation Army."  Jim lowered his voice.  "His father died in Iraq--."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Amanda said.  "Jason's army brings in trucks full of clothes for the poor kids overseas."

"Nice boy," the nurse said, making notes in Jim's chart.

"Don't look too closely.  He thinks kids also need pets, mostly frogs and lizards."  Amanda bent to his level.  "Jason, the cargo planes can't take off inside the hospital."

"Or unload," the nurse added. 

"He's not in the way, is he?" 

"He's fine.  While your father is in surgery, you might want to drop by the blood center.  He'll probably need the extra."

"He's actually my step-dad."  

"That's okay.  They have a good exchange policy."

"My brother and sister will be here soon.  Feel free to drain them dry."

"Amanda."  Jim gave her a warning look.

"What?  They can spare some red blood cells if I can.  Or white.  Whatever."

"You'd know the difference if you'd stayed in college--"

"Not now, Dad." 

"--and gone to medical school."

The nurse closed Jim's chart.  "Sounds like you want to be a doctor."   The lid clicked.

"Right now, I want my dad's blood pressure to stay down." 

"That's what we all want.  You have a very responsible daughter, Mr. Tyler."

"She just likes ordering people around."

"That sounds like a future doctor," the nurse said as she left.

"One of us is getting restless."  Amanda pointed to Jason, rolling the trucks up the chair legs.  "Before we go, I want to tell you that Mom is picking up Tom and Christina from the airport but they won't arrive before you go into surgery."

"You got your mom involved?"

"She insisted.  Since I'm not going into work tonight, she doesn't have to take care of Jason."

"Christina shouldn't be taking time off to come down here.  She just got that job."

"Don't worry, Dad.  She hasn't been with the firm long enough to even have a case."

"So how'd she buy a plane ticket?  She was living off her credit card."

"I took care of it, Dad."

#

Several hours into the surgery, Amanda watched people come and go from various waiting room alcoves as Jason slept in her lap.  She saw her brother first.  "Tom," she called, scooting Jason down into the back of the sofa and wedging her tote against him to keep him from rolling onto the floor.

Tom rushed in for a hug.  "Sorry it took us so long to get here."

Christina followed, snapping her cell phone closed as she entered the waiting room.  "How's Dad?"

"I don't know."  Amanda drew Christina into their hug.  "He had a stroke during the surgery."

"I knew something was up when your mom dropped us off and went to Dad's place to pack a bag."

"I told her not to say anything because I hoped everything would be fine by the time you got here but it's not." 

"Shit."  Tom broke away.

"What if he's paralyzed?"  Christina sobbed. 

"Nothing else will go wrong, not with all of us here," Amanda said.

"Your mom said Dad was fired because he didn't show up after lunch."  Christina sat down next to Jason and smoothed his ruffled hair

"When the pain started, calling his office was the last thing on my mind.  I shoved Dad in the front seat of the SUV and drove straight here."  Her son flipped over and the couch groaned.  "If it wasn't for the insurance, I would've told Dad's supervisor to bite me.  You can take care of all that, right?"

"That's what lawyers do."

#

A week after surgery Jim was strong enough to bat a spongy ball across the room with his right hand.  Jason slid across the slick tile floor to retrieve it. 

"I have to go to work, Dad.  Besides, it's just about bedtime for both of my guys."  Amanda stopped the ball with her foot.  "Did I tell you I picked up a course catalogue from the university?  If I take classes on Monday and Tuesday nights I can still spend my days with Jason and work five nights a week.

"A step," he said, squeezing the words from the right side of his mouth.  "Wear scrubs."

"Instead of sequins?"

"You won't quit, huh?"

"You know the answer to that."  She picked up Jason so he could lean in for a hug.  "Christina was supposed to talk to your boss about getting your job back with no interruption of insurance.  Have you talked to her?"

He shook his head. 

"She's spending the night here so she can tell you how it went.  Tom hired a lawn service.  I didn't think of that.  I went through your mail and paid everything I could find."

"Truck note.  Comes out of paycheck."

"You only owed about five thousand so I took care of it."  He looked sad and relieved.  "Consider it an early Christmas present."

He blinked back a tear.  "Have a good night at work."

"Don't say break a leg."  She smacked his cheek with a loud kiss.  "I can't afford it."