RAPE-Serialized version

 

Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish chapter 6 of my novel, RAPE. After reading it, I hope you will comment on it. I received some very strong opinions about chapter 5, which will definitely effect its revision. As you know, your comments and suggestions impact revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

 I also encourage you to visit my website at:  joshswritingroom.com    where, for one more week, you can find Part One of my novel Palm Beach Style. It introduces Special Agent Dugan of the FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement). It’s the first of four novels in which he is the main character. While you are on the website, why not check out the three novels that are available for your reading pleasure.

PATH TO A PARDON,

THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

& PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

As each new chapter is published on this blog, the previous chapter(s) should be archived, so even if you did not read it when it first appeared, you can easily catch up. Your suggestions are appreciated and will receive careful consideration.

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

 

Gary awoke from another night of tossing and turning, knowing that if he went to work in his present lethargic condition, he’d be unproductive. Instead of getting dressed, he donned his bathing trunks and went down to the pool. The December sun had barely risen above the eastern horizon, so it hadn’t had time to heat the water. He stuck his toes in and began to regret his decision. After a moment’s hesitation, he executed a perfect dive and surfacing, began to stroke at a rapid pace. He did a dozen laps before turning on his back to float toward the shallow end.

Climbing out of the pool, he remembered that he had come to swim without a towel to use. He felt warm cloth being draped over his shoulders, turning he expected to see Carol’s smiling face, but instead, found himself looking at older, more sympathetic features. “Thanks Hannah, I forgot to bring one. You’re a life-saver!”

“That’s alright. Some folks needs more looking after than others. You go get dressed and I’ll make you a nice hot breakfast.”

“Has my wife eaten yet?”

“No. She and the children are still in bed. I don’t know when they’re getting up. I swear; I don’t know nothin’ anymore. Especially since them nosy reporters started coming round.”

“Okay, Hannah. Give me a half-hour to shower and dress.”

Thirty-five minutes later, Gary sat down at the kitchen breakfast bar to a bacon and egg breakfast, washed down by three cups of Hannah’s rich coffee. He’d have been a contented man except for the photos staring up at him from the morning paper. On one side of the page, he spied Miriam’s profile complete with Band-Aid staring at his profile on the opposite side. And in large print a headline that read: IS HE GUILTY?

Hannah watched as he read the article. “I know y’all wants to read that rag. For the life of me I don’t understand that; me, I’d chuck it in the garbage.”

  “Oh, you would, would you?
        “Yes, Mr. Gary, that’s a fact. And speaking of garbage, did you happen to look at our front lawn?

          “No. Why?”

“I don’t know if it’s them nasty reporters, or them nasty neighborhood kids, but somebody done dumped their garbage all over it! Luckily, the gardener is due today. When I seen that mess I called and asked him to come early. I’ll have him clean it up first thing, so don’t you fret about it. I just hope he gets it done before Miss Carol sees it.”

“Hannah, you’re right about that. Carol will go into orbit,” he said, glancing at his Rolex. “I guess I’d better get going. Thanks for the breakfast.”

By the time he reached his office, his Rolex showed nine-thirty. A small group of reporters, looking as if they might take root, blocked his path. Another bunch of flies, he thought and walked through them, ignoring the insulting questions they threw his way.

Inside the Agency’s door, he found his staff in a huddle around Erica’s desk. “What’s going on?” he asked, as the room turned sickroom quiet.

Erica, her face devoid of expression, held up a fax. He took it from her outstretched hand, and noted that it came from Atlantic Coast Casualty, one of his major insurance carriers. He read it and then read it again. When he finished, he looked up to see the concerned faces surrounding him. He crumpled the message into a ball and tossed it toward Erica’s wastebasket three feet away. It went right in. Without thinking, he called out, “Nothing but net,” then grimacing, said, “I guess you all know that our major carrier has temporarily suspended my contract.”

“Geez! Bad news sure travels fast,” Metro exclaimed.

          “We’re going to keep on working,” Gary said. “I’ll concentrate on finding us a new company, but if any of you want to try your luck elsewhere I’ll understand.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you guys, Metro said, but I’m sticking.”

Erica reached up and tugged at Gary’s sleeve. He bent down as she whispered, “There’s a message on your desk to call Willard Showalter in contracting at Columbia General.”

He sat in his office for a long time before putting in the call. Things had been going so well. How did they fall apart so fast? This time the news didn’t surprise him. The lump in his throat made its way to his stomach. He took it with quiet resignation, even as his beautiful world crumbled. There had been no way to see this coming but disaster had arrived. He had told them all he’d keep working, but it came from his lips not his heart. Atlantic Coast had shoved him in a coffin and Columbia had slammed the lid shut. When you’re dead, he thought, you’re dead, so just roll over and die you dumb bastard.

Slowly, he got to his feet and walked out of his glass-enclosed office. He stared at all of the expectant faces in front of him and then simply nodded. “We’re done,” he said in a voice so low that they had to strain to hear. “Go home!” He ordered in a slightly louder tone. “Go, until I call you.” He moved beyond the group, heading toward the door. “Last one out, turn off the lights and lock up,” he called.

“I’ll see to it,” Erica volunteered and then almost silently whispered “Don’t worry.” She watched him slowly depart through the front door. “He looks terrible, Martha,” she said. “This is a rotten time for him to be alone.”

          With his mind in a fog, Gary pushed right through the crowd of reporters as though they weren’t there. If they asked him anything, he failed to hear it. He unlocked the Maserati and started the engine. He drove without purpose. Half an hour later, while passing the old Merriweather Post Estate, now one of The Donald’s possessions he realized he had driven south, away from home. He had gone in the wrong direction, or had he? He’d lost his business. Could his home be far behind? And the way things were with Carol, did it matter?  He took the big sweeping curve to his right and then a quick left and pulled up in front of the Palm Beach Bath and Tennis Club. He turned the car around and slowly headed north along the ocean road. He parked to watch the Atlantic as a gentle, blue-green swell kissed the shore and further out, spotted half-a-dozen pelicans floating in a straight line on an air current a few feet above the next swell. He walked on the beach, sat on the sand, mesmerized by the ocean’s constant movement. He lost all notion of time. Gradually, as the vast sea repeated its age-old movements his despair receded. He didn’t have a clue about his destination, and didn’t know what he’d do when he arrived, but somehow he felt calm—at peace.

He kept the Maserati at the speed limit and journeyed, with no specific destination in mind, in a northerly direction. A few blocks from home, his Country Club came into view and without conscious intent, he pulled into the parking lot.  Glancing at his expensive watch he noted the time, ten until noon; despite it being at the height of the tourist season there were only a few dozen cars in the parking lot.

          Approaching the bar, he spotted one of his old golfing buddies, Max Portman, nursing a Bloody Mary. As he climbed up on the next stool and gazed at the tinted mirror behind the polished bar he watched Max’s reflection as the man pulled at his necktie and fumbled with his cell phone.

Gary overheard him say, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

He turned his head and said, “Hi Max, how’ve you been?”

The big man slid off the stool put a hand on Gary’s shoulder and said, “Oh, hi, Gary. How’re things?”

Before he had a chance to answer, Max added, “Jeez, Gary, I can’t afford to be seen with you.”

Staring at the mirror, he watched the big man walk away, shook his head in disgust, and then pulling out his cell punched in the number for Joe Flaherty and got a busy signal.

The bartender, dressed in a bright red vest trimmed in green to mark the season, drifted over blocking out his image in the bar’s bronze tinted mirror. “What’ll you have?”

“Scotch, rocks—make it a double!”

 

 

 

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QUESTIONS:

·        Is the scene where Gary drives in the wrong direction and ends up on the beach, too long?

·        Is it realistic?