Book Excerpt

This is an excerpt from my new book in progress. The title is "To Cross That Bridge" -- a romance/mystery. The main characters are Frank Roselli and Darcy Darden. They both live in New York City. Frank is an accomplished novelist, while Darcy is a rookie photographer with the New York Times. (FYI -- this is not the sequel after "Spider.") This story takes place after Frank and Darcy have met -- sort of. The woman in this excerpt is Katherine, Frank's ex-wife. She is a secondary character, but important to the story. 

To Cross That Bridge
by
B.D. Adams - 2016

Chapter V
Excerpt 

     It was wicked late. Too, too late – or too early – depending.

     “Ohhh,” he moaned. Frank’s head throbbed. He wanted some aspirins. Why couldn’t he get an aspirin? A lousy aspirin. And who were these bums and why couldn’t they shut-up, Frank asked to himself? Why was he dressed in an orange jumpsuit with orange flip-flops? There was sand on the flip-flops. Sand?

     Now, he remembered. As he ran down the beach, he thought he was Ian Charleson as Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire. However, with no clothes. What a vision that had to be, he mused with a small smile. Would this make the tabloids?

     Then, Frank realized he must be in jail. Possibly a holding cell for drunks. Probably in the Suffolk County Police Department in West Babylon, NY. That was the jurisdiction for Oak Beach. He sat on a bench with a few bums with his back against the chain-linked fence wall. Had he been sleeping or just catatonic? There were many drunks in the cell. Was it a full moon, he wondered?

     How could he get a damn aspirin? He knew he couldn’t yell – that would only anger the powers-that-be.

     Now, he listened to the man near to him who thought he was a Shakespearean actor. If he began to spout Macbeth, Frank might become violent.

     “Roselli!” a police guard loudly called out. All the other men tried to say they were the called Roselli. The guard held them off, as Frank rose from the bench to leave the others.

     “Good night, sweet prince. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Shakespeare babbled to Frank.

     Frank wondered if the guy thought he was Juliette. That was really Juliette’s line. The guy was evidently drunker than Frank or was he an out of work actor or … who gave a rat’s ass.

     He walked with the guard. No cuffs were put on his wrists or

ankles. They went into a small, brightly lit room with a table and two chairs and a long horizontal mirror on the wall near the door that reflected the entire room.

     “Have a seat,” the guard instructed.

     “Can I, please, get an aspirin?” Frank calmly pleaded.

     The guard just gave a one-sided smile and left the room.

     Frank sat in the chair that faced the mirror and looked around the room. No windows, the floor was dirty -- someone had puked in the corner to his left -- the air-conditioning was low, almost hot. He wondered what was going to happen to him.

     Never had felt it before, but was he claustrophobic? He began to feel anxious in this undersized, windowless room.

     “Come on guys, why won’t you give me an aspirin?” he asked out loud. He’d watched enough “cop shows” to know they have microphones in these places “Please.” Now, he was feeling worse. Wanted to cry, but manned up. Just took deep breaths.

     Finally, he heard a noise with the door’s handle. It took a moment for someone to open the door.

     “Here he is, ma’am,” the guard said as he held the door for someone.

     There were feelings of relief and dread as Kathy was allowed in.

     “Thank you, Officer,” she said. Her face did not look thankful.

     As if his night could be any worse, she had to walk in. All Frank could do was bow his throbbing head. He was now mortified!

     “I was called -- by Sam and the cops. I’ve been at the night court to pay your bail and fine!” She said as calmly as she could while she paced back and forth – that’s what she’d do when she was irritated.

     “Kathy … I’m sorry ….”

     “Sorry?” she blurted, “Sorry? Is that all you can say?”

     What else could he say? She was there for him for which he was grateful.

     She looked casually sweet in a calf-length skirt in pale, muted colors of mauve and purple, with cloth from India -- a sleeveless top of the same cloth as the skirt and dainty leather sandals. Her long brown hair was swept-up off her neck for the hot weather. She might have been on a date with the “canned bread” guy. Her make-up indicated this possibility. He wished she would have worn an outfit in black – like a Nun. That would have suited this situation.

     “You are so going to owe me, Francis! I’ve had about all I can take of your childishness!” When she was really angry with him, she would call him Francis. “Where’s that bimbo of yours? Huh? She should be her. Is she in jail, too?” She stopped the pacing with her arms folded akimbo to stare and await his answer.

     “Kathy –“

     “Don’t call me ----!”

     “Katherine!” he corrected as quickly as he could. “Katherine … she left me … for Jack! That’s where she is.”

     She looked at Frank, blinked her eyes a few times to digest what he just said, then asked, “She’s with Jack? In Los Angeles? Now?”

     “As far as I know,” Frank calmly said. He glanced to her face and saw that her expression had changed. Not that she was happy with him, but he saw more compassion than anger.

     “Well, good riddance,” was all she said. “To both of them.” She didn’t like Jack.

     Frank nodded his head.

     She got quiet in thought – making her decisions. Then, suggested, “I know you were at the cottage. We’ll stay there – go back to the city by noon. I already arranged for someone to drive the Fiat back. You’ll just have to slum-it in my Mini-Cooper,” she said with no smile.

     Frank nodded, and then asked, “Do you have any aspirin?”

====

     Katherine gave him three aspirins when they got back to the cottage. Then Frank just fell into the bed – orange jumpsuit and all. He glimpsed that he should let her have the bed, but she went to lie on the sofa, as it remained a sofa, not a bed.

     The bedside clock said it was 3:17a.m. They both just slept.

====

     Frank woke before her. Nearly eleven o’clock. He showered and dressed in his cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. The jumpsuit and flip-flops were put into the garbage. Then, he took over the kitchen to begin breakfast; eggs, bacon and toast. Boiled water for the coffee bags. OJ was already poured in small glasses and on the table.

     He noticed the Fiat was already gone from the driveway.

     “You becoming domestic?” Katherine asked.

     He had a small jump because she surprised him, but said, “The least I can do for you, Katherine.”

     She stood by the short wall that divided the kitchen from the bathroom. The only attire difference from last night was her feet were without the sandals. Her long brown hair was not in the up-do, was over her shoulders.

     He was still so wickedly attracted to her. Divorcing her was a mistake. He sighed quietly.

     All they did was give calm expressions to each other. He continued with the breakfast while she went briefly into the bathroom.

     Once the food was ready to partake, they sat across from each other at the small table, what they had done many times when they were married.

     “I don’t know why she left me,” Frank began. Katherine gave him a curious look. “I figured I should say that before you asked.”

     “Frank ….”

     “No, Katherine. Let me finish.” He took a good sip of the orange juice. “You’re right. I’ve been childish. Not intentionally, but that’s the best description.” He scooped egg onto his fork, and then chewed.

     “Frank, have I said, ‘I told you so?’” She continued to enjoy this breakfast.

     He ate the last of the scrambled eggs on his plate, then shook his head and said, “No … not yet.” He gave a quirky smile.

     She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her smile.

     “Last night and the last few days, haven’t been “me.” I honestly had no idea why this made me a drunk, an asshole.”

     “An asshole?” Katherine mused.

     Frank nodded and added, “Someone called me that.”

     “Who?”

     “No one I knew. Just a woman walking on Bleecker Street.”

     Now Katherine really frowned.

     “She bumped into me at 10^th and Bleecker. I knew it was an accident, but … but it made me angry. And, yes … I had been drinking. I dropped the bottle of scotch I had bought. The bottle broke.” He sighed rather loudly and continued, “I think I yelled at her. Don’t know what I said, but she called me an asshole.”

     “Did you touch her -- grab her?” Katherine asked, a bit surprised.

     “No. Not really. Well … a little … an accident.”

     “Had you ever seen her before?”

     He shook his head, no.

     “Well, you’ll probably never see her again.”

     He nodded his head in agreement. For whatever reason, he neglected to mention that he followed the woman to her apartment on Bleecker. He decided that Katherine was right -- he'd never see her again. New York was a large city! Many, many people! What were the odds. 

     Their conversation ended. Katherine got up, gathered the used dishes to wash and dry, while Frank began to pack his duffle bag and laptop. Then he made the bed and went around to close and lock the windows and doors.

     She wrapped a long Kelly-green scarf around her head to keep her hair from blowing everywhere, as she drove her dark green Mini-Cooper with the top down. They were quiet.

     After just a moment, though, he did ask what happened to the coffeemaker.