Bridge -- Excerpt

To Cross That Bridge

An Excerpt – Chapter VIII

by

B.D. Adams

© 2016

   This is an excerpt of my new novel.

   Frank and Darcy had not really met. They had literally bumped into each other one night a few weeks before when Frank was horribly drunk. His live-in girlfriend had left him with no notice with his best friend to Los Angeles.

   Frank had calmed from getting dumped by that girlfriend and figured he’d never see the woman he had bumped into again. Or would he?

    Sam is his literary agent

   Katherine is his ex-wife

     The reception, given by the New York Publicity Club, was for new publicists/agents and authors and journalists to be introduced to the world. Everyone would “eyeball” everyone. To scope who could help the individual the best or from whom to steer clear. A special social event. Kind of like a Debutante Ball, if they were all young women. Frank sort of chuckled to himself.

     He had declined to attend the last reception, his first invitation, because he was feverishly working on the completion of The Breath of Amour. Thought that was more important than sucking-up.

     The reason for him to be at this soirée, at Sam’s insistence, was to show the powers-that-be that he was not a rude or crude writer. A nice guy, a congenial guy.

     He considered asking Katherine to come along, but no. He had to do this without a woman at his side.

     Sanchez turned right at 50^th Street, headed east to merge to the curb by the Rockefeller Plaza, so he could let his passenger out easily. Before leaving the car, he put the cap on again, and then held the door for Frank.

     Frank donned his black movie-star sunglasses, as he exited the car. He had taken a ten-spot out of his wallet to tip the driver, but Sanchez declined and said, “No, sir. Sam has taken care of that. Really.” The driver gave a genuine smile, then added, “I’ll be back to pick you up.” He took a beeper device out of his coat pocket. “Just push that button. It’ll let me know you’re ready. Only be a moment to get you.”

     Frank nodded, and then Sanchez hurriedly got back into the Cadillac and took off, so not to get a ticket. There were two Cops that stood and watched the cars and drivers, as well as the public.

     The Plaza was roped off, for the Gold Carpet arrivals. Nothing like the Red Carpet events, but there were fans that stood by the roped off area. A few actually called his name.

     A girl screamed, “Frank! I love you!”

     Another girl kind of asked her friends, “Who’s that?”

     “Frank Roselli! He wrote The Breath of Amour!” Now there were more giddy screeches from all the girls who clicked away with their camera-phones!  

     “Oh, my God – that’s him? He’s handsome!” Then the girl called, “We love your books, Frank -- you sexy man!”

     Frank waved with a big grin. He even stopped to pose, sort of, to let the fans take their photos. That really helped his ego!

     Inside, two elevators were assigned to take guests to the 67^th floor. Some other guests waited with him.

     One of the elevator doors opened. A speed elevator lifted to the 67^th floor in a matter of moments. The doors opened.

     Live jazz music (a quartet, complete with a baby-grand) greeted. Waiters and waitresses had trays with glasses of good champagne and tasty hors d’oeuvres that awaited the newcomers! A lot of talk and laughter could be heard, as well. There were two bars set up with anything anyone could want. And, free!! The Publicity Club must be doing really good to afford this spread in this room, Frank decided.

     Sam saw Frank almost immediately.

     “Ta-da … he has arrived,” Sam said exuberantly. They hugged briefly. “Really, Frank? Sandals?” he quietly commented. He gave a twitch of his mouth, then said, “Come with me. There are oodles to meet.” Sam was in his realm at these events. He always turned on his “feminine side,” not totally, but enough to make Frank worry, somewhat.

     Some of the better known writers and journalists were there, like James Patterson, now a resident in Florida, John Grisham, a resident in Virginia, and Diane Sawyer and Brian Williams (recently reinstated with NBC) – and many others!

     Sam had taken Frank to this publisher or that critic to shake hands. Also, he watched Frank’s alcohol intake, to make sure he wouldn’t take off his clothes here.

     Frank talked with several other guests. Sam was right … this helped Frank out of his doldrums. More smiles and laughter.

     Sam scurried to another group and left him with a couple he just met. Then, a familiar face a few feet away, looked to Frank and gave a smile. Katherine was here. He nonchalantly approached.

     “What are you doing here?” he asked with his glad, easy face.

     “Well, my boyfriend is a writer, believe it or not. Non-fiction. Oh, and I got a phone call about my bail refund. Thanks for show-ing up.” She gave her pleased face.

     “Non-fiction, eh? Coming up in the world, are we,” Frank chuckled. “Where is the prodigy?”

     “David, his name is David. He’s Jewish, so please be nice,” Katherine urged.

     “Sweetheart, I’m always nice,” Frank stated, as he gave her a warm hug. He saw a guy toting a couple of scotch and sodas headed in their direction, who was probably David. About as tall as Frank, slender, short-cropped black hair, but no Yarmulke – the Jewish beanie. Might not be orthodox.

     Frank wondered how his tolerance level would be toward her ex-husband.

     David touched Katherine’s arm. She turned, smiled and took her drink from him, as she introduced, “David, this is my ex, Frank Roselli. Frank this is David Stenman.” Katherine took a sip of her drink then informed, “His first book just came out. He writes non-fiction.” She said the last bit as if that would impress Frank, a fiction writer.

     “Dave … very nice to meet you. Did you enjoy the cottage? A shame the coffeemaker decided to quit.” Frank mustered the best smile he could and gave his hand to the other man.

     David smiled the best smile he could give to this man, and informed, “David. As Katherine doesn’t like being called Kathy, I don’t go by Dave.”

     The men shook hands. Almost like a stand-off. The parameters had been set.

     “Hi, Katherine. Nice to see you,” Sam greeted with a smile and a kiss on her cheek. Frank was so glad that Sam came to his rescue.

     “Sam, this is David Stenman, a non-fiction writer,” she informed.

     “Nice to meet you, David. Uh, see that woman over there with the god-awful blood-red scarf? She is an agent for your genre. A very good one. You should talk to her, if you haven’t already.” Sam was always sincere about his information. Then, he excused him and Frank, as he steered them from the couple.

     “Do you see that reporter over there?” Sam asked Frank.

     As he sipped on a fresh tulip-flute of champagne, Frank looked in the direction Sam motioned. Then nodded and asked, “Who’s he?” He looked to all the other people near to the reporter, as well.

     “He’s with The Times and rumors have it he might be taking the old man’s position, the paper’s literary critic. I’m trying to get ----,”

     In all of a cryptic moment, Frank saw the woman photographer with the reporter. When she turned so he could see her face, without the camera in her face, Frank nearly fainted! She was that woman – blue eyes and all! The woman he had bumped into on the sidewalk at 10^th and Bleecker! He almost dropped his champagne.

     “Frank – Frank? You all right?” Sam asked concerned. “What’s wrong? You look … a little peaked.”

     “Sorry, Sam. Thought I saw someone I knew. Someone I did not want to see.” He gave a one-sided smile, then excused himself, “The johns are down that way … right?”

     Sam nodded yes.

     Frank nearly jogged to the restrooms. He gave an attendant the champagne glass, and then ducked into a stall and pulled down his pants. What else could he do?

     Man, oh man, Frank silently sighed. He didn’t think she saw him. If she saw him, would she recognize him? He looked very different from that evening. If she recognized him, would she make a scene?

     That drunken evening, she didn’t yell or scream for the police. She was angry with him, but didn’t act like a drama-queen.

     It was her, he knew it was her. He could not remember everything about that night, but he definitely remembered that face with those beautiful blue eyes. In the room’s light, he saw her shoulder-length hair was dark auburn and styled softly around her face.

     She was dressed for this vogueish affair in a fitted linen pantsuit with dark brown flats and nude hose. The sleeves of her jacket were rolled up like his were, and he could tell the jacket was over a cream colored, silk halter top. Not plunging, but a decent V to hint what was underneath. She was taller than what’s-her-name, maybe as tall as Katherine.

     Maybe, he should just go out and man-up, take whatever consequence there might be. Okay? Okay!

     He pulled up his trousers, flushed the empty toilet. Then, went back to Sam.

     “No more booze for you, Frankie,” Sam said.

     “Sam, this is a soirée. I’ll just stay with the champagne,” he said with a wide smile. He took a glass from a passing waiter with a full tray. “Now, where’s that reporter?”

     No clue of what was going on with his writer, Sam proceeded to the reporter.

     Frank was all smiles as Sam made the introductions.

     “Stan Makruski, this is Frank Roselli, a hot property,” Sam proudly stated. He noticed that Frank purposely did not look directly at the woman photographer. 

     “It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Stan said with a sincere face. “Uh, Frank or Mr. Roselli?”

     “Frank is good. I am always appreciative and available to the members of the Fourth Estate. What can I do for you this evening,” Frank offered.

     Fourth Estate? Sam knew that term – antiquated, but appropriate for a newspaper reporter. So, he just stood back to watch this new part of Frank’s persona. He wondered if Frank was drunker than he thought. Then, after a little more attention, Sam noticed how Frank shot glances at the woman photographer. Was she the one he “did not want to see?” He figured that Frank had seen that she was a nice looking woman, a nice looking woman with a real occupation. Not a measly secretary. Sam was pleased.

     “This is my photographer, Darcy Darden,” Stan informed. “Do you mind, Frank?”

     “Not at all,” Frank assured. “Darcy. Very good to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake hers.

     Darcy readjusted the camera to take his hand. She had shaken several hands this evening. Finally, she really looked to this man, Frank Roselli.

     “Very nice to …..” Darcy became astonished! She could not believe she was looking at the face of that asshole who bumped into her a few weeks ago. What should she do? She wanted to slap him, but she hadn’t slapped him when he grabbed her arm. She decided to just be cool -- don’t make a scene.

     “Mr. Roselli,” was all she could say. Professional, but not flowery. She gave her hand, but not enthusiastically.

     Stan kind of noticed Darcy’s reaction to this man, so he had to ask, “Do you two know each other?”

     Almost simultaneously, they said, “No!”

     With his reporter’s instinct, he knew they lied. Now, he wanted even more to get Darcy’s story. He decided he’d ask her later. Now, he began his questions for this author. 

Article -- Hatred

Deliver Us

By B.D. Adams

© 2016

Hate – Hate – Hate!! Along with Stupidity!!

   Of course, I hate. I hate being interrupted, I hate mosquitoes, I hate waiting in lines, I hated when my mom made me eat liver. We all have something we say we hate!!

   One thing I truly hate more than anything is stupidity!!!!

   A stupid thing, an oxymoron, I’d hear as a kid in Texas, was the phrase “to shoot fish in a barrel.” It meant that something was easy.  

   That could be translated to what Omar Mateen did.

   He walked into a nightclub that welcomed people – human beings -- who weren’t much different from him in looks or desires. Everyone there still danced, hugged and talked with their old friends and new ones.

   Horribly, Mateen began to shoot his fish. The nightclub was his barrel.

   I haven’t heard, as yet, how he acted while he squeezed the AR15 trigger to murder 50 people and wound 53 others. Was he smiling or laughing or shouting profanities?

   Oh, yes … I haven’t mentioned that Mateen HATED homosexuals. He chose the Pulse Nightclub, in Orlando FL, because the clientele was mostly gay/homosexual. He hated them so much he decided to rid, murder as many as he could at that nightclub. Perhaps he thought he was being nice to do his mayhem so near a hospital for the wounded.

   Was this his source of fun? Some people have distorted views of fun. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

   Am I gay? No, I’m not. However – like many heteros (not good grammar, I know) – I have had friends who were LGBT. And, as with friendships, people come and go – straight or gay.

   Many years ago, I would go to a gay bar/nightclub with my boyfriend, at the time, and other friends. To dance, drink and eat whatever the bar offered. I never contracted HIV because I had those friendships.

   See, you don’t get AIDS by being a friend. There’s that stupidity thing again.

   There are still a frightening number of people who are so self-righteous in their beliefs. Whites who hate blacks – Blacks who hate whites – Catholics who hate Protestants. Men who hate women and still get married … and vice versus. And, not to be left out, straights who hate gays!!

   Our country is becoming the melting pot of many negative issues. It’s like, “Go to America. Get a gun and go shoot whoever you want!”

   Now we need to be afraid of going to movie theaters, concerts, schools/colleges or any other gathering for the fear who might be there to kill!

   Fear of the unknown is bad enough.

   I believe in the Constitution. The ideas were appropriate for the time it was ratified. Now, however, the 2^nd Amendment, and a few others, need major overhauls.

   That young man had only bought his weapons a day or so before. Plus, he had been “watched” by the FBI. Hmmm (taps chin) … what does that tell us? He was watched while he bought an AR15 assault rifle?

   The prayer goes, “Deliver us from Evil.” Would God be offended if we amended it to, “Deliver us from hate and stupidity.”

   I feel the word evil has little meaning these days.

   “What? What did you say?” Someone is whispering in my ear. “No, I’m not being stupid. Really!!!”