500 WC Chapter Eleven

Here's the next bit in my attempt at a fluffy beachy type read.  These quick scenes are a good exercise.  I can't stress of the details at all and just have to get the words out.  Even if it is extremely silly.  Enjoy!

500 Word Challenge Chapter Eleven
Word Count: 570


The silence stretched on forever.

“What?!”

Colton winced. “I got married.”

“To who?”

“A woman.”

“I guessed as much, considering,” she snapped at him. “Who is it?”

He sighed. “A woman I met at the stadium, just after the explosion.”

“A little fast, don’t you think?” Felicia sneered. He couldn’t blame her for her anger.

“Look, I’m really sorry. Its not like I…” He paused. He had to make it look like it was a real marriage. True love and everything. “I can’t explain it.”

“I can.” She bit out. “You were stressed and in shock and did something stupid. Just have it annulled.”

“No.” Colton said. “I won’t.”

“You can’t possibly love her.”

“Says who?” Colton demanded, getting angry himself. “You weren’t there.”

“Colt-”

“I’m sorry, Felicia, but I love Renee and that’s it.”

“And what about us?”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“So that’s it? I’m sorry and good-bye?”

“I wanted to do this different, but-”

“Thanks, Colt. Thanks for nothing.” The line died. He threw his phone across the room. It smacked into the wall a foot from Renee’s face.

“Bad time?” she asked.

“What are you doing up?”

“You have quite a pair of lungs, Mr. Savage.” She said. He swore again. He had been yelling.

“Who’s Felicia?” Renee asked, plopping down in his desk chair.

“My girlfriend.” He said shortly.

“Really?” Renee asked, sounding eager and excited instead of offended. Why would she be offended? “Oh, the drama!”

“Shut up.” He snarled at her. She only raised an eyebrow.

“So, why don’t you tell her the truth?”

“I can’t!”

“Why? You were totally lying when you said you loved me.”

Colton opened his mouth and shut it again. He wasn’t sure what he had wanted to say. “We have to make it look real.”

“And you having a mistress would put a damper on our newly wedded bliss.” Renee mused, tapping her chin. “We could be having a threesome.”

Colotn choked, spinning to glare at her. Her eyes twinkled up at him mischievously and he bit back his sharp retort.

“Go to bed.” He ordered.

“You go to bed,” she shot back. Her face softened. “Really, Colton. You should get some rest. I heard you pacing last night till two in the morning.”

He scowled. He’d forgotten their rooms shared a wall. And old houses weren’t known for their soundproofing.

Renee yawned. “I’m still on Denver time, so I’m actually feeling awake. And hungry. You hungry?”

“No.” He snapped. He wished she would go away.

“Come on.” She took his hand and pulled him to the kitchen. “I love Rosa, by the way. She’s amazing.” She rummaged through the fridge, pulling out sandwich supplies. “Whatever it was she made for dinner. Greek something, with an ‘s’?”

“Spanikopita.”

“Yum!” Renee praised. “Want some?” she offered half of her hastily constructed sandwich.

“No.”

She made a face at him. “What, are you in training for an Iron Man or something?” She took a big bite. “Don’t you ever eat?”

He shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

She made a disgusted noise. “Eating isn’t just about being hungry, Mr. Fancy-pants-employs-a-full-time-chef. Eating is about food.” She left the half she offered him on her plate, grabbing the other and an apple from the basket on the counter. “Night,” she said, walking out.

Colton stared at the sandwich for a long time before going up himself.

A Weird Thing

So, as I'm sure I've said a least a hundred times before, my husband is awesome.

And, no, that's not the weird thing.

It goes something like this:

Husband read my book for the second time and made all sorts of helpful notes and things in the margins, crossing out unnecessary words and scribbling little question marks where he was confused.  We sort of worked in tandem, me editing a chapter or two, then him reading some more.  It took awhile, but you know that whole day job and housework thingy...

Then all at once, he got way ahead of me, finishing it in one fell swoop.  He presented me with the manuscript binder with his usual and always heartwarming: 'It's good!"

Then it sat for several months.  Admittedly, some of those months I felt like curling into a ball and sleeping through my every-second-morning-sickness.  (Oh, wait, that's pretty much exactly what I did.)  Now, though, I have had several months where I feel great, even if there is a small life form doing jumping jacks in my lower abdomen all the time.  But I still didn't work on my edits.

I honestly, truly felt...scared of editing.  I really can't explain it.  I had a huge amount of trepidation about editing this manuscript again.  I didn't want to read it, or think about it or look at Husband's ideas.

I was convinced it was all terrible and trite and stupid and that I would hate it if I had to face it again.  Which is silly, because it is good, tooting my own horn notwithstanding.

It was weird.

Today I finally worked up enough courage to plow through the end of the book.  And contrary to my fears (duh) he only had some minor things he thought I should adjust.  Like one bit where I smooshed two different parts together and it was night in one and day in the other.  Easy fix.  Also, there were a few times I forgot a period.

Honestly?  Honestly?  I was all worked up about missing punctuation?  But I can't explain it.  I still have a vague and restless sense of disease when I look at the green binder, like I want to stuff it in my 'old scribbled-on manuscript' box I keep shoved under the couch (we have a tiny apartment and a futon with a foot of space underneath = storage!).

I am the first to admit when I write something that stinks.  Sometimes it stinks because it hasn't been thought out quite right, or the story is weak or whatever.

This is the first time I have irrationally wanted to just shred something and give up.

It is unsettling.  I don't like it.  I'm trying to blame baby-hormones, since yesterday I totally melted down despairing over my inability to make pie dough that rolls out smoothly while Husband gave me hugs and tried not to laugh.  Serious stuff, I know
So, I'm not exactly sure what to do.  Other than give birth to a baby.  However, as that is still some time away, I need some different ideas.  I like the 'suck it up' mentality, but that only gets things done and actually doesn't dispel my suddenly wavering confidence.

As I obviously don't have an answer right now, I'm simply going to congratulate myself on my bravery for editing at all and let the green binder sit once more.  I have one more chapter to work on, but it needs some tinkering and I don't think I can face that right now.

500 WC Chapter Ten

And the plot thickens...mwah ha ha...

500 Word Challenge
Word Count: 505

“What was I thinking?” Colton demanded as he paced his office.

The problem was, he hadn’t thought, just acted.

The hours after the terrorist attack were fuzzy, jumbled. He remembered clearly the minute they spent standing before the chaplain, Renee shaking from reaction and stress. He hadn’t been much better. The nurse had jabbed him with a needle the instant after he had signed the license, pushing him down onto a narrow cot.

He’d called Mancini for a ride. The man had let Renee into the car without a blink, helping her sit groggy with pain medication and shock. Colton hadn’t been much better, sitting and staring blankly at the chauffeur as they drove the thirty miles back to his house.

And now he had a wife.

A very legal wife.

Who was sleeping in the room just above this one.

Colton rubbed his face tiredly. It was late. He’d spent hours on the phone, assuring his shareholders and investors he was still alive.

His stocks had plummeted then swung up on the hint of his death. They were still fluctuating wildly, the entire market dipping and rising sporadicly. It would take a few days, maybe even a week for it to calm down. The instability of the global market in general didn’t help.

He had one more call to make. He glanced at the clock, hoping he could put it off because of the hour.

He had her number half dialed when he stopped short.

Why was he calling her? To tell her he was married and they couldn’t date anymore?

But he wasn’t really married. It wasn’t like Renee and he had any sort of understanding. Did she have a boyfriend? She hadn’t mentioned it. But then it wasn’t really any of his business.

He scowled. Yes, it was. She was his wife. She belonged to him.

“Whoa, okay, hold on.” He said to himself, setting the phone down. He dragged his hands through his hair, trying to order his thoughts.

He needed to go to bed. He needed to rest and deal with this in the morning.

Fate intervened.

His cell rang, chirping at him.

He swore as he checked the number. It was her.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Colt? Oh, thank god! Why haven’t you called me? Where have you been? On the news, they said-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said soothingly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you hurt?” she demanded.

“A little.”

“Are you at home? I’m coming over.”

“No!” Colton sighed at the silence on the other end of the line. “Sorry, Felicia. It’s just…I’m tired. I’ve been wrestling shareholders all day and…”

“Don’t worry, Colt, you’ll get lots of rest,” she purred at him. He closed his eyes, wishing he could go back and get blown up anyway. Or brain dead. Or missing some limbs. Anything but being exactly in this situation right now.

“Felicia, no.”

“Why not?” she demanded, offended now.

“Look, its complicated.”

“How?” She was clearly completely confused. “I’m in Madrid. I’ll hop taxi and-”

“I’m married.”

500 WC Chapter Nine

If you're just joining us, then I have been posting a story in which I wrote each scene in (about) 500 words, just as a challenge to myself to tighten things up. It is very silly and not at all based in fact.  Yay!

500 Word Challenge
Word Count: 582 (not so good)

He came home to scent of baking cookies and sound of rock and roll.

It was so startling, he actually stood in the doorway for a moment, completely stunned.

“Rosa?” he called. She hardly made deserts, let alone a batch of cookies for her bachelor employer. And certainly not the fill the house with the smell of chocolate and sugar type of cookies. And she did not listen to rock music.

Colton dropped his things by the door, closing it before all the cool air inside could escape.

He had a thrill of nerves. He knew who as in the kitchen and he really, really did not want to face her right now. He went anyway.

Renee’s back was to him, dancing as she moved cookies one by one to a wire rack. He didn’t recognize the band blaring out of the speakers, but she did, singing along as she tucked a tray into the oven.

“Hello?” he called over the music.

She turned and made a face when she saw him, pressing the remote to mute the music.

“I thought the doctor said no loud music,” he said. He had to say something and it was the only thing he could think of.

She shrugged, turning back to her steaming cookies. “My ears feel much better.”

His didn’t. They still rang at odd times. He eased closer, not quite sure why he was so nervous.

“Want a cookie?” she asked, holding one out to him on the spatula. He shook his head. She shrugged again and grabbed it, hissing as it burnt her fingers. She bounced it back and forth a few times and took a bite. “You sure? They’re really good.”

“Why…” he looked around helplessly, coming to stand by the island. There were cookies on just about every flat surface, in various stages of cooling.

She looked a little sheepish. “Mom always made me cookies when I got hurt.” She said, her wry grin fading. “It makes me feel better.”

“Oh.” He said finally. “Did you get hurt a lot?”

She snorted. “All the time. My parents spent half their lives in emergency rooms. That’s probably why I’m fat.”

“What?” he demanded. “You’re not fat!”

She grinned at him. “Okay…buxom. I like that word better, anyway. Or voluptuous?”

“Better,” he agreed. She laughed and he felt his cheeks burn. She poured a glass of milk and set a few cookies on a little plate. She set them near his hand. He scowled at her.

“In case you change your mind.” She said pertly. “How was work?”

“Fine.” He said. They were perfectly brown and gooey looking. Chocolate chip, it looked like.

“What is it that you do?” She asked as she checked her current batch in the oven. “I guessed you’re stinking rich, by the butler and the cook.”

“I own Savage Corporation.”

“What’s that?”

“My company contracts to make plastic parts for other companies.”

“What, like toys and stuff?”

He nodded. “And electronics, cars, manufacturing equipment. The space station.”

“Wow.” She said, her mouth full. “That’s cool.”

He shrugged. “My dad started it back in the sixties.”

“Your parents are…dead?” she asked, somehow being gentle and blunt at the same time.

“Yeah. A couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She said. She reached over and pressed his hand.

He stepped away. “I’ve got to go.”

She waved over her shoulder, turning back to her baking spree. The music started as he left the room, discordant and screeching.

500 WC Chapter Eight

500 Word Challenge
Word Count: 506

Colton left in the early morning. He hadn’t been into the office for days and his secretary was sending him increasingly frantic emails.

He turned in his seat to watch his house shrink behind him. Rosa and Mancini would make sure she rested today.

His secretary, Alice Cho, waited at the main door, her heeled foot tapping.

“You have some explaining to do,” she snapped, glaring at him from behind her sparkling glasses. She always wore the most outrageous clothing. Today was a pinstripe suit in pink and blue, her heels a jarring yellow. She enjoyed her lavish salary to the fullest.

“Yes,” he agreed. She didn’t know the half of it.

Her shriek was deafening in the elevator. Colton winced as she shouted at him.

“Married?” She demanded. “You got married?”

“I had to!” he protested. She hit him with her stack of folders. Several times.

“What were you thinking!”

“I fell in love with her,” he lied.

“That’s no reason to go Vegas on me!” She snapped, leading him into his office overlooking the business park’s central plaza. He’d had to tempt a very grumpy CEO with a very large check to get these offices. It was worth it for the view. “Who is she?”

“Renee White.”

Alice jerked to halt, spinning to stare at him. “That woman on TV? Who tackled the terrorist?”

Colton nodded, grinning in spite of it. “I married her at the hospital.”

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” Alice thundered. She continued to yell at him, slamming documents and papers down on his desk, shutting the files with sharp jabs. The phone rang, pitiful under her bellows. “Don’t think this is the end of it, Colton!” She lifted the receiver and said sweetly, “Savage Corporation, how may I help you?…I’m afraid he isn’t available at the moment, may I take a message…yes…yes…thank you, ma’am. Good-bye.” She banged the phone down. “And what are you going to do about Felicia?”

Colton winced. He’d forgotten about her. “Just call her, I guess-”

“Call her?” Alice repeated. “That will go nicely. ‘Hi, Felicia, sorry I have to cancel. I know I said I’d take you to Milan for the spring show, but I got married instead.’” Alice threw her arms out and glared at him expectantly.

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“I want to meet her.”

“Who?”

“Your wife,” Alice said nastily. “I want to meet her.”

“Okay.”

“Who is she? The news says she’s American.”

“She was on vacation.” Colton explained.

“What does she do? Where’s she from?” Colton winced again.

“I don’t know.”

Alice’s disgust was beyond words. She stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Colton took a deep breath and went to his desk.

Alice refused to speak to him the rest of the day. She relayed her messages by email or text. Colton considered refusing to check it, making her talk to him. Then he decided he didn’t have the energy. He’d been up most of the night. Changing the sheets hadn’t worked.