Paul Davis reached for his coffee mug and rose to fill it before reading the last of the stack of submissions on his desk. He would be teaching the advanced writing class at his college's Writing Center and that made the screening of applicants for the course his responsibility. Thirty-one students had applied for the class and he only had seats for twelve. Each applicant was required to submit a writing sample. That easily reduced the number of applicants by ten. The remaining twenty-one students were asked to submit a short story based upon a specific writing assignment that Paul devised for them.
The assignment was meant to be fun; each applicant was asked to write a story in which the writer played the central figure. The parameters were simple: the story must be told in the third person, it had to be no more than ten pages in length, and it had to be a romance based on a scenario assigned at random by the instructor.
The first few papers he'd read were fairly formulaic and stilted responses. Paul set them aside, consigning each to its appropriate pile: "yes," "no" or "maybe." After three hours he had placed far more papers on the maybe pile than on the yes pile and that suggested that the semester might be something of a challenge for the young professor. The continuing education office would not be pleased if he only accepted six students to the class. He must choose six more from those on the maybe pile and the papers that remained to be read.
Paul took a gulp of coffee and picked up the next candidate. He read the scenario, one of the more interesting on his list--looking for love in all the wrong places. Another of the candidates had drawn the same scenario and Paul consigned it to the "no" pile before he'd finished the fourth page. He opened the folder with some trepidation and began to read.
Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places
"So explain to me again why we're in a laundromat?" Jane asked as she stuffed her jeans and tops into a front-loading machine.
"The odds of meeting men are better here than in our basement," Lizzy replied. "Besides, our dryer is on the blink."
"Why didn't you tell me? I would have called the repairman or, for that matter, you could have."
"Where's the fun in that?" Lizzy said meaningfully as she took a sidelong glance at a man passing her on his way to the door.
"Lizzy? Don't tell me you came to this laundry specifically to meet men?" Jane found the notion absurd.
"Watch and learn." Lizzy went to the back of the laundry and returned a minute later with a stack of quarters. "Here; it's on me."
"You spoil me, you know." Jane started her machine and took a seat beside Lizzy. "I still don't get it. Is this some new sort of pick-up angle?"
"It's not at all new, to tell you the truth. Any single woman in New York knows that single men do their laundry on Saturday mornings. It's a good place to man shop."
"Man shop? Lizzy, you sound like something out of an article in Cosmo." Lizzy averted her eyes and quickly flipped the front page of her magazine she'd pulled from her bag to hide the cover. "This isn't the first time you've done this, is it?" Lizzy ignored the question. "So is this why you insisted on no underwear?"
"Never take underwear to the laundry when scoping out the local talent--too provocative," Lizzy explained, "although if I find someone I like I might just accidentally manage to find a little thong in the pocket of my jeans."
"Lizzy, you wouldn't!" Jane laughed.
"Hey! It's harmless fun and it beats hanging out in bars."
"Not that there are any bars open at this hour I'd want to be in, anyway."
"Listen, this will be fun. I promise you'll have a good time." Jane shrugged.
"So tell me, how is the local talent around here?" Lizzy shrugged.
"Let's say that at the last two laundries I went to, I never had to pull the ‘oops' trick."
"You mean you've gone to different laundries looking for men?"
"Hey, you've got Charles. I have unfulfilled needs."
"And these needs can be met by a man doing his laundry?"
"Laugh on!" Lizzy smiled. "You'd be surprised at who you find in laundries."
"I'll bet! But Lizzy, do you really want a man who does his own laundry?"
"As opposed to having a wife, sister, or significant other doing it for him? You bet your life!" Jane rolled her eyes as a tall, dark-haired man entered the laundry with a large blue bag over his shoulder. "Ah, here's our first prospect now." The man noticed the two women and smiled warmly. They returned the smile and watched as he turned his back to load his machine. "He's cute," Lizzy whispered.
"Nice butt," Jane commented.
"Very nice butt."
"He's taken," Jane concluded.
"What? How do you know?" Lizzy pouted.
"I have a hard time seeing him in that skimpy pink tee on the floor." Lizzy frowned and picked up her magazine. Jane smiled and followed suit, opening the book she'd brought along. The two women read for a while until another man entered. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, slim of build and wearing a small hoop in his left ear.
"Looks like your type," Lizzy drawled and raised her magazine once more.
"How on earth did you come to that conclusion?" Jane asked as she glanced at the man. She found him attractive but only superficially.
"I don't know. He has that innocent geeky look, like Charles."
"Lizzy!" Jane raised her book. But in the next minute she peered over the top of it to take in the newcomer's physique. Then she sighed and raised the book again. "You know, I didn't expect to be spending my Saturday morning in a laundromat looking at men who don't know how to sort colors." Lizzy looked up.
"Eek! Maybe he likes pink socks," she teased. "But the beauty of this strategy is that you can see a guy's weaknesses before you agree to go out with him."
"Have you ever actually met a man in a laundromat, Lizzy? Have you ever actually dated one?" Lizzy nodded as she reached into her bag for a pen.
"Yes and he was really nice. I didn't have to use my little thong gambit, either. He just walked right over and--."
"Excuse me; do you have change for a dollar?" The sisters looked up into a pair of gorgeous blue eyes. Lizzy gulped audibly as she shoved her hand into her pocket.
"I think there's a machine--," Jane began.
"Here," Lizzy said as she handed over four quarters. The man handed her a one dollar bill and smiled before he returned to his machine at the far end of the row. Lizzy fanned herself with the magazine.
"You were saying?"
"I was saying...aw, rats!" Lizzy spat as a buxom blonde walked in and laid claim to the hunk. "Bet she doesn't trust him to do the laundry alone."
"Undoubtedly because she probably snared him in a laundromat in the first place," Jane teased. Lizzy shot her a look before she picked up the pen she'd dropped and began doing a quiz in her magazine. Jane put down her book. "Coffee?"
"Frappuccino." Jane shook her head as she picked up her purse and slipped out to the coffee shop up the street. Lizzy picked up the magazine once more and resumed doing the quiz. When Jane returned several minutes later, Lizzy was sitting between the geek and another man. The new arrival looked like a young urban professional and he was reading over Lizzy's shoulder as the geek argued against whatever the yuppie and Lizzy were agreed upon.
"Oh, Jane! You're back!" Lizzy said innocently.
"Yes and it looks as though I didn't bring back enough for everyone," Jane said archly. Lizzy shrugged almost imperceptibly as the attractive yuppie began to rise. "Oh, please don't trouble yourself. I need to check my wash." Jane handed Lizzy the bag and turned away with a wry smile. Both men checked out Jane's derriere as she went to check her machine. "I'm about done,' she said to no one in particular as she went to grab a basket. By the time she returned both her machine and Lizzy's had stopped. Jane handed Lizzy a basket and began to pull out her wash. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Lizzy wore a smile. Jane raised an eyebrow as Lizzy pulled a hot pink thong out of her jeans pocket.
"Watch and learn, girl." Lizzy carefully dropped the panties as she lifted her basket and headed for the dryers.
"Excuse me," the yuppie said. "I think these are yours." Jane turned and saw the man waving the fallen thong at her. Jane smiled.
"Actually, I think they belong to her," she replied as she pointed toward the blond at the front of the laundry. The yuppie paled and Lizzy growled as she snatched the thong from his fingers. She gave Jane a withering look.
"That's mine," she growled.
"Well, I don't want to be mistaken for a desperate woman, so get that thing away from me," Jane whispered as Lizzy stormed past her. Lizzy turned to the yuppie and smiled.
"I haven't introduced you to my sister, Jane. She has a strange sense of humor but she's really a decent human being if you can see past that." Jane stuck out her tongue before she apologized to the yuppie, who was named Brad. Much to Jane's surprise, Lizzy explained that he was an obstetrician.
"Really?" Jane gaped as she started her dryer.
"Why does everyone say that?" Brad asked impishly. "What's an obstetrician supposed to look like?" Jane shook her head.
"So do you ladies come here every Saturday?" Brad asked.
"Actually--." Lizzy interrupted to quickly cut off Jane's intended remark.
"We're bit far afield today. We live on Pineapple Street, but the nearest laundry was kind of crowded."
"So you two are checking out the scene at the different laundries in the nabe, eh?" Jane colored slightly and turned away to start her dryer.
"I'm just here because our dryer at the house is broken." She gave her sister a challenging look.
"And I'm just here to keep Jane company," Lizzy said with a beatific smile. Jane's eyes opened wide and she glared at her sister.
"Oh, come on! You two don't fool me," Brad said. "You're both here to check out the action," he said, preening slightly. Jane and Lizzy exchanged a look. "All the ladies around here are into it."
"Not all of them," Jane smiled as she waved the fingers of her left hand. "I'm happily engaged."
"Yeah, but you haven't tied the knot, yet," he said as he leaned toward her suggestively. "Maybe you're up for one last fling; you know, sow your wild oats and all?" Jane looked positively disgusted, as did Lizzy. Things were going terribly wrong.
"Nothing could be further from the truth," Jane said in a tone that clearly showed her contempt. ‘And if I did I'm sure I wouldn't ‘sow my wild oats' with someone who cruises laundromats to meet women." She sat down and glared at Brad, who stonily moved away. Lizzy sighed and fell onto the bench beside her sister.
"I'm really sorry, Jane," she said after a moment. "I had no idea he was going to turn out to be such a jerk."
"Why, because he sorted his colors properly?" Jane said more harshly than she felt. She immediately changed her tone. "It isn't your fault, Lizzy. He'd be obnoxious anywhere."
"Ain't that the truth," Lizzy conceded. She tossed aside her magazine and picked up a discarded newspaper. The sisters' laundry was soon done and the pair returned home without speaking any further on the subject.
A week later, Lizzy found herself at the laundry again, this time the one closest to her house. She'd given up all hope of meeting someone at the laundromat. She was there because, thanks to a scheduling snafu, her dryer had yet to be repaired. She brought as little laundry as she could, just the bare essentials, and she carelessly threw her laundry into the dryer as she once again cursed herself for forgetting that she had scheduled the repairman's visit for the same time as an appointment with her gynecologist. The dryer repair had to yield. She'd waited a month for that appointment and after losing her mother to cervical cancer she was not about to skip it.
"Excuse me; you seem to have dropped something." Lizzy started to look up, but her eyes went to the floor as the man before her bent to retrieve the fallen item. Lizzy saw what he was about to touch and nearly dove to reach for it before he could pick up her thong. Assuming he realized what it was, Lizzy blushed crimson and refused to meet his eyes. She awkwardly muttered her thanks and shoved the thong into her laundry bag before raising her book to hide her embarrassment. A moment later, the shadow moved away and she took a deep breath.
I checked all my pockets! How did that get in there? Wait, don't tell me--I'm going to throttle Jane when I get home! Lizzy muttered oaths to herself as she waited for her clothes to finish. As soon as the dryer stopped she shoved her laundry into her bag without bothering to fold it and rushed out of the laundry.
The following week, the Sunday morning loomed bright and clear. Lizzy slipped out of bed and went down to the kitchen, where she found Jane and her fiancé Charles cooing and teasing each other as they prepared breakfast. Lizzy watched them for a moment, feeling like an interloper in her own home. She decided to go out for a walk and maybe stop somewhere for a nice brunch. Maybe getting out among people would help to ease that sense of loneliness that had overtaken her as soon as she saw the happy couple together. She went back upstairs, showered and dressed and then went down to let the others know her plans.
"Are you sure, Lizzy? We have more than enough for three," Jane said.
"Yeah, but I'm sure you're happier as a twosome," Lizzy replied wistfully. Then she slipped out the door and into the sunshine. She strolled through her historic Brooklyn Heights neighborhood, aiming for the Promenade and the view of the East River. As she walked she found herself growing sadder. Everyone seemed to be with someone else. Everyone seemed happy. Everyone else seemed to have a life, except for her. Lizzy sighed; she felt incredibly alone and realized that she was near tears. She shook off the gloom and headed purposefully for Montague Street. She'd find a nice restaurant with outdoor seating and enjoy a leisurely breakfast. She made a point of picking up the Sunday paper along the way so she'd have something with which to entertain herself. She didn't want to people watch; it would be too depressing.
Lizzy found a table at a restaurant that she and Jane liked to frequent and took a seat facing the river. A light breeze came off the water and made its way down the avenue, toying with her hair. Lizzy pulled an elastic band off her wrist and pulled her hair off her face. She fastened a loose bun of sorts and secured it with the band. As she did so she noticed the man at the next table gazing at her--an extremely attractive man.
He wasn't smiling at her exactly, but his lips were slightly upturned. He looked pleased, or perhaps pleasantly surprised. Lizzy wondered what he had to be pleased about. She boldly stared back at him and his smile widened into the genuine article.
"Hello again," he said, propping his chin and absently laying down his book. Lizzy raised her eyebrows.
"Hello ‘again'?" she repeated, confusion evident in her features. The stranger laughed briefly and Lizzy became aware of a pair of dimples that disappeared when his smile faded, much to her disappointment.
"Well, we didn't exactly say hello the first time we met," the man said. The smile returned, this time boyish and charming. "We didn't exactly meet the first time we met, come to think of it," he said as he raised his coffee cup to his lips. Lizzy unconsciously licked her own lips as she watched him. Then she frowned.
"What? When did we ‘not exactly' meet?"
"A week ago," the stranger replied, pausing as the waiter brought his breakfast. The waiter turned to take Lizzy's order and she absently ordered coffee asked for a few more minutes to decide on her meal.
"A week ago."
"You wouldn't remember. I doubt if you even saw me. But I saw you and haven't forgotten you since." Lizzy swallowed hard as she fought back a cold knot of dread that began to form in her throat. Was this man some sort of psycho stalker?
"You're right, I don't remember."
"It was at the laundromat. You--." Lizzy's face turned red and she averted her eyes. "You did that," he finished impishly. "I was taken back by it then, but now I'm just intrigued." Lizzy looked up.
"Huh?"
"I gave it a great deal of thought," the man said as he began to butter a slice of toast, "and for the life of me I can't figure out what I'd done to upset you. Whatever it was I seem to have done it again." Lizzy made a strained, absurd sort of sound that finally relaxed into laughter.
"Forgive me--."
"William."
"Forgive me, William. You didn't do anything! I was just so embarrassed!" William laid aside his toast and smiled.
"Surely dropping a sock on the floor is no cause for--."
"It wasn't a sock!" Lizzy gasped. "It was...something...a bit more personal." William's eyebrows rose.
"Oh!" He lifted his cup again. "And there I was on the verge of--."
"Yes!" Lizzy laughed again. "I'm sorry, I--."
"Understood."
"My name is Lizzy."
"I know." Lizzy was immediately wary.
"How?"
"I heard you muttering to yourself ‘Lizzy, you're an idiot' at least a dozen times while I watched you." Lizzy bit her lip. "By the way, I think you're greatly mistaken," William said with another disarming smile. "God wouldn't be so cruel as to make you at once so beautiful and as idiotic as you claim to be." He was openly flirting now and Lizzy readily succumbed to his easy charm.
"You've made my day, William," she said with a smile.
"Would give me the pleasure of sharing my table and make mine?" he asked. Lizzy regarded him for a moment. Then she nodded and rose from her seat and moved to his table. "And take that bloody thing out of your hair. I rather like seeing it flying about with wild abandon." Lizzy released her mane and William propped his chin once more.
"Happy?" she teased. William nodded.
"Very much so. Thank you," he said sincerely. "You know, before you arrived I was sitting here feeling pretty sorry for myself."
"Why?" Lizzy asked as she flagged down the waiter.
"You know...I just bought a place in the area. I recently moved to New York to take a new job and it was selected for me by a relocation service so I didn't get much of a look at it before I agreed to the purchase. That was when I realized that this is a family neighborhood, full of people...with people. I'm all alone here." Lizzy took a deep breath and found the courage she needed to place her hand over his.
"Not anymore."
End.
Paul smiled and reread the final page over again and placed the paper on the "yes" pile. He reached for his pad and checked off the name "Elizabeth Bennet." Then he turned back to the story and wrote a brief note on the back:
Work shows originality, humor and empathy with both the main character and her romantic counterpart. The minimal number of characters keeps the story well-focused. Light, escapist, entertaining, fun!
Paul picked up the next folder and read the scenario. It was the same as the previous one and he hoped against hope that it would be just as good. Paul flipped the cover page back and noted that the submission violated one of the parameters of the assignment. It was written in the first person, but by the time Paul's eyes reached the second paragraph he was hooked on the story and continued to read in spite of the mistake.
Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places
I awoke from a restless night of sleep and sat up in bed. Looking through the glass doors that led out to the terrace, I saw that it was early morning. I rose and padded across to the doors, and sliding them open, stepped out onto the terrace, where I welcomed the cool breeze that buffeted my bare skin as I gazed out at the water.
It was the last day of my vacation; my last day completely free from responsibilities or commitments, the last day I could ignore my watch and just go with the flow. It was also my last chance to try and find her. I inhaled one last lungful of the salty air and turned to go back inside. An hour later, I had showered, shaved, dressed and eaten breakfast. I was ready to make one last attempt to find the woman of my dreams.
Her face had haunted me for the seven days I'd been on the island. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense; compelling might be a better word to describe her power over me. I'd been to every restaurant, every tourist attraction, nightclub, beach and shop within a ten mile radius. I'd climbed the steep hills, walked the crowded markets, sampled the local cuisine from tiny street stalls in my quest to see her again, but it had been all to no avail.
I knew I was deluding myself. This vacation was my first real holiday in three years. I was burnt out, exhausted and in desperate need of a change of scenery when I'd boarded that plane. Yet for all that I was on a tropical island a thousand miles from home, I'd gotten no rest in the week I'd been here. My every waking moment had been devoted to finding her again. One glimpse would have sated my longing. I was as weary now as when I left the city and yet I could not rest. I would not rest till I found her.
She was undoubtedly unaware that I was in her thrall. Would she be pleased to know that I'd thrown away all my plans to lie on a beach and get a tan? That I wanted to do nothing more serious than flirt with pretty women and throw back too many margaritas to count? She changed all that. In one look, my world changed. My priorities were revised and she became the elusive center of my universe.
I had only seen her for a few seconds as we disembarked from the airplane. She turned her head as she made her way to the door and our eyes met. She smiled--at least, my mind insists that she did--and then she disappeared from view as she stepped through the hatch. I froze in my place, till the man behind me prodded me none too subtly to get a move on. I took off after her, impelled by love and hope and fear that if I didn't rush I'd lose her forever. I found her outside the terminal. She got into a cab and it took her away, shattering my dreams as it went. I wanted to chase after her. I needed to find her. But I'd dropped my luggage and when I'd picked it up again the cab was gone and I was alone.
I'd been alone ever since, obsessed with a fruitless quest to find the woman who'd stolen my heart with one look. I retraced my steps for the third or fourth time. Surely she must be somewhere. The island was too small for her to hide from me. But then, she'd hidden from me on that plane, too, hadn't she? We'd spent two hours on the same plane in a small, confined space and she'd managed to elude me for one hour and fifty-nine minutes. I sat down at a small outdoor bar and allowed reality to seep in. It was time to give up.
I wasn't going to find her by searching the island like a lovesick bloodhound. I wasn't going to find her at all. I'd wasted seven days of an eight-day vacation chasing a dream. It was time to put an end to the madness.
I went back the hotel and changed into my swim trunks. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing what I should have been doing in the first place. I worked on my tan. I ogled women. I enjoyed the lush, tropical scenery and walked on the beach to collect the shells I promised my secretary. Then I showered and dressed and went down to the restaurant and ordered a margarita with my early dinner, after which I went out to check out the island's nightlife. I danced, I flirted; I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Returning to my room at two in the morning, I fell into bed and slept soundly.
But I awoke the next morning with a familiar melancholy. It was time to leave. I packed my bags and checked out, my mind haunted by regret. I regretted having missed so much of my vacation. I regretted having failed to live my life while I had the chance, throwing it all away for something so tenuous and ethereal as a romantic fantasy. And yet, I could not help but consider the possibilities and that made me pensive as I boarded the plane that would take me home.
I resisted every urge I had to walk the aisles in search of her. It didn't matter anymore. Maybe the point of my vacation was to learn a difficult lesson. One should not go looking for love; one should find it. I laughed at my conclusion. It had all the earmarks of a desperate rationale for my failure. No matter. What's done was done. I was home. In two days' time I'd be back at work. The quotidian routine that was my existence would resume and who knows? In a week or two I'd probably forget all about her.
And I was correct. Before two weeks had passed I'd relegated that face to the deepest recesses of memory and I was able to live again, alone but unburdened by reminiscence. Then late one afternoon I got a call from an old friend. She needed a favor and as someone who had been a lifelong friend and mentor, I could not refuse. Thus, I entered one of the city's trendiest art galleries that evening with a spry septuagenarian on my arm. We strolled through the exhibit, discussing the paintings on display and sipping cheap champagne as my companion made outlandish comments on the fashions worn by some of the younger set.
That's when I saw her again. That face stared out at me from a canvas, life-sized and just as haunting as before. I stared at it until my companion nudged me and asked my opinion. I couldn't explain to her why I had a sudden urge to laugh, but she waited patiently till I'd composed myself and told her that it was the face of the most compelling woman I'd ever seen. A voice behind me said "thank you." I spun around and shook hands with the artist, who told me that she agreed with me one hundred percent. As she went on to talk about her inspiration and about light and mood and other aspects of the painting, my heart began to pound in my chest. As if sensing my emotions, my friend gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and asked the identity of the model. The artist and my friend exchanged a look then the artist took my arm and led me across the floor. She stopped behind a small crowd of people and called the woman at its center. I held my breath as the crowd parted and she stepped forward.
It wasn't the same person.
That painting nonetheless now hangs over my mantle, a daily reminder of the woman I love above all else in the world. She still haunts my every waking moment, but I live quite well with the torment. When I arrive home from work each day I sit and stare at the painting...till she comes home from work. And then I stare at the beautiful woman who has made me the happiest man in the world.
End.
The phone rang, distracting Paul as he scribbled a few notes about William Darcy's story on his pad. He tossed the paper on top of Elizabeth Bennet's and picked it up. He spoke briefly with his partner before returning to his chore. He raised William Darcy's paper and skimmed it once more. It was very short and yet it was as poignant and evocative as the longest in the batch. Paul was intrigued by the plot and found himself wondering if it was based on personal experience. He couldn't wait to meet his student and find out.
He picked up the last two papers and noticed that like the previous two, they also shared the same scenario: carpe diem (seize the day). Paul hefted the two papers and opted to read the longer one first. He flipped back the cover and turned up the Beethoven sonata on the radio as he began to read.
Carpe Diem
After spending hour after hour on her feet going from one tedious lecture to another, Olivia was bored and frustrated. Why was it that conference brochures were invariably more interesting than the conferences themselves? Finally, she could take no more. She skipped out of the last session a little early, took a pass on the happy hour mixer scheduled to follow it and made her escape. She went up to her room and took a nap, her feet propped up on pillows to ease their swelling. An hour later, she rose and took a shower, pulled on some clothes that clearly said "off duty" and went out into the night.
She headed for Georgetown, that trendy district in the nation's capital that was home to galleries, shops and restaurants. Olivia had no particular destination in mind, but wandered aimlessly through the streets. After a while though, she began to lose steam and wished she'd brought along some of her colleagues from the conference to keep her company. Of course, the whole idea of sneaking out was to get away from the "geeks in Sunday best" who'd been hitting on her all day. But Olivia could not deny that she was feeling lonely and the more she became immersed in Georgetown nightlife the lonelier she felt.
She was standing at a corner waiting for the light to change when she noticed the Jaguar. It looked pink at first in the evening light, but when she crossed the street and was able to see it more closely she realized it was a metallic taupe and she found herself inexplicably mesmerized by its sleek, low-slung body and quiet elegance. Olivia was ready to concede that it was the prettiest car she'd ever seen. She and her brother were big car aficionados growing up and she never lost her fascination with them so she was fairly knowledgeable about most top of the line autos. And the Jaguar before her was one of the finest she'd ever laid eyes upon.
"An XJ8 Vanden Plas Supercharged," Olivia breathed as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans to keep from touching the immaculate vehicle. She bent to get a look at the dash. "Five-speed transmission, 370 horses..." She continued to murmur to herself as she examined the car from the sleek cat on its hood to the rear bumper. When she finally stood and took a step back she found that she was also the subject of an intense examination.
"Nice car," the stranger said with a disarming smile. Olivia smiled back shyly and nodded.
"Really nice. Four liter V8 engine...this thing actually has a DVD-based navigation system." The stranger seemed to be impressed.
"I know," he said. "How do you know?" he asked curiously.
"I read about the new nav system on the web last year," Olivia said as she turned back to the car. "It's only available on the Vanden Plas as standard equipment."
"Yeah, that's why I bought it." Olivia's mouth fell open.
"This is your car?" she said meekly. She felt her face grow hot.
"Yes," the stranger smiled. "Would you like to take a ride?" Olivia shot him a look.
"My mother warned me about men like you." To her surprise, the stranger laughed and Olivia realized for the first time just how handsome he was. When he focused a pair of deep blue eyes on her once again, Olivia kicked herself for having wasted so much time looking at the car rather than its owner.
"What do you drive?" the stranger asked as he leaned against the car.
"A 1999 Miata, but only on weekends; I keep it at my brother's house in New Jersey during the week," Olivia explained.
"Why?"
"A convertible is not the ideal type of car for New York City."
"Oh, is that where you're from?" Olivia nodded. "You probably shouldn't have told me that. I'm sure your mother would not approve," he smiled.
"Oh, I think it's safe enough. On any given day there are about 10 million people in New York. You'd be hard pressed to find me in that crowd."
"Oh, I don't know; there can't be too many Olivia Crenshaws in the Big Apple." Olivia's eyes went wide; then she looked down and saw the conference nametag still clipped to her bag. She sighed and pulled it off.
"My name is Daniel," the stranger said easily. "Are you here on business or pleasure?" Olivia was sorely tempted to answer "both," as she gazed at the handsome man before her, but she explained that she was in Washington to attend a four-day conference on e-government.
"Oh; are you some sort of policy analyst?"
"No, I'm system administrator," Olivia replied.
"Is that good?" Daniel asked impishly. Olivia smiled at his ingenuousness and nodded.
"What do you do?" she asked, imagining that if he could afford a $90,000 vehicle he must make a fairly good living.
"When I'm not out trying to lure pretty little girls into my car you mean?" he laughed. He pulled a small leather case from his pocket and handed Olivia a card. She read it and looked up.
"You're that Daniel--of DDM Software?" she snapped her mouth shut, knowing she sounded stupid but she was too shocked to manage anything more coherent.
"I must be; it says so on my cards," Daniel said innocently as he pocketed the case. "What do you know about my company?"
"I know that my agency just signed a six figure contract for your company's services over the next two years. I'm the one who did the signing on our end."
"I have got to go to more meetings!" Daniel said, causing Olivia to burst into laughter. "No, seriously; no one ever tells me when the good ones are."
"Maybe they're afraid it'll cut into your girl-baiting time," she replied, unable to believe that she was teasing a self-made millionaire.
"Well, I was only kidding about that. The car ‘s only a week old and you're the first woman to actually look at it with any real interest."
"I could believe that," Olivia said with a hint of a sigh. Daniel wisely ignored the comment, but Olivia nonetheless felt a bit embarrassed by her own remark. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Matheson. I should be moving along."
"It's Daniel, and where are you headed? I'd be happy to give you a lift."
"After all those stern lectures from my mother? Besides, I really don't know where I'm going. I was just out for a walk."
"Mind if I ask where you're staying?" Olivia hesitated, but Daniel added, "You may as well tell me. It would be a matter of minutes to track down the conference site on the web and another to find out whether you're at that hotel or--."
"I'm at the Sheraton...the one on M Street." Daniel smiled.
"May I call you?" Olivia half shrugged, half nodded, certain that she'd be forgotten as soon as she was out of Daniel's sight. She smiled and waved goodbye."
"Sure you don't want a ride? I'm just realizing this car's potential..." Olivia laughed and forced herself to turn away.
She walked a few blocks more and eventually found a small restaurant with an open courtyard at the back. She dined alone, enjoying the scenery and wondering what would have happened had she accepted Daniel's offer. Olivia regretted not giving him her own card, even if he didn't call. She looked at the couples around her and wished that someone would think of her, consider her if only for a minute or only in her imagination. Olivia wished--she shrugged off those thoughts and paid the check before hailing a cab for the ride back to her hotel, where she went straight to bed in order to be ready for her presentation the following morning.
The next day Olivia was too busy to think about her brief encounter the previous night, but late that afternoon as her train sped her back to New York, she remembered and was disappointed when she realized that Daniel hadn't called her. Of course, she'd spent the morning attending various panels and hadn't checked her messages, had she? Alas, she'd never know whether he'd called her or not. She pulled his card out of her bag and looked at it, remembering Daniel's sweet smile and easy charm.
"Well, I missed that bus," Olivia said as she tossed the card onto the tray before her, ready to discard it along with a half-eaten muffin and an empty coffee cup. But on impulse, she picked up the card and returned it to its previous place. "Let this be a reminder to you, Olivia. The next time a gorgeous man makes you an offer you shouldn't refuse, don't!"
On the following Monday morning, Olivia strode into her office and found a vase full of pink peonies on her desk. She frowned at it and looked back out into the hall. Her friend Charlotte passed by and peered at the vase.
"You'll have to tell me about that conference later" she said archly as Olivia put down her briefcase and walked over to the vase. She found a card on the table beside it and opened it.
By the way, for the record, my secretary tells me that based on her research there is apparently only one Olivia B. Crenshaw in New York City. Just as I expected; the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were one of a kind!
DanielYou left Washington without returning my call, so I had my secretary track you down in New York. Fortunately, she has a good friend in our contracts office and it wasn't hard to find out where to send these. Hope you like them.
Olivia sat down heavily as she stared at the card in disbelief. The phone rang and she started, quickly recovering her wits and reaching for it before it went to voicemail. She took the call from her coworker and then shrugged out of her jacket to begin working in earnest, occasionally distracted by the heady scent of the blossoms or the handwritten note that leaned against the vase. But she tried very hard not to think about Daniel or the flowers or the phone that never rang. Finally, Olivia decided to escape for a while and went to lunch with Charlotte, who insisted on knowing about the man who'd sent her flowers.
"I've nothing to tell you, really. I met him on the street in Georgetown when I stopped to admire his car."
"His car?"
"Yes, he had this phenomenal Jaguar--."
"Never mind that! What did he look like?"
"He was even hotter," Olivia sighed. "We spoke for a few minutes then we parted and he said he'd call."
"And did he?"
"Yes, he called the hotel but I didn't get his message before I left. He sent me flowers and a note this morning to let me know he'd look me up here in the city."
"He's going to pursue you all the way to New York?" Charlotte asked.
"He also lives in New York, Char. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject." Olivia wouldn't allow herself to think about it any further. She returned to her office determined to get through the pile of work on her desk. A short time later the phone rang. Olivia sighed and reached for it.
"Olivia Crenshaw."
"That's exactly what I was hoping to hear." Olivia smiled broadly.
"Hello, Daniel."
"Hello; have you got a minute? I called to ask you something." Olivia wanted to say that she had all the time in the world but she forced herself to answer more discretely.
"Sure, what's up?"
"Does your mother have anything against cabs?" Olivia giggled. "Limousines? Buses? I'm willing to be flexible, but very determined to see you again if I have to break down and walk the length of Manhattan to do it."
"Her warning only applied to strangers, I believe."
"Oh! So how do I qualify as something else? And what are my options on that?" Olivia laughed again.
"Are you always like this?"
"Are you talking about my persistence, the charm or the general tendency to spew malarkey?" Daniel asked.
"Any of it," Olivia laughed.
"I'm afraid I'm pretty consistent in all three categories. Do you consider that a liability?"
"Not at all," she decided. Then she remembered the promise she made to herself on the train: carpe diem. "May I ask you something?"
"Name it."
"Would you take me for a ride in your car?"
"I thought--."
"I won't tell my mom if you don't," Olivia promised.
"Well, in that case, yes!" Daniel smiled. "How soon can you be ready?"
"Daniel, it's the middle of the afternoon and I'm supposed to be working!"
"Oh, right. I let my enthusiasm run away with me for a moment." He sighed dramatically. "May I ask you something else--no, two things. I'm going to want dinner, too."
"Okay," Olivia said tentatively as she felt her pulse begin to race.
"What changed your mind about the ride?"
"I spent the weekend regretting that I turned you down," she admitted. "I realized that sometimes mom doesn't always know what's best for her little girl."
"I see. Well, I promise not to do anything that would make you wish you'd listened to her anyway. How does a nice long ride in the country this weekend sound, maybe topped off by a nice picnic?"
"Sounds lovely," Olivia grinned.
"...And dinner tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"Carpe diem, Olivia." Olivia was thrown for a moment, as Daniel's words echoed her own thoughts.
"Well, in that case, yes," she said. They made plans for later and Olivia was about to say goodbye as Charlotte stopped at her door and pointed at her watch. "I have to go, Daniel. I've got a meeting."
"Yeah, so do I; in fact I'm officially late for mine. Of course, being the boss means that no one will complain about my tardiness. But I didn't want to wait any longer to touch base with you again. I was afraid that if I didn't I'd miss my opportunity to have something wonderful in my life." He hung up before Olivia could respond and she sat for a moment stunned, the receiver forgotten in her hand.
"Livy!" Olivia looked up and saw Charlotte at the door again. She leapt to her feet and grabbed her folder and pen and followed the down the hall. She smiled all the way through the boring meeting and for the remaining hours of the workday buoyed by the hope that Daniel was right.
End.
Paul smiled as he closed the paper and turned it over. He decided that he was looking forward to meeting this student as well. He wrote his comments on the back and tossed it on the "yes" pile, wishing he'd read all the papers in reverse order. The last three had been the best of the bunch. He decided to wait on the last one. He placed it in his briefcase and turned to the "maybe" stack. He skimmed through them, selecting the best five of the lot, and threw his choices into the briefcase as well. He then left his office and made his way home.
After a good dinner with his partner, Paul retired to his home office and opened the briefcase. He dug out the last of the unread papers and sat back in his chair to read. Before he'd even finished the first page he reached for the pad and checked off the student's name. Then he began reading again from the top, a broad smile on his face.
Carpe Diem
His nose was broken. His heart was broken. And with an impressive display of efficiency he'd managed to accomplish both in one pain-filled instant. Richard was an extremely unhappy man.
He was sitting where he had fallen on the platform, which unfortunately afforded him a brief glimpse of his train as it left the station without him. Then he was surrounded once more by a bunch of people who all seemed to be speaking to him at once, but Richard was too depressed to listen. Finally, one of the paramedics gently took hold of his chin and turned his face, holding it in place till he focused his eyes on hers.
"Can you tell me your name?" she said slowly.
"Yes."
"What is it?" she grinned, when she realized that he had no intention of saying more.
"Richard."
"Your full name."
"Richard Anthony Fitzwilliam."
"Can you tell me today's date--please tell me today's date," she quickly amended. Richard managed a weak smile in spite of himself.
"It's May 9th and approximately 8:40 a.m." The paramedic's face registered surprise at his accuracy. "I just missed the 8:39 to New York." She nodded her understanding.
"Can you tell me where you were going this morning?"
"I was on my way to work. I'm a statistician," he added before the paramedic could ask.
"We'd like to take you to the hospital, Mr. Fitzwilliam--." The paramedic gently turned his face back to hers when his eyes wandered to the left, where two Nassau County police officers were standing. "Your nose is broken and you may have a concussion."
"Just my luck; I fell in love with a prize fighter," Richard sobbed. Tears began to well up in his eyes and the paramedic began to worry.
"Mr. Fitzwilliam? Stay with me here, okay?"
"Am I under arrest?" the teary-eyed man asked as his eyes strayed to the cops once more.
"Not to my knowledge," the paramedic replied with a glance at the officers, who shook their heads. But Richard could find no comfort in that news.
"She probably won't press charges because she wants to finish the job she began with that right hook."
"Who?" asked one of the officers.
"Where is she?" Richard demanded. He began to look around frantically, so agitated that the paramedics secured him to a head and neck restraint to prevent him from possibly doing himself further harm. A half hour later, as he lay on a gurney in the emergency room awaiting the results of the MRI and x-rays, Richard was questioned by the officers.
"Who attacked you?"
"I don't know her name."
"What do you remember about the attack?"
"I can't remember anything about it."
"But you said it was a prize fighter," the first officer said.
"A female prize fighter,' the second officer said.
"Well, look at me!" Richard exclaimed painfully. "How else would you explain this?" The officers exchanged a glance.
"What can you tell us about the incident?" Richard grimaced momentarily.
"Not a thing," he concluded lamely.
"That's because Mr. Fitzwilliam has a mild concussion. Short-term memory loss is not an unexpected consequence," said the doctor as he entered Richard's cubicle. "We'll probably keep you overnight for observation and send you home in the morning," he told his forlorn patient. "I want to get another look at that nose and see if we can't straighten it out."
Richard sighed and sunk deeper into the pillows, feeling even more depressed than before. Not only was he heartbroken, but he had no memory of his one moment of perfect bliss with his beloved. His first and last moment with her, as things turned out. Richard slid down in the bed and sulked. He wasn't so depressed that he forgot his vanity, however. Thus, Richard endured a brief surgical procedure and left the hospital two days later with a straightened nose and two black eyes. Richard went home to his condo and laid low for the remainder of the week. Then he used a little comp time he had coming to extend his leave a few more days till his nose returned to a size proportional to the rest of his face. When he wasn't switching between ESPN and the soaps, Richard spent his waking hours bemoaning his fate. The woman he'd lost his heart to hated him.
As the days wore on, he slowly began to piece together what had happened that morning. It had begun like every other weekday since he'd moved into his condominium in the suburbs. Richard had parked his car in the lot at the train station and walked onto the platform. That's where he saw her. She was there every morning, like him, waiting for the 8:39 train. She looked as beautiful to the lovesick man as she had the previous thirty-five days he'd seen her there.
As always, she was dressed in stylish business attire, her short hair trimmed so that it barely brushed her collar. She wore a minimal amount of jewelry and makeup, carried a designer briefcase and as always, the Wall Street Journal was tucked under her arm. Richard's heart leapt as he worshipped her from a distance. She wore no wedding band or engagement ring, which in and of itself meant nothing, Richard realized. Still, he allowed himself to hope.
Richard sat on the bench and fantasized about driving to the station with the mystery woman. He'd never managed to arrive at the station before her. He wondered whether the maroon Beemer in the lot was hers or if she drove the champagne metallic Taurus that always managed to get that perfect space nearest the platform every morning. No. That car had to belong to someone taking an earlier train. It was far more likely that she drove the BMW, or perhaps the sleek black Lexus. Richard couldn't imagine her in a station wagon or SUV, and if someone dropped her off and picked her up at the station, Richard insisted on believing that the driver was a beloved sibling.
Richard had never spoken to the woman, which would have been an easy thing. There were usually ten to twenty people on the platform at any given time at that hour of the day. He might have safely approached her without inspiring fear. But he'd never found the courage. Each day, Richard boarded the train and hoped that she'd find a seat near his. He never followed her. He couldn't bring himself to do so, afraid that she'd think him too forward.
It was ironic, really. Richard wasn't the sort of man one would consider shy, but where the woman of his dreams was concerned he felt powerless to show his true nature. He was a reasonably attractive man. Women at his office constantly threw themselves at him. Even his male friends agreed that he'd be quite the catch and encouraged him to go for it. Richard, however, simply watched and waited. But every dog has his day and Richard finally awoke one morning to the realization that the only thing standing between him and happiness was his fear. It was time to confront that fear and speak his heart.
He rehearsed his speech in the mirror as he shaved, did a quick edit as he chomped his granola and banana and tested the revision on his cat, whose opinion, by the way, he could care less about. He just needed a live audience and the cat more or less qualified. When he'd brushed and flossed his teeth, and after changing his tie three times, Richard declared himself ready. He got into his car (the navy blue Mercedes that he always tried to park near the maroon Beemer, just because) and drove to the station.
She wasn't there.
Richard fought the urge to hyperventilate. His head began to hurt and for a moment or two he feared he might cry. Instead, he laughed at the bitter joke the fates had played on him. As he stood there laughing, he realized that he was being stared at by others on the platform. He lowered his eyes and turned away from the people gaping at him. That's when he saw the object of his affection. She'd been hidden in the shadows. Richard was still trying to compose himself, so he tried valiantly to swallow what was most certainly the idiotic grin on his face. But the woman smiled back at him and his heart skipped a beat. Richard instantly sobered and forced himself to approach her. He took one step forward, then another, and another. The woman continued to stare at him--and she was staring, he realized later. That couldn't have been a good omen. His mind became a tumult and then it abandoned him, going completely blank, save for two words.
Carpe diem.
Richard's smile returned. He closed the distance between himself and the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, dropped his briefcase to the ground and took her in his arms. The next thing he knew he was being pulled upright by the paramedics.
Why was life so cruel?
When Monday rolled around, he knew he'd have to return to the scene of the crime. He'd have to stand on that platform and confront the woman who'd laid him out. There was nothing for it, he told himself as he flossed the granola out of his teeth and checked his tie. He wondered if the sunglasses he'd adopted to hide the fading bruises around his eyes would afford him protection against the possibility of a second assault.
Richard drove to the station with sweating palms and noticed that the maroon Beemer was not in its usual spot. He parked and slowly mounted the steps to the platform, wondering if the woman had been arrested by the police. No such luck; as Richard stepped onto the platform he saw her. She was checking her watch and looking around. She looked up just as Richard took an involuntary step backward. The woman saw him and immediately came toward him. Richard took another step backward and then turned away. Then he took a deep breath as he heard her footsteps closing the distance and turned back to confront his fate head on. His last thought was that perhaps it was her turn to seize the day. She was as much entitled to one as he was, so he stood his ground.
"Are you all right?" the woman said as she wrapped her arms around him in what felt a lot more like a hug than a chokehold.
"Yes," Richard frowned. He thought it rather nice of her to make polite chat before delivering the coup de gras.
"I was so worried. One minute you were standing there and the next you were flat on your face--."
"Well, what did you expect to happen after you decked me?" Richard replied in a voice that was distinctly higher than normal. It hadn't cracked that way since puberty, but Richard was too confused to worry about his manhood.
"Decked you?" The woman laughed. "I didn't--." She peered into Richard's face and pulled off his glasses. "Good lord! You were badly hurt. I called 911 for you and waited till the paramedics arrived but I had to make my train. I had to make an important presentation in the city that morning and I had to go. I was really sorry I couldn't go with you to the hospital and I've been worried about you ever since that day. You haven't been here in nearly two weeks." Richard glared at her.
"Nine workdays--you decked me!" The woman smiled and restored his glasses to their place on his sore nose.
"I did not! Why would I do such a thing?" the woman laughed.
"Because I kissed you," Richard insisted, but he felt his confidence begin to crumble. "Didn't I?" he frowned as she laughed again.
"You must have hit your face very hard."
"You mean you must have hit it very hard." The train appeared and the pair boarded. Richard stopped just inside the door uncertainly, but the woman found an empty pair of seats and waved him over.
"My name is Amy," she said as Richard claimed the seat beside her.
"Richard."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Richard. Now, let's get this straight. You believe I hit you," the woman said.
"Didn't you?" Richard asked as he took out his pass and showed it to the conductor. Amy did likewise, smiling as she returned her own pass to her purse.
"I take it you don't have any memory of that morning."
"Not after the kiss, no."
"I hate to break it to you, Richard, but you never kissed me." Richard blinked.
"I didn't?" Amy shook her head.
"What makes you think you did?"
"That was certainly my intention," he confessed.
"What? You were coming over to kiss me?" Richard felt like an idiot as he nodded.
"Wait a minute," he said. "If I didn't kiss you and you didn't hit me, what did happen?"
"I can only tell you what I saw. I was making a note to myself in my PDA and looked up to see you coming toward me. You seemed to be smiling, so I smiled back." Amy smiled. "I thought you were finally going to make a move on me. I'd been hoping you'd say something sooner, but after seven weeks I'd almost given up hope." Richard couldn't believe his ears. "In fact, I had just decided that if you didn't speak to me by the time we boarded the train I was going to speak to you."
"What kind of car do you drive?" Richard interrupted suddenly.
"I drive a Volvo; why?" He shrugged and shook his head.
"Go on, please."
"Well, you smiled at me and I smiled back at you and then you started coming toward me and I felt my heart do this little flip," Amy said with a self-conscious giggle and slight blush. "Then you raised your right hand and I raised mine to shake hands and out of nowhere this group of teenagers on Rollerblades came whizzing by. The first one bumped me as he passed and I jumped back out of the way. Then another guy hit you with a flying backpack and you hit the ground like a sack of potatoes."
"That's wonderful to know," Richard smiled dreamily.
"It is?" Amy was incredulous. Perhaps the damage to Richard's head was even worse than it looked. Perhaps the damage was internal.
"I'd been miserable these past thirteen days thinking you hated me."
"Nothing could be further from the truth," Amy smiled. "Were you really going to kiss me?" she asked shyly. Richard nodded. "Oh."
"I thought it was time."
"Do you still want to? I mean, after all that happened and you thinking that I--." Richard didn't waste any time seizing upon that opening. He rationalized that it was his best means of showing what a forgiving nature he had, even if Amy hadn't actually done him any harm. So what if he was adding to the seven bruises on his face? No one said that seizing the day would be painless.
End.
Paul laughed so loudly his partner came to the door to find out what he found so amusing. Paul made him sit down and read the story and he too laughed his way through it. When he was done, Paul made his notations and tossed the paper on the desk. Satisfied with what he'd accomplished, he gave up for the night. He had found ten good students for his class and the semester was looking pretty good after all. After a good night's sleep Paul vowed to reread the five stories from his maybe list and find two more students for the class.
Paul straightened his nametag and reclaimed his seat at the table to which he'd been assigned. The open house for continuing education programs was to last three hours, but he had already grown bored. Many of the people who'd eagerly rushed over to meet him, unfortunately, had been rejected from his class and he diplomatically counseled them to take the introductory class to hone their skills. He even offered one fairly persistent woman an on-the-spot critique of her submission. Paul sighed at the memory. She'd been the one who'd taken the words to a country western song and used it in her "looking for love in all the wrong places" scenario. The lyrics had taken up more space than her dialogue, which had been written (along with the narrative) in a very flawed attempt at a southern accent.
A brooding, dark-haired man approached the table and Paul watched him approach, thinking that he looked like someone who'd make a good leading man in a story. The stranger pulled his hand out of his pocket and extended it across the table.
"Professor Davis? My name is William Darcy. I'll be in your advanced writing class this semester."
"I'm happy to meet you. May I call you William? Good. I've been dying to meet you." William frowned at Paul.
"You've been dying to meet me? May I ask why?"
"I was rather intrigued by your story," Paul began, and William's frown faded. "It was completely different from all the rest of the submissions. In fact, by all rights I shouldn't have even considered it. The assignment called for you to write in the third person."
"I know," William, "but the story wouldn't have worked as well that way."
"I heartily agree. It was also pretty short, the shortest one I received by far."
"Well, you said there was a ten-page maximum. I didn't realize there was a minimum as well."
"There wasn't, but I doubt that most people would have had the confidence to put together such a complete story in two pages, entirely in first-person narrative. There wasn't a single line of dialogue and yet when I finished it I felt as though I'd heard the voices of every character...I was very impressed." William smiled shyly.
"Why, thank you!" William shrugged. "I haven't written anything in years. I just did this as a lark, something to get me out of the house for a few evenings."
"Well, I certainly hope this class will mean more than that to you. You've got real talent and I intend to see you put it to good use over the next three months," Paul said.
"Don't get me wrong, that was just the catalyst. After doing the writing sample, I became very enthusiastic about your little assignment and now I'm quite eager for the class to begin," William replied.
"Will?" William looked around and smiled at the man behind him.
"Fitz! What are you doing here?"
"Well, to be honest, I have a matter of business to discuss with the professor here," Richard Fitzwilliam replied.
"Really? What kind of business?" William asked. He was amused to see Richard blush slightly. Paul watched the pair with growing interest.
"Well, if you must know, I've signed up for a class with him," Richard admitted.
"You, too?"
"What do you mean me too? You mean--?" Paul rose to his feet and interrupted.
"I'm Paul Davis. You are--?"
"I'm Richard Fitzwilliam. Your acceptance letter asked me to drop by and see you at the open house."
"Oh, yes; I'm pleased to meet you. I was just getting acquainted with your friend here and--."
"Oh, William and I go much deeper than that," Richard said, prompting Paul to consider the true nature of their relationship.
"All the way back to birth, in fact," William volunteered. "We're cousins."
"Yes, I see the resemblance, now that you mention it. Very talented family," Paul smiled. "Here," he said as he handed each man a sheet of paper. "I would like the members of my class to fill out a little survey in order to get a head start on the first day of class, otherwise paperwork and housekeeping chores eat up most of the first session." Moving in unison, William and Richard pulled out pens, both cousins eschewing the giveaways on the table in favor of pricier instruments. They bent to their task as Paul watched in silence.
"So, you're a budding writer, eh?" William teased.
"I think that being accepted in the advanced class qualifies me as fully blossomed," Richard replied huffily. "But since when have you used your pen other than for signing contracts?"
"It's a..."
"What was that? I didn't make out what you said over the mumbling noises emanating from your throat."
"Well, since when have you been a writer? You were an emergency room surgeon, last time I looked," William countered.
"Yes, and on those nights when things are dead calm--and they do occasionally occur--I pull out my trusty notebook and pen and--."
"No, don't tell me! You're writing the great American novel."
"Actually, I write science fiction, mostly; I've even published a bit of fanfic on the Internet," he said with a sheepish glance at Paul. "So what was your scenario?" Richard asked as he abruptly turned the tables on his cousin.
"I had ‘looking for love in all the wrong places.' How about you?"
"I had ‘carpe diem.'"
"What on earth did you write for that?" Richard smiled.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." The cousins handed Paul their surveys and then reached into their respective bags to pull out copies of their stories.
"Promise not to laugh," William said as he handed Richard his paper.
"If you don't laugh at mine I'll never speak to you again," Richard said. Paul chuckled at the remark. The cousins bade him farewell and left the table, still playfully teasing one another. Paul watched them go and opened his briefcase to pull out their stories to read once more, both to pass the time and to develop an association between each man and his writing style. He clipped each cousin's survey to his story and looked up to see a slightly out of breath woman at the table.
"Are you Paul Davis? I'm Lizzy Bennet."
"How do you do?" Paul said as he rose to his feet. "I've got to tell you how much I liked your story about the laundromat." Lizzy smiled and blushed slightly.
"Well, I cheated a little on it and used a personal experience."
"I was going to ask if it was a true story."
"Not exactly; I have a friend who trolls the laundromats in our neighborhood looking for dates and that was my inspiration. But part of the story did come from personal experience--the embarrassing part. My first year at college there was this guy I had the hots for. He was coming out of the lounge as I passed with my laundry basket one day and I gave him my best smile. He smiled back and me and called out my name. I turned around, hoping he was finally about to ask me out, but instead he handed me the bra that had fallen out of my basket. You know the kind with the big push-up pads? To this day, I still can't look at one without flinching."
"Well, you used that experience very well in your characterization," Paul smiled.
"Thanks," Lizzy smiled. "The assignment was fun."
"Well, I hope you'll find them all as much fun." Paul handed Lizzy a survey and she put down her backpack and bent to fill it out. As she did so, another woman appeared. She was very stylishly dressed and carrying a leather briefcase. Paul wondered which of the remaining students of his list she would be. The woman extended her hand and he instantly knew.
"Olivia Crenshaw?" The woman's eyebrows disappeared behind a fringe of bangs.
"How did you know?"
"A wild guess," Paul shrugged.
"I sincerely doubt that," Olivia smiled.
"All right, I confess. I recognize your character from your story." Lizzy looked up.
"Did you recognize me, too?" Paul looked at her closely and realized that had he tried, he would have been able to discern her identity. He nodded.
"Both of you wrote very accurate portrayals of yourselves." The two women exchanged a glance.
"How so?" Olivia said a bit defensively, not at all sure she liked the idea of being pigeonholed so easily.
"Well, you, Olivia--I hope you don't mind, I prefer to be on a first-name basis with my students and you should call me Paul--you wrote about a woman who was trying reconcile her serious business-like side with her spontaneous and fun-loving nature. I'm currently looking at your business side. Are you really a car enthusiast, by the way?"
"Yes, I am. And you're right; I guess that's exactly what I was doing," Olivia realized self-consciously.
"And you, Lizzy, have an open and easy-going nature. I also see a tinge of something in your expression, I'm sorry to say, that is very much of a piece with your Lizzy." The object of his critique shrugged.
"I wrote from the heart. I am very much the person in my story."
"I see," Paul said empathetically. "Well, I'm inclined to think that this course will do you both a world of good."
"Are we both that bad?" Olivia chuckled. "You have my sympathies if he thinks we're both in the same boat," she said to Lizzy.
"No, no, I just meant that I think this class will allow you both to do what you want. Lizzy wants to meet people and expand her social circle. You want to seize the day and have fun. You'll both be able to accomplish your goals in my class." Lizzy's brown eyes met Paul's.
"Promise?" Paul nodded and Lizzy smiled, but the intensity of her gaze held him for a moment. He blinked and then returned her smile. As soon as the two women were gone, he pulled out his stack of papers once more. He had an idea that would ensure that he'd keep the promise he'd made to them.
The first class took place the following Wednesday evening. Paul had a few butterflies in his stomach as he watched his students arrive one by one. Lizzy entered and greeted Paul like an old friend. She took a seat at the front of the room and beckoned Olivia over when she made her appearance later. The last two students to arrive were William and Richard. Paul grinned as he observed the reaction of all the women in the room as the cousins claimed two seats near the back of the room. When the clock struck seven, Paul took attendance before he rose to address the assembled group.
"I want to welcome you to the advanced writing class. My name is Paul Davis. This will be my second time teaching this section and I must say I'm really looking forward to it. I had the opportunity to meet several of you at the open house last week and I feel as though I've come to know a bit about all of you through reading your work. You're all very talented writers and this class will hopefully give you a chance to expand those talents to achieve your real potential." Paul went on to tell the students a bit about his background and his approach to teaching. He handed out a course syllabus and a list of proofreader's symbols before he launched into a discussion about the importance of a free exchange of ideas.
"In this class, feedback is vital to your development as writers. Throughout the semester you'll be called upon to share your work with your classmates by uploading it to our course page for your classmates to read and comment on. Each student is required to read the others' work and offer constructive criticism both in class and online. If you don't think you'd feel comfortable with that, then perhaps you should reconsider being in this class." No one opted out, so Paul pressed on.
"I was rather impressed with your first assignments, the stories you did to gain admission to this class. I've read all of them a few times," he admitted, "and decided that I'd make a discussion of those stories a part of this first class. I've put them up on the course page, and if you look at the syllabus you'll see how to access the site. Take an opportunity some time this week to read them. You can upload comments on each of them on the discussion board. Now, since you haven't seen your classmates' stories yet, I brought in copies of them and I'll have you each spend a few minutes reading and critiquing one of them before you leave tonight. Each student will critique another's story and have his or her story critiqued in return.
"I'm going to split you into pairs. But before we do that I want to review the ground rules." Paul handed out another sheet and reviewed the protocol for offering literary criticism. At last he was ready to put his plan into action. He took a deep breath and looked around the room. He noticed that Richard was looking at his beeper and hoped he wouldn't be called away before the end of class. Richard's note on the back of his survey explained the nature of his work and that he might be called away if an emergency arose.
"Since it's your first class, I've tried to match people up according to their scenarios and where that wasn't possible I matched you up according to your interests in order to facilitate discussion. In future, I'll endeavor to avoid that to try and get you to push the envelope a little. Now, let me just reiterate: you are reading works of fiction. Don't attempt to project the author's plot onto the writer, don't make assumptions about his or her personality, and most importantly, keep an open mind. Take this opportunity to get to know your classmate; you're going to be working with each other over the next twelve weeks. Any questions?" Paul responded to a few inquiries and then told the class to take a brief break. "When you return in five minutes, we'll get started. If any of you aren't running off to the restroom or the cafeteria, I'd appreciate a hand moving the chairs around." William and Richard volunteered to give Paul a hand and not surprisingly, three other women in the class also offered their assistance. Paul was a bit surprised to see that neither Olivia nor Lizzy was among them, but he decided that that was in their favor. The two women returned a few minutes later and Paul met them at the door. He handed each one a paper and told them to find their work partners.
"William?" Lizzy read off of the cover page tentatively. William turned around and locked eyes with Lizzy. For a moment, neither of them moved. Paul watched the pair with open fascination. After a few seconds, Richard nudged William and he blinked. Then he stepped forward, propelled by embarrassment and confusion. Lizzy smiled and William returned it as he walked over to meet her. Paul joined the pair and handed William Lizzy's paper. Then he handed Olivia's paper to Richard and pointed her out. She was leaning against the wall reading, intent on spending the remaining minutes of the break stretching her legs. Richard smiled and looked for her name on the cover sheet before he made his way to her side. When he reached her she was laughing.
"What's so funny?" he asked mildly as he peered over her shoulder.
"This story. It's wonderful."
"Thanks, I'm rather proud of it." Olivia pushed herself off the wall and straightened her posture. "I'm Richard."
"Olivia." Richard made a vague gesture with the paper in his hand.
"We need to talk."
"Why?" Olivia asked.
"We've been assigned to one another."
"Oh," Olivia blushed. Richard gestured once more and this time she understood that he was suggesting that they sit down. Very soon the pair was engaged in conversation, laughing as they discussed each others' stories. A few others in the class looked askance at the pair in the back of the room, whether it was due to their laughter or the obvious envy of others less ideally suited to their partners.
In a corner at the front of the room, meanwhile, Lizzy and William were engaged in a quiet, serious discussion. Even from a short distance away, Paul could barely discern the words they exchanged, but he could tell by their earnest expressions that there was more going on between Lizzy Bennet and William Darcy than an exchange of literary values.
Paul sat back and observed his handiwork: two couples in the making, based upon the evident chemistry he saw between the pairings. He was rather proud of himself, although if asked he wouldn't be able to say what possessed him to take on the role of matchmaker for his students. But Paul was reasonably confident that none of them would mind his interference if they ever found out about it.
He looked at the pair in the back of the room and wondered if Richard recognized his Amy in the woman before him, or if Olivia realized that Richard had the same joie de vivre as her Daniel. Turning to look at the other pair, Paul smiled as he recalled the look in William's eyes when he first looked upon Lizzy. Like the character in his own story, he was instantly mesmerized. The man had fallen hard, Paul was sure of it. He caught Lizzy's eye and she nodded back at him; she had found her William and she was undoubtedly well aware of it.
Paul opened his folder and looked at his syllabus; he couldn't wait till the fourth assignment to get a better measure of his success. Yes, he was going to enjoy this semester a great deal, he decided as he rose from his chair to make the rounds of the six groups.
The End