Chapter 1: Ronny Has A Cat (Novel)

* - please note this is a rough draft. I am seeking constructive and honest commentary. If you would like to see the whole novel-writing process as I am approaching it you can do so here: http://www.nagodadesign.com/nagoda/novel/

CHAPTER 1

I think I’m up to two full acres of deforestation now. My desk is covered with so much paper I’m surprised it doesn’t collapse. None of it is worth a damn either. Of course my boss will tell you different. He can’t seem to grasp that nobody in this town could care less about the local music scene, and his crappy little rag is going nowhere fast. Of course this is the same boss who featured a women’s maternity clinic ad directly above a half-page spread for the biggest strip joint in town. I still don’t think he understands why that contract was cancelled. I don’t care. I’m a contract worker and when this two-bit operation fails I’ll be moved to another one like some sort of slave-labor orphan going from home to home.

Anyway it’s really not too terrible. The job itself is pretty simple. You pour over other small local papers for advertisers’ names and phone numbers. You check them against the database to see if they’ve been contacted before, and if not then you call them yourself. People who have advertised in one crappy spot are likely to advertise in another, and my job is to convince them that ‘The Tucson Beat’ is the right choice.

The phone is ringing.

“Thank-you for calling Brown Tailoring, how may I help you?”

“Hello, may I speak to the owner please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“My name is Tom Moore. I’m calling from The Tucson Beat.”

“The what?”

“The Tucson Beat. We’re launching our ad campaign for next month and we thought-“

“Excuse me, is he expecting your call?”

“No he’s not, but I’m sure - ”

Click. And repeat.

I probably get hung up on a hundred times a day. If I’m lucky I’ll set a couple of appointments and be out of the office for a couple of hours. When you’re as small time as we are you have to go to your customers as opposed to the other way around. I pack up my little briefcase with some old copies of the magazine, some rate charts, and the oft presented and rarely used sales contract. I drive over there under the blazing Tucson heat, and usually I’m inside for all of a quarter hour before they decide against doing business with us. For it all I get minimum wage plus 15% of any contracts I produce. Sometimes I’ll make up an appointment just so I can get out for a little while – grab a beer and just relax outside of the confines of my cubicle. But right now I’m not interested in a beer, setting a sales appointment or even stepping out back for a smoke.

None of that is particularly interesting to me right this moment. Heather has just returned to the office and said hello with a gentle scratch on the back of my neck. She’s the cute, young Brunette who sits in the next cubicle. When she touches me I get nervous and there’s a horrible tension in my chest. I feel like a child. She started here about a month ago and is putting herself through night school with this job. Night school – I can’t imagine doing anything after a full working day. She leaves the office and is right into the classroom. Me - I’m putting myself through a marriage with this job. I am neither young or particularly attractive and Heather’s attention is both refreshing and frightening. Still, I can’t ignore her.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, I could only get them to sign up for 3 months, but it’s a quarter page so that’s good.”

“That is good. That’s great actually – good job!”

“Well thanks. I think the guy was more impressed with my skirt than the magazine though. I think he figured he might get a date if he placed an ad.”

“Where is he taking you?”

“Very funny.”

“Well you can’t blame the guy. I don’t think poor Steve over there has been able to take his eyes off you since you got in this morning.”

Steve is the owner. He sits in an office with a glass partition and watches us work. I don’t know when he supposedly edits this paper of his, because from 9-5 he stares through the glass making sure we keep busy, but from reading the thing I’m not sure he ever does. An old failed musician I think Steve started this thing just to maintain some connection to his youth – I think he thinks it’s cool to say you own a shit local paper that covers local music. Someone should tell him: it’s not.

“Maybe he’s staring at you?”

Heather was fond of the gay jokes. I always wondered what it was about her that made the thought of two men together so hilarious, but it had become her favorite gag. Me and some guy. I wanted to be with her, not with Steve, but I couldn’t tell her that. I could only humor her, make her laugh some more, and enjoy her smile.

“Maybe I should wear a little skirt like that tomorrow. The poor guy would have a heart attack.”

“Oh Tom, stop it!” She was laughing visibly now, turning red. “I have to get some work done!”

Stop it. The last thing in the world I want to do is stop. When she laughs she covers her mouth and looks at me with those big brown eyes. She shakes a little, and the movement in her neck and shoulders – my God everything about her. I can hardly contain myself. I do stop though. This lust is not unfettered by guilt. I am a married man, and my wife is the best thing to happen to me. When I see Heather I see both opportunity, and also the end of a life I have worked so hard to build with Wendy, my wife. Jesus, I need a break.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an appointment myself. Can I borrow the skirt and the heels?”

“Oh Tom.”

Outside the sun is beating down with the relentless heat of September. The skin cancer capital of the world, I hear. It makes sense too. You can feel the sun burning your skin within a half hour out here, and that’s after I spent my whole life here. I can’t imagine what the seasonal visitors from the Northeast must think when it’s still 100 degrees in October. Poor old bastards, I can’t imagine what their home must be like if this is where they vacation. Thankfully I only have to be under that sun a couple minutes since the greatest thing about this job is it’s proximity to both Carl’s bar, and my home. For this sales appointment, it’s definitely time to go to Carl’s.

“Tom. It’s early.”

“Never really too early, is it Carl?”

Carl was already pouring the gin over the ice. His bar was an old school joint with plain white walls, and a great big bar with brass fittings. It was made for one exercise and had no nightclub or live music pretensions. I loved it. Technically I quit the sauce a year ago, but Carl still knows what I want and I stop in just often enough that he doesn’t forget who was once his single greatest customer. Back then I sometimes never left, and I usually brought a crowd of paying customers with me. Carl loved it.

“So what’s the story, bad week?”

“How about a bad month?”

“Sorry to hear it. How about that cute little thing you brought in here a couple weeks ago? She sure seemed to cheer you up!”

“Shit, Carl. I’ve got to stay away from her. Bad news - Wendy would leave me the second she got wind of an affair.”

“Whatever you say man. You need a cigarette?”

“Nah. I suppose I should only indulge one vice today, right?”

“Whatever you say.”

Carl handed me the paper and went back doing whatever bartenders do in the middle of the day on a Friday when nobody’s drinking. I like to read the news while I drink. The nation is at war, I guess. You can’t see any of it from here – it’s this far-off event that’s easy to ignore. And most of us do. There was some talk about a draft for a while but even that failed to stir my interest. I am too old, and what with my health and history I doubt they’d want me anyhow. Tom Moore the soldier? No fucking way am I shooting anybody just because they hand me a weapon and tell me where to point it. I think the age of patriotism, right or wrong, is dead and buried. If they come over here I guarantee every American, every hippy, every white-collared business schmuck, every liberal college kid living off Dad’s salary, every one of them would pick up a gun and go people hunting. Until then, though, it’s too alien a concept for most of us.

Back at the office it’s more of the same. I don’t set anymore appointments today. I know that Steve is wishing he had two of Heather, young, pretty and good at her job, rather than one of each of us. He can’t fire me though, he knows there’s a long line of losers right behind me waiting in line for this kind of a job and why waste time replacing one of us with another? Marty came over from the print shop to make sure there were no snags in our fishing plans for the weekend. We have a cabin rented for the weekend and a couple of us are headed up for some R & R right after work tomorrow. At the end of the day I walk with Heather to the parking lot.

“You know it’s too bad you’re married.”

“Why’s that?”

“For an older guy, you’re kinda cute.”

I hope she doesn’t know how her commentary makes me feel. It’s a strange mix of pleasure at knowing she’s attracted to me, anger at myself for being attracted to her, ad guilt. Lots of guilt. If she did know, that would make her very malicious but I don’t think she does. Outside we are headed in different directions. Her to her car, and me to mine. I entertain the notion of going back to Carl’s but I can’t allow myself to get drunk so I head home instead.

At home I am alone. Wendy is a waitress at a resort restaurant up in the foothills area. They close-up shop at nine, so she’s normally home before ten-thirty. Lately, though, she’s been coming home much later – midnight or past. When she comes home she’s too tired to chat much, she usually just showers and gets to bed. I can’t really keep myself from thinking that she’s cheating on me. She says her boss has just been making her stay and do more of the clean-up, but it’s more than the hour she gets home. It’s a lot to do with the way she behaves once she’s here. Very cold and distant, not the loving wife I used to have.

And I do love her. She’s the first woman I’ve ever been faithful towards, and we have built a whole life together. We have this home, we’ve filled it with furnishings, made it ours. We are working on having a baby – starting a family. She keeps an eye on me, keeps my clean and sober and out of the hands of my old influences. For all of that I can wait up till late and I don’t mind eating a TV dinner by myself.

It’s 12:30 in the morning when she comes through the door. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and heads to the hall. Not a word. I know I shouldn’t, that it will only lead to disappointing results, but I determine to try and talk to her tonight.

“Hey, how was work tonight?”

“I’ve got to shower, hon, we had a big party in tonight. Messy eaters.”

“Well do you have a minute? I wouldn’t mind talking to my wife you know.”

“I’m gonna shower.”

And she’s gone. Always the same, straight to the shower. What is she really cleaning off? I can picture her with the waitstaff, with the manager, or maybe some wealthy resort client who takes her back to his room after her shift. She’s an attractive woman, long blonde hair and long legs. She takes amazing care of herself, always over an hour just to go outside. I know that she turns a few heads, I know that men hit on her, and I’m having trouble now imagining that she turns all of them down.

Before we got married, before we even started dating she was the same as I was. A young party-goer with loose morals and sleeping with strangers. There were drugs, late-nights, waking up in strange places and doing it all over again the next day. I can’t blame her for that, I was the same way as she was, but I know how hard it is for me to control myself at times. Sometimes I’ll see a strange woman at Carl’s and it’s everything I have not to see if the old magic still exists in me. What would it take to break her? Am I that much of a loser? I can’t even maintain the interest of my wife?

Well screw her. It’s not for any lack of trying on my part. We both agreed to go down this road and if it bores her than she can fuck off. I enjoy being able to make it through a day without a fix and I’ve even taking a liking to waking up before noon. Every morning I wake up and she’s still passed out. I am up and out of the house before the heat is unbearable. There’s still some sense of freshness in the air, and fewer people out. Wendy wouldn’t know – the only time she’s ever been up that early is when she hasn’t gone to sleep yet. And I don’t need her.

I have options. I have Heather. Maybe. I certainly could have her, I know that much. I may not be the same lady’s man I was in the past, and I’ve traded in my youth long since, but I can still tell when a girl is interested. They always give you clues. The eyes, the smiles, the easy flirtation. Heather is a straight arrow too – just what I need to keep myself on track. I want to. I want to tell her one day, take her out, show her how much fun an older guy can be. Take her home – it’s not as though Wendy would be around – and teach her a few things about bedroom behavior.

But I won’t do it - I can’t bring myself to do it. When I’m near Heather she’s all I can think about. As soon as she leaves though, all I can think of is Wendy. I see what we’ve accomplished. Pulled each other out of the deepest of holes and emerged as regular working members of society. We’ve built a home and are building a family. All that is lost if I try anything with Heather, and I am not willing to let go.

Anyway, there’s no telling for sure if Wendy is up to something or not. She could just be tired from working late. She could just be having some trouble settling into such a mundane lifestyle after the kicks we used to have. It would be understandable – there’s little we can legally do that holds a candle to our old antics. I’m just being nervous. I have too much at stake and just like every other time I’ve had a lot at stake I am being paranoid that it will all go to hell. I need to vent, and I can’t use the bottle like I used to. I only have to wait until after work tomorrow. Fishing with the guys – good times. We’ll drink and smoke, bitch about life and come back feeling refreshed. No problems. It will be good to rest, and I’m sure my not hassling Wendy for a couple of days will help make her feel better as well. Wendy’s already asleep when I get myself to bed. There’s only one more day.

The next morning when I get into the office Steve calls me in right away. I haven’t even set my briefcase down. Bosses are funny like that. They pay you 8 straight hours, but once you’re on their property they figure they own you. I usually get to work at least 15 minutes early because I like to settle into my day and be ready to do real work by 9. Steve apparently feels this 15 minutes is for his benefit, not mine.

“Hey, why don’t you have a seat there, Tom.”

“What’s up?”

“Well I just wanted to see what you had down the pipe, you know. You got any good leads working?”

“There’s not much, you know. It’s been slow all around.”

“Not for her.”

Heather had just walked in and Steve directed my attention her way. She was wearing the same thing she wore yesterday. Fuck – now I had to worry about what that meant all day. I longed for the end of the day. Loading the truck with supplies and hitting the road. It was all easy and brainless after five o’clock. Just the way I like it.

“She’s been making sales happen all week. What’s going on with you, Tom? You need a break or something?”

“Look, I’m sorry Steve. I’m doing what I can. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, but the fact is that things are slow right now. I’ve talked to every small business in this town at least twice and they’ve all said no.”

“I need you to make something happen here, buddy. I need to see two solid appointments set today for next week. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“I guess not. Look, it’s not quite nine yet, I’m gonna grab a smoke.”

Steve gave me a look of disapproval. He knew I was just putting him off, and I know he’s just putting off the inevitable. I know this rag of his isn’t making money, even with Heather’s recent ad sales he’ll be lucky to break even in the coming months. This whole operation will be lucky to see another year. All I want to do is get through the end of today and hit the road. I finished my cigarette and went back in. Steve was talking to Heather about her sales and leaning in way to close for my taste. Finally he left her alone.

“Hey there Tom! Good morning!”

“Hey Heather, how’s things?”

“Good. How about you? What are you doing this weekend?”

“Fishing. Going up to the White Mountains.”

“Oh - with your wife?”

“No no, she’s not much of a sportsman. I’m going with Marty and a friend. It’s sort of a guys weekend.”

“Oh lord – fishing with the men! A testosterone fest!”

“Something like that. Why, what about you? What are you planning?”

“Nothing. I usually just hang out at the house and watch my TV shows. You know.”

“Well – hey – maybe next week we go get lunch?”

“I’d like that.”