National Story Noodling Month

November is National Novel Writing Month and if you were reading this blog last year, you may recall that I did, in fact, write a novel during said month (by Thanksgiving no less).  I wanted to do it again this year, but I just couldn't bring myself to block off the time for it.  But I still wanted to write something.  So I am taking a character and a situation that I have had around for years that I wanted to write either a movie or novel about and am going to write it in snatches here.  I will post blog entries about being an adult child of an alcoholic here as they occur to me during this period as well.

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Endless Summer & Derek Winter

©2012, JCT

"Are you listening to me?" The veins in Max Valentine's square head were throbbing as he asked the question, his perfectly coiffed white hair a calming contrast to the red in his face.  Considering Max is my boss and that he was chewing me out, it was to be expected.

As to the answer to that question, it was 'No.'  I was not listening to him, because 1. there was someplace else I wanted to be and 2. he was chewing me out for doing my job.

My job has no exact title and just a few specific parameters.  They are "Figure out what's going wrong" and "Fix it."  The reason my job description is so roomy is because Max owns many different enterprises of varying states of legality and I am the caretaker of all of them where those two questions are concerned.

The most recent job involved someone using Max's business to smuggle drugs.  To solve the problem I had to bring in the authorities.  The problem with that is that the business involved was a strip club and John Law is bad for the booby-shaking business.

"If this is how you're going to do your job now, then maybe I should reconsider having you on my payroll!"  Later, after he'd had drinks with Evelyn Dusenberry, his secretary, and listened to that 40s music he loved so much, he'd realize that if I could have fixed the problem any other way I would have.

But right now he was having none of it and frankly, neither was I.  I walked out of his office in mid scream, nodded to the long-legged Ms. Dusenberry in the anteroom, and rode my Yamaha Striker back to my condo.  Max wanted us to have some time apart and I was going to take it.