Dreamers (Original Text - Part Thirteen) (1997)

     The original "ending".  Well, actually there is another section that was started after this one, but is is very weak and gives an unfortunate happy ending to Jason and Melissa.  Then in 1998 I started a sequel of sorts to "Dreamers" that meant to explore the relationship between Jason and Stacy Andrews, his ex-girlfriend.  That was abandoned because it was poorly conceived (and not just because I knew nothing about the kind of relationship I was trying to describe).
     Anyway, Part Thirteen.

XIII

     Dave Burke left the group first.  He didn't have any choice, but he was the motivation for the rapid deterioration.  There were other reasons, the are always other reasons for everything, but nobody would deny that it was Dave Burke's murder that orchestrated the collapse.
     The days afterward were as destructive as the actual crime.  Sean didn't seem to shaken by the murder and that grated on Vicki.  Larry Pudenski argued two sides, with Burke not being too great a loss and Sean being the most likely killer.  Dave Burke didn't have a philosophy, wasn't a great contributor to society.  On the other hand, Sean would want him dead for not only being white but also because of the relationship with Vicki.
     The funeral was hard for everyone.  It was Burke's cousin who had to give the eulogy, but asked Jason to write something to express Dave's involvement with the group.  That wasn't easy.  Jason and Melissa had already begun the process of removing themselves when Burke was killed.  Still, Jason wrote how important someone can be when they are simply willing to be there for everyone else, whenever needed.  And that was how Dave should have been remembered.
     Vicki sold her house and moved back to New Jersey.  She found a better job closer to home, to her family.  She said goodbye to everyone, but spent more time with J.B.  The two had known each other longer than she had known the others, and it was to J.B. that she had a real attachment.  They swore they would stay in touch.
     Sean moved out before she sold the house, angry that she took Burke's murder so personally.  He never liked Dave Burke or Jeff Binghampton, and he thought it would be a good thing that there would be no group to distract Vicki from him.  Unfortunately, he found out that it was that very group that gave Vicki the strength to be with him.  He moved on, though with some regrets.
    
     "Four weeks.  Maybe you are psychic."
     "Jason," Nancy said in a soft voice, "it was a robbery.  And nobody knows what is going to happen to us.  I was just being childish."
     Jason, Melissa, Nancy, and J.B. had gathered at a restaurant after the service.  Unlikely as it seemed, everyone was taking care of Jason, not the other way around.  Larry Pudenski and Mike Carver couldn't even make it to the funeral with work keeping them busy.  That may have been what was affecting  Jason.  Their mellow conversation was interrupted by a striking blonde in a plain black dress.
     "Excuse me.  Are you Jason?"
     Jason offered a weak smile and nodded.  He offered her a seat at the table and she accepted.
     "You don't know me.  I worked with Dave.  My name is Anika."
     "The infamous Miss Lang.  Dave mentioned you more than once."
     "I didn't know if I should have been at the funeral or not.  Dave and I only went out a couple of times.  He was a really nice guy.  I really liked him."
     "He was a great friend.  He was better than any of us gave him credit for.  I never gave him credit."
     Anika didn't seem to have heard Jason.  "I think I could have loved him."
     "I'm sure you could have, Anika," Melissa said.  It pained her to see two people in pain from the same source but unable to see it as clearly in the other.
     There was some more conversation and Anika stayed to share a meal with them, but she could not bear to stay there with them.  They had a stronger relationship with Dave and she felt like an intruder.
     "That's the kind of girl you should be with, Jeffery."
     "Well, her obvious pain and loss aside," J.B. quickly countered.  "Yeah.  She's got the looks.  She's nice, and intelligent enough."
    "What would Brad do?" Jason asked.
     "He'd go after her and get her."
     "He's a hell of a brother, isn't he."
     "Don't give me that, Jason.  I'm not going to use Dave's death to get laid."
     Jason shrunk back, hurt.  That wasn't what he thought he was suggesting.
     "It is an unfortunate circumstance, how you met her," Melissa said.  "But you can try to make something out of it.  Something that involves more than you trying to fuck her.  You actually shared a person in common, and you can approach this from a more emotionally healthy place."
     "I thought I told you I don't do that."
     "Well, apparently life is short.  And it wouldn't hurt you to change before it's over."

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Twelve) (1997)

     So one of the things that will likely forever plague me as a writer is being consistent in the tense used.  I am bad at it.  Didn't try to fix it since I am putting the original text up here.  You are forewarned. 
     On the other hand, this is probably the best section to serve as a stand alone. I also think it is the last one I included in the version I printed up in 1997.  There is one more, very rushed section to come after this one.

XII

     "What exactly is your problem, Pudenski?"
      Larry Pudenski was as much in Jason MacLeod's face as Jason was in Larry's.  This was an unsightly confrontation happening in Vicki Souser's living room.  Everyone else was in the basement, at the pool table of watching a movie in the adjoining room.  It was a large basement, but Larry was wise enought to bring the fight topside.
     "You, you sanctimonious bastard."
     "You're already drunk, " Jason quipped.  "You came here with some bug up your ass and started drinking right away."
     "You know what I'm talking about."
     "But do I know what you're talking about?  That is, can I apply the knowledge of what I know to that which you are referring?  See, I'm still functional."
     "She called you."
     "Jason stopped smirking.  "Okay, you're right.  She called me.  She asked if she could stay at my place if she came into town."  Larry was still glaring at him, so Jason thought he should diffuse the situation.  "You called her, then."
     "Yes, I did."
     "I hadn't told anyone.  I hadn't decided if I should say yes.  I thought she should wait until you found someone else."
     "Fine.  Then I'll tell Melissa."
     "I'd like tot hink you were joking, Larry.  I'd like to dismiss how you try to convince everybody else that Melissa is too good for me.  Lynn didn't call me for some devious reason."
     "Why then?"
     "How did you leave things, Pudenski?  She didn't think you'd be real receptive to the notion of her visiting."
     "What, because I was in love with her?"
     "Then talk to Lynn about it."
     Larry stepped back a pace.  "You didn't tell Melissa that Lynn wants to spend a week at your place?"
     "I will, when I can think of a diplomatic was to say it."
      Wait here, buddy."
     Jason grabbed Larry's arm as the latter was turning to go back to the basement.  "Why does everyone want to make this more difficult than it needs to be?"  Jason sighed.  "Are you able to handle seeing Lynn and not sleeping with her?"
      "Who said I wasn't going to sleep with her?"

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Eleven) (1997)

     When I get around to rewriting this story (and I mean thoroughly rewriting it), I hope to avoid hammering a term into the readers heads like I unintentionally did here with "the group".  Can't be that lazy in my writing.  Fine for a first draft to get the idea out there (and all I really have is the rough draft), but it doesn't help if one wants their work to feel complete.
     Anyway, another incredibly short section. 

XI

     Nancy didn't like not getting together with the group, especially when it was everyone.  Still, she decided to follow through on her decision to explore a relationship with a man she knew and respected.  He wasn't from the group.  He probably wouldn't have much interest in the group.  It would be a shame to lose him because of the group.  Besides, Nancy could keep who she wanted from the group.  In the long run, she could deal with most of them being out of her life.
     Jason MacLeod was almost part of that subset.  He would have been if he wasn't going out with Melissa.  Nancy's discoveries about his sexual tastes, and the subsequent conversations they had engaged in had been enough to make her question the friendship he and she shared.  Well, that wasn't entirely true.  They were still friends, and they would probably stay friends for quite a while.  Nancy could, in Jason's terms, afford such a friendship.  She wasn't bound by work or school constraints.  She came from a family with less money than Vicki's, but unlike Vicki, Nancy wasn't encouraged to work.  Her parents liked giving her money.
     Not everybody was like that.  Not everybody was privileged or damned, and maybe more information should be had before she rushed to judgment on Jason.  He was, supposedly, in a faithful and satisfying relationship with Melissa.  He He had come so close to telling Melissa he loved her the night before.  There was a chance that he had said it at some point when Nancy was out of ear shot.  But he had spent the night on the couch, and Melissa slept in Jason's bedroom with Nancy.  It was a good thing because Nancy felt disoriented all night, and Nancy had something Jason was reluctant to call Night Terrors.
     Nancy wasn't out with the group, so she couldn't talk to anyone in it about how she was feeling.  She didn't want to draw her new interest into their ways, at least not as it stood.  Worst of all, she still wanted to know what had gotten her all rattled.  She instead decided to patiently wait for her man.  The patience helped.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Ten) (1997)

     I actually remember the dream that inspired this section, and suspect that I would even if I hadn't loosely adapted it for fiction.  Not a lot of dreams stick with me for years.  I don't think I did the original justice, nor do I think that I really got the elements I wanted to introduce as an author.  Still not horrible.  Not without problems, either.  I have let a couple of very problematic sentences stand as written in testament to that.
     There was a lot that was supposed to follow from this section, but I think it will have to be in a completely separate story as I can't see it making the cut in the rewritten Dreamers.  The entire angle of J.B. as the wannabe author goes nowhere and shouldn't have been introduced.  But it is there in the original text.

X

     It was a nice house.  The problem was he couldn't remember it being his.  It was Victorian design he thought.  He and his mother lived there.  Maybe.  It looked like the house in the movie "Casper".  It was just J.B. and his mother.  The inside was dusty and vacant.  As he wandered through it, he could not find a single piece of furniture.  No matter which room he ventured into his mother was just within earshot.
     It was a gloomy, depressing house.  J.B. couldn't have been happier that his friends would soon be over to take him out for the evening.  It felt like late fall or early winter, but there was no snow on the ground.  Cold wind blew dead and crisp brown leaves across the front yard.  The sense of death was scary.  His older brother's old sort-of girlfriend, from the days of high school.
     She was like a shadow lurking in the halls just outside of whatever room J.B. was in.  When they shared the halls, she would shrink back, almost into herself.  From time to time she would actually find herself capable of asking where J.B.'s brother was.
     "Where's Magnus?  When will he be back?"
     J.B.'s older brother, Magnus Bradley Binghampton, never went by Magnus.  Their grandparents called him Gus.  He himself went by Brad, but this girl always thought she was closer to him because she called him by his God given name.  J.B. himself always had trouble dealing with that.  Just as much as he did with calling her "Debbie".  He remembered it because she was blonde and the older brother wasn't all that into blondes, so each one stood out.
     "I don't know when he'll be back," J.B. snapped when she asked the question three times in a row.  He didn't think that the older brother actually lived in this house.  It didn't feel like it.  There was a certain air that he would have lent to the structure, and it wasn't there.  How fitting that he had managed to leave his high school baggage behind him, and tragic that J.B. was stuck with it.
     J.B. was off towards the front door before the eerie doorbell even rang.  He knew it would be a flock of friends, males and females, that imagined sense of belonging without attachment that could only be fostered in high school.  It was like a movie from the Seventies depicting the Fifties or early Sixties.  It wasn't real, but since it happened, it had to be considered real.
     He couldn't even remember the first six people who came through the door.  The seventh he remembered because he lost his virginity to her, but he couldn't put a name to the face.  That was probably just as well.  His closer friends were toward the back.  He saw some faces that seemed out of place, but they were good friends.  Just as Larry Pudenski was coming through the vast double doors everything seemed alright.
     "I didn't expect you to bring a small army."
     A strong gust of wind blew one of the heavy doors off its hinges. J.B. caught hold of the handle as it was blown inside the house.  He barely managed to keep his feet on the ground.
     "I certainly didn't expect that to happen."
     J.B. and Larry managed to put the door back in place, and everyone quickly had their fill of the house.  J.B. announced to his mother, who was in the house, somewhere, that they would all be leaving.  The entourage had already gone outside and most were standing by or leaning up against Larry Pudenski's ugly orange truck.  The only thing missing was for about a quarter of the guys to be wearing letterman's jackets.  That would have made it perfectly high school.
     Outside with them was Debbie.  She was next to what looked like a metal bike rack, but there was no reason for one to be at the house.  She was dressed well for the cold weather.  She had a loose knit hat and a scarf to go with he dull synthetic coat.  Her face was red from the cold and the wind.  She was a ghost to the group.
     "Where's Magnus?"
     "I don't know where he is."
     "When will he be back."
     J.B. made his way over to where she was standing so that the conversation was between just the two of them.  No one else was paying attention, but it was wise to use good form.  This close he could tell she had been crying.  She shivered with the cold.
     "I don't think he's coming back."  J.B. paused to let her take in that statement.  "You know, he's probably off with Chloe.  The girl he's in love with."
     "Oh."  She looked as though she had never even considered that to be a possibility.
     "Yeah, so you probably shouldn't wait for him," J.B. offered.
     "Oh," she said again, her face blank.  Then it filled with emotion.  "But I love him so much, I can't imagine him not wanting to see me.  Where is he?"  She went on and on.  In short order her words became little more than a cry with different tones.
     She fell into J.B.'s arms as he reached out to her.
     "Listen, —"
     But she just kept crying.
     "You'll be fine."  He gave her shoulder a squeeze.  She stopped crying.
     "Thanks, J.B.," she said.  She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
     He responded by quickly kissing her.  At first he only kissed her lower lip.  It was an odd sensation, but she didn't resist.  He kissed her again and got it right this time.  It was passionate in its trappings, but driven by nothing.  She felt warm in his arms.
     "Oh, J.B., I love you so much, ..."  She gave the same list had just given for his brother.

     *     *     *     *     *     *    

     Now awake, J.B. was torn between calling his brother and telling him about the dream, or using it as the launching point for his latest story.  He chose the latter.  His brother could read about it later.  J.B. had an awful of habit on not following through on things.  He dropped out of Med School in the sixth week.  He had no trouble making it as an EMT.  It was a shorter, safe route.

     J.B. fancied himself as being the next James Joyce.  He purposely copied Joyce's style because it was the one he admired most.  So long as there were praises to be sung for Joyece, there had to be so echoes to be passed along to J.B.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Nine) (1997)

     I am pretty sure my intention was always to go back an develop the mini-scenes at the beginning of this section into full blown chapters.  I never did.  As a matter of fact, this is the last section where I tried to force to original concept of the story into what was developing.  It doesn't mesh well.  There is some decent dialogue, though.  Not great descriptive text, but I think I was trying to be very minimalistic with that.

If you are at all curious as to what page Nancy opens the Social Psychology book to, it would look very much like this.

IX

     It was a rule of life that could be depended upon.  Dave Burke didn't remember his dreams.  Technically, that was still true.  When he woke up, at five fifteen Saturday morning, he had known it was because of something in a dream.  It didn't feel scary, just something sudden.  Like a quick muscle movement in response to some imagined stimuli.  But he knew it was something in a dream.
     The day would be like this.  Burke didn't regret agreeing to work today.  First of all, overtime at eight and a quarter an hour was a healthy wage, and money was money.  More importantly, the shift he was taking belonged to Anika Lang, a young blonde who Burke desperately wanted to be better acquainted with.  A relationship can only go so far at the workplace, and Anika had always been friendly there.  She was going to a cousin's wedding or some such.
     Work.  Work on a Saturday.  No time for the band.  But people work on Saturday, one way or the other.

     Not more than an hour and half later, Larry Pudenski and Mike Carver were back at the warehouse setting up for the whole fleet of company vehicles.  An electrical explosion at one of the job sites set up for an emergency work day.  All other jobs, both company and side, would wait.  Mr. Pudenski and Don were already at the site.  It was just a matter, now, of getting the appropriate supplies and manpower there to fix what went wrong.  Or, more likely, to get the damage repaired and restore power; sometimes the source of the problems couldn't be addressed right away.
     For Mike Carver, it would be another day of lecturing.  He could tune it out easily enough.  The job was demanding; it would be the priority.  Neither Mr. Pudenski or Larry would have time, early on, to go off on a tangent.  For better or worse, the day would end at a bar or pizzeria with pitchers of beer.  Things could get worse than that.
    
     "I can't believe I agreed to do this."
     "You don't have anything else to do, and I could use the help.  Besides, you wanted some answers, right?"
     "The anger?"
     "Exactly.  Tit for tat."
     Nancy let a small laugh escape and turned back to the pile of books Jason had put in front of her.  "And you want to know what got me over J.B.?"
     "It wasn't sex.  He would have said something.  My guess is that you met somebody."
     "No.  I think its more that I've finally not needed someone."
     "Page two fifty eight, Social Psych."  This was met by only a blank look on Nancy's face.  "They gray book with the ferris wheel on the cover."
      Nancy opend the book.  Beneath a bar graph and a paragraph or two filled with green highlighted text was the sub-chapter heading in boldface: The Market Value of Physical Attractiveness.
     "That's not what I had in mind."
     "I need you to retype that entire sub-chapter so it can be photocopied."
     "Again, not what I had in mind."
     "I am paying you for this.  And you'll get your answers."
     She began to type the text into the computer, but not so carefully that spellchecker wouldn't be necessary.  Jason would be reading over other subjects in other books and typing them into another of his computers.
     "How does a poor boy like you afford three computers?"
     "I never throw anything away."  Jason gestured to an older model that sat in the corner of his bedroom collecting dust.  "That's from the late eighties.  It will serve to do this, but not much else.  No good for games."  He thumped the one he was working on.  "This is about three years old.  Its almost as bad as the first.  The beauty you are working with is the best prize I've ever won.  A three and a half thousand dollar computer, over five thousand dollars worth of programs and accessories."
     "That's a lot of luck.  Like with the stereo."
     "You're taking your luck from somebody."
     "Karma?"
     "That would imply you deserve it.  You cruise through school.  Don't give me that look, Jason.  You might bust your ass but you got all the breaks.  You have the school supporting you best it can.  You got Melissa the second you lost Stacy.  Somebody is on the downside of all that."
     "Good things happen to good people."
     "Attractive people are better liars than ugly ones."
     "That's not what it says, Nancy.  People are more likely to believe the lies of attractive people than they are the lies of those they find unattractive.  The funny thing is knowing that doesn't help much.  It doesn't say that they lie more, and it doesn't help to be suspicious of those to whom you are attracted."
     Nancy began typing again.  She would have just assumed to have asked how one could tell when wariness became suspicion.  When did it go beyond concern?  When did it stop being self-protecting and turn self-destructive?  That was what Jason was studying.  Sort of.
     Instead, she asked, "Why wouldn't you want to be with Melissa?"
     "I want to marry Melissa."
     That was more than Nancy expected.  She sat silent.
     "You're asking about last Sunday?"  She responded to Jason's question with a nod.  "It's a bit of a story.  You may know some of it already.  Okay, let's get a few beers and move to someplace more comfortable."
     "Your bed?"
     "The living room."
     Nancy found herself sprawled out across Jason's couch.  She had half a bottle of Rolling Rock in her left hand.  An empty bottle was on the floor next to the couch.  She had finished it before Jason had sat down in the chair opposite her.  He held a can of Schlitz  in his right hand and wore an odd grin on his face.
     "You are aware that I don't get to see Melissa much.  Not given how close we live to one another at any rate.  There is the assumption that I love her, that I am in love with her.  I won't dismiss those notions.  There are few times that I can find reason to not want to be with her.  Then there are my friends.
     "I need to spend time with my friends.  I know a lot of them from high school, or college.  They aren't like my colleagues.  God, I have colleagues.  But it isn't the same thing.  These friends of mine are slipping away.  Maybe that's natural, but it doesn't sit well with me.  If you didn't have the luxury of being able to take the time, you wouldn't be here today.  If you were Larry or J.B., or even Vicki, you wouldn't have that luxury.  And I wouldn't have the luxury to accommodate your free time if it weren't for your willingness to help me get some work done.
     "I spent a night with my friends.  Melissa would have spent it with hers up at Northwestern if you hadn't dragged her down to your parents' house."
     "I still qualify as one of Melissa's friends."
     "Yes, you do.  And she has a batch of friends from school.  Just like you and I did in Ann Arbor."
     "But you were a frat-boy."
     "I got better.  And I even found a better school without having to leave the Midwest.  Where was I?"
     "Friends.  Hers and yours."
     "I'll skip that.  Nancy, it was like you wanted me gone, wanted me trapped with Melissa.  Not a bad place to be trapped, but I don't want to have to give up the people who have meant so much to me for so long.  I don't want to be told that I have to be with 'the woman'.  Didn't it used to be okay for me to drop by unannounced and pick up some people to do something?  It was as though you wanted to expedite my exodus."
     "The anger?"
     "Sometimes its fun to be angry."
     "Therapeutic?"
     "No.  Probably a little harmful in the long run.  But it can be fun."
     Nancy finished off her second beer.  Jason wasn't done with his can of Schlitz.
     "Ready to go back to work, Miss Klein?"
     She smiled, although it was a bit forced.  Jason hadn't really said much.  There had to be more to it than Jason's lack of faith in the durability of his friendships.
     "You have another thing to answer."
     "What?"
     "It's about you and Melissa and a woman's needs."
     Jason blushed, but more than that, he dropped his beer.
     "Well?"
     "Off limits."
     "No, Jason.  You gave me bullshit about the anger.  I want an answer to this one."
     "It's about sex.  I can't imagine that there is anything I can say about the topic that would be unknown to you."
     "I don't know much about the sex between you and Melissa."
     "Thankfully."  He couldn't look her in the eye.  "What has Melissa told you?"
     She only smiled coyly.  It was most definitely not forced.
     "The woman's needs phrase refers to the fact that Melissa wants more physical contact."
     "You mean sex."
     "Not necessarily one in the same."
     This time it was Nancy who turned red.  She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh.  "Phone sex?  You talked Melissa into having phone sex with you?  And I'm guessing this is one a regular basis."
     "Well, I'm glad I told you.  Now."
     "Isn't that some sort of perversion?  Or sexual deviance?  Do you prefer it to real sex?"
     "Because this isn't where I wanted this conversation to go."
     "I'm serious."
     "No, I prefer real sex.  Very much so.  But there are time constraints, and it's still with her..."
     "It's twisted."
     "That's why we don't talk about, Nancy."
     "Does it mean a lot that it is with her?"  He nodded.  "Then it's sweet." 
     "I've gone from perverted and deviant to twisted in sweet in less than a minute."
     "Quick recovery, Dr. MacLeod."
     She was laughing and Jason was about to continue the banter, but he noticed something about her eyes.  It was actually in her eyes.  There was a flash of light, and he had no idea what it meant.  There was no reason for him to have known as not many people had experienced it themselves.  Nancy had.  It was something spectacular.
     Then she was on the floor, almost unconscious.  He was over like a shot.
     "Bad acid flashback?"
     "Something just happened – to someone."
     "Are you okay?  You look dazed."
     "I don't know who..."
     He helped her onto the couch.  She was going on about some sort of psychic event.  He didn't bother to try to explain that psychologists used psychic in a different context than laypersons.  She calmed down a bit, more to ease Jason's mind than because of any direct influence he may have had.
     "So, you're psychic?  Why aren't I analyzing your dreams, then?"
     Nancy gave him the bird.
     "Then what was it."
     "Someone we know, and something bad."
     "Do you like deluding yourself like this?"
     She propped herself up on an elbow.  "Would you rather talk about your twisted virtual sex life?"
     "Just the sweet part."
     "I know what I'm talking about."
     "You sound like J.B.  Did he ever tell you about when the werewolf stole him out of his bed?  I think he was five.  It just snatched him up in his blanket and ran off with him.  But something was chasing the werewolf.  Like a white knight.  The creature threw him under the stairs and escaped out the front door."
     "That's just a story."
     "A dream.  But he woke up under the stairs wrapped in the same blanket.  He thought he had a demon after him.  He might still; it isn't something we talk about, he and I.  There is too much there for me to read into."
     She almost forget that Jason was mocking her sixth sense.  She didn't believe in it, not very often at least.  Then there were times it couldn't be defined.  It was more than coincidence.  Maybe J.B.'s dream was like that.  It was a definite insight into his make-up as a person.
     "Should we call it quits for the night?  You're still shaken.  I'm going to call Melissa—"
     "From a different room, please.  I don't want to watch that."
     He had no immediate response.  It was too well timed.  Like the time his Chemistry T.A. had added "-less" to a girl's statement about how much she was worth.  He should have laughed.  He wanted to.  Unfortunately, he was beginning to feel some sickness in his stomach.  Like he had just lost his best friend.  Or someone had walked on his grave.  He sat down on the couch and quietly told Nancy as much.  He didn't like to think that perception could exist beyond the perceivable.  Her state had now affected him.
     "I am going to get Melissa here."
     "I should go, then."
     "No."
     "She and I are friends, but not even for you, Jason."
     "I'm touched, but I would rather stay working.  If you're right about this, maybe I could do a research paper on this para-psychological event into something publishable.  I could be the next Peter Venkman."  He didn't wait for her to ask who that was.  "Bill Murray in Ghostbusters."
     "No thanks."
     "Then I'm a concerned friend who want to take care of you, and wants his girlfriend to help out."
     "On one condition."
     He said he was open to suggestions.  He said he wanted a list of options to choose from.  He used a lot of words to say so.
     "Tell Melissa you want to marry her."
     "Eventually."
     "Because that's all that makes it sweet."  She could tell Jason wasn't listening.  "The only thing that makes any of this perversion at all acceptable is that it is very important that it is Melissa, and not someone else."
     "I don't want a lecture."
     "But I know sex.  You have to let her know how much you care.  Let her know that its about love, not your getting your rocks off."
     "When she gets here."
     "Because I'm scared to be here with you until then."  She drew him in with her eyes.  "Were you angry because you thought I was going to wreck your perfect little system?  You call her when you need her, and then you are done.  She's a fun little tool, and real sex is great, but since time matters a phone call will do it?"
     "She and I worked this out, Nancy.  It doesn't sound romantic, and it probably isn't.  It is part of the system.  You want me to throw that away for love."
     "You love her!"
     "I've never told any woman that I love her."
     Nancy wanted to say something meaningful.  "Not even your mother?  Or your sisters?  No one?"
     "Not since I turned twenty one.  Not even my Gramma.  Nancy, I consider you a good friend, but I'm not real comfortable talking about all of this.  I've told Pudenski I love him, because he's like the brother I never had.  I told Lew Pittman, too.  I haven't gotten beyond that."
     It gave Nancy a huge insight into Jason MacLeod.  He and Larry had been friends since they were five.  Llewellyn Pittman was a friend to both of them, but he died when they were all in high school.  Nancy guessed that it was just as likely that Jason told Lew how much he cared for him at the funeral as it was that he said it when he was alive.  Then in college he decided he wasn't going to tell anyone he loved them?  That would have coincided with Stacy Andrews.
     "Is this all about St. Andrews?"
     "I always hated that you called her that."
     "Your Catholic princess.  The light of your life.  Wasn't she still a virgin when you two started dating?"
     "At least we are beyond the idea that you're a psychic."
     "I still want to talk about that."
     "You're just better at talking about sex."
     "I believe I can paraphrase it by saying 'you preach what you know.'"  She was starting to feel better.  "I want another beer.  And I want to talk about St. Andrews.  And it would be nice it you would believe me about this feeling.  Iwas right about Lynn leaving Larry."
     "Nice alliteration.  And all you said was that Lynn was going to go back to New York."
     "She did!"
     "Four weeks later.  Then they didn't break up for another month."  He sighed.  "You know if I don't call Melissa now, I won;t be able to get her here."  Jason walked over toward the kitchen, looking for the phone.  "And no more beer for you."

  

  

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Eight) (1997)

     Yes, if there was a section (even short as it is) that upset the people who thought that characters were based on them, this would be it.
     On the upside, there are only 12 handwritten pages of "Dreamers" left, so it is almost over.

I don't have anything positive to say about Ayn Rand – as an author, pseudo-philosopher, or human being – but I had a friend who got very into her.  For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to introduce that element into "Dreamers".  While I would keep part of it for a serious revision, I definitely would not have let this scene play out this simplistically.

VIII

     "He told me to have better dreams."
     Larry Pudenski was, thankfully, through working for the week.  Fridays couldn't come often enough, but it was the sense of accomplishment as much as it was a chance to unwind.  Pudenski came from a working family, and to him there were few things that could carry the value of a job well done.
     "Do you know what ruined America?"
     "I'm sure you'll tell me, Pudenski."
     "People our age.  Think about it.  You see J.B. working a job, but he doesn't want to work.  He wants to be a doctor.  Jason wants to be a doctor, but what is he going to do?  There is no real value for psychology."
     "You asked him about your dream?"
     "But societies and cultures have existed forever without it.  You look at people our age and they don't produce.  It isn't like there is some mystical force that makes you a better worker when you hit thirty.  The idea of eight years of college is a joke."
     Carver blinked.
     "And Jason doesn't even have a philosophy.  He is totally deluding himself.  He needs to step into reality."
     "Reality is he is going to a great school and a  beautiful woman wants to sleep with him.  He is going to make as much money as you, and no one is handing him the family business.  Seems to me, his reality is better."
     "He wouldn't make a good soldier."
     "No one asked him to be one.  He wants to be a psychologist."
     "He wants to talk for a living.  He wants to screw around with with people's thoughts and emotions.  How do you think he ended up with Melissa?  You know that had to be the story."
     Carver was used to Larry's dad going on like this and it seemed natural for Larry to pick it up.
     "If I remember correctly, Pudenski," Carver spoke slowly, "she went after him."
     "I don't believe."
     "I think she'd be fun to sleep with, too, but wake up and realize that women can want things all on their own.  Jason wants to understand people and you want to wire electricity to buildings.  Who do you think is going to end up with the better philosophy?"
     "I read!"
     "You read?  Well, good for you.  You read and agree.  Remember when you thought that Hunter S. Thompson had the best view on life?  Then you replace him with Ayn Rand.  Then Nietzsche.  I don't know what you're on now, but I'll bet it came out of a book."
     "Well, what's your philosophy?"
     "Easy, Pudenski.  I live my life.  I work hard and I try to forget what makes me angry or frustrated.  I drink too much, but that doesn't mean I believe I should drink to forget.  It works, but it doesn't really factor into my belief system."
     "You don't get it.  You are just lying to yourself."
     "So are you, Larry.  You're twenty five and you think you have life figured out.  You have all the answers.  All from what you've read.  And it all fits on one shelf in your room.  Six books and nine years as an employee for you dad's company does not an education make."
     "It's been more than nine years."
     "Larry, you argue over the stupidest things.  I know my statement was that you don't have the background to be all that you think you are.  You choose to hear, instead, that I'm wrong about how long you've been working."
     "You were wrong."
     "Fine.  I was wrong.  You have life all figured out."
     "You wouldn't even have a job if it weren't for me."
     Carver stood up.  The two of them were still in the warehouse.  Thankfully there was no alcohol in the place; it was too serious a habit to allow temptation to intrude at any moment.  It wouldn't stop Carver's impulse to stand up and get a beer.  Now he was up and there wasn't a whole lot else he could do from there.
     "What would you be doing?"
     He just wanted something to drink.  Maybe a soda would be enough.  Pudenski was in a mood.  A drink would loosen both of them up a bit.  Maybe not, though.  Carver would just assume to leave.  Try to get laid and let Pudenski go on with his ranting all by himself.  Sometimes Pudenski didn't channel his frustration in the best manner.
     "Yeah, you probably would have gone Army like your brother."
     "Probably."
     "Not a real future there."
     That was true.  Then again, being a lackey for the Pudenskis wasn't a future either.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Seven) (1997)

     For those who missed the last part, it is available here.
     In Part Seven, much younger Tim assumes he can write about the "black experience".  In and when this gets a rewrite, that is getting removed.  I don't have the credibility to write about and I wouldn't want to be so disrespectful as to create a fictional one. Part seven also serves as an awkward means to give more of the backstory.  As it stands now, I'm glad it is written down somewhere.  But it could have been handled so much better, even with what little skill I had back in '97.

One of the few pictures when I visited Iowa City – for the first time since the spring of 1994 – on the return trip from my father's memorial service.  No, I didn't visit Burge Hall because it in Dreamers.  But it does get a reference and I am giving each section a picture.

VII

     Money wasn't everything.  If it were, Vicki wouldn't bother with the job she had.  Of course, when one has the luxury of of having matter no matter what one does, it is easy to hold views about how money is unimportant.  It is like that with everything.  Fidelity in a relationship is never so praised as when one is leaving a relationship where there is none.  Still, Vicki had a good job, almost a career.
     And she had a house.  On occasion it would bother her that she let Sean stay there but she knew that she loved him.  Her fantasies aside, and who shouldn't be desirous of Denzel Washington or other sexy, handsome – no, gorgeous – male icons of the time, she knew she wouldn't betray Sean's trust like that.  Early on, there was a time when she and J.B. almost did, but she was seeing other people back then.  That didn't count.
     Sean was a wonderful thing for her.  Vicki had grown up out east, in New Jersey, and really wouldn't have any connections in Chicago if not for J.B. and Sean.  J.B. had introduced her to her set of white friends, and Vicki almost always had white friends.  J.B. had been only one of many white men who had pursued her.  Sean was part of her connection to her blackness.  She really didn't care about race – money could buy that freedom – but she didn't want to look like she was turning her back on part of herself.
     Sean was like her white friends.  He grew up as a middle-class suburbanite.  He had gone to Catholic school and then to Loyola in Chicago.  He has said that he wanted to be a lawyer or a judge when he was younger, but sometimes he felt guilty about not knowing enough about his heritage.  He felt that he couldn't ignore the black experience.  He ended up working as a high school guidance counselor.  And he had his MSW, too.  Sean wanted to give back to the black community he had never really been a part of.  But he was genuine in it.  He wouldn't have thought twice of which community received his services, but he had his needs.
     Sean was two years shy of his thirty fifth birthday.  He looked his age which made him look very mature next to Vicki.  She sometimes wished she was nothing more than a prize to him, but he was in love.  Calm, sensible, occasionally passionate love.  He was ready for family, Vicki could provide for children in good fashion, and he could afford to let these hypothetical offspring to learn what it meant to be black from the safety of the white suburbs.
     Sometimes Vicki wondered if this was she really wanted.  She often wondered why her friends were still bent on being as close as they were.  She had met J.B. when they were both at the University of Iowa and he had gotten a fake I.D. for her so she didn't have to drink at Jake's (One-Eyed Jake's, really), or the Sports Column, or The Union, the only places where a nineteen year old could drink.
      Irony of ironies, she had gone there to study nursing and he English, but he became pre-Med and she graduated with a degree in Philosophy, of all things.  They had remained friends and from time to time they tried to be more than that.  When Vicki decided to go to Chicago instead of going home after college she had J.B. find a place for her.  He also had a collection of friends that she could appropriate as her own.
     At the time, it was the brothers Carver, Larry Pudenski and Lynn – and she was from New York, Jason MacLeod and Stacy Andrews, Eric Windsor and Melissa Brooks, J.B., Nancy Klein, and Dave Burke.  They were an odd group, and since Eric had left for California, Stacy gave up on Jason, and Pete Carver drifted in who knows what, they seemed hell bent on sticking together.  The last to leave was Lynn and it felt as though the next departure would doom the group.  And Vicki knew that would come soon enough.  Then, like life, things would progress.
     As it was now, Vicki found most of her dreams involving the group as entertaining.  Except when it came to Burke.  He was too close to something else.

*     *     *     *     *     *

      For all intents and purposes, it was college.  If pressed to reason somethings wouldn't seem right, but that is how it always was.  Vicki found herself in a small dorm bed, in a dorm room.  It was second semester freshman year.  She could see the sunlight coming through the window and feel the air already warming with the April weather.
     She knew, instinctively, that it was a Friday.  It would have been nice to check a calendar, but Vicki wasn't smart enough to keep one handy until the next year.  But it was Friday night and that would mean another chance for Vicki to have fun, get drunk, find love, or something hopefully noteworthy.
     Vicki knew that she would meet up with Nancy and Melissa first.  A passing thought that they went to different schools entered her mind, but they could be out for the weekend.  What did it matter?  Vicki always liked it when friends came out to visit.  It also meant that there had to be something special going on.  She checked herself in the mirror, but she couldn't remember what she saw so she did it again.  By the time she was at the door she realized she still couldn't remember how she looked in the mirror.
     Nancy and Melissa met her at the stairs.  Vicki was housed at Burge Hall, and the stairs were the best way to check out the guys who lived on the opposite sides of the floors.  Some girls took the elevator, and when asked why she didn't Vicki said that she hadn't seen what she wanted yet.
     "Maybe Sean will be at one of the parties," Nancy offered mirthfully.
     Vicki almost had time to think on that.

*     *     *     *     *     *

      It was Sean who had woken her up.  He was in the bathroom now, but he had left the light on and tossed something on the bed.  Damn him, she thought, and she turned over.  He had wanted her up for a reason, but she didn't feel she had to oblige.  He could handle it for one evening, if she let up and left it at that.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Six) (1997)

Again, if you have not read the previous sections...

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

     The question that I would hope some people would have – assuming anyone is reading this – is "what the hell happened to Larry?".  The whole thing starts with him and then he largely goes missing (yes, I'm aware he gets to rewire Nancy's parents' house, but that section isn't about him) for four sections.  There is no real answer for that other than the fact that I lost track of what the story was supposed to be about.  By this point I was writing it about an hour here or there, between classes and studying.  There may still be some good writing in there somewhere, but it certainly is not the story I set out to write.  And even though Larry comes back, he still doesn't get proper attention.
     There are clearly some problems with this section.  Sorry about that.  The dream is an adaptation and amalgamation of one had by a close friend and one I had, and it is purposefully confusing in its presentation (because that is how it his explained to me).  When I get around to revising this story, this section would be completely torn apart – though I could definitely see trying to work some of the ideas into more logically presented scenes.
     Anyway, if you want to think of the opening here as a zombie apocalypse without zombies, that may help.

VI

     Larry couldn't figure out for the life of him why his car didn't start.  The gas tank didn't lie when it read that it was full, and the battery was working.  What a time for this to happen.
     The sky hadn't been so overcast a minute or two ago, but sometimes things got worse all at once.  It didn't look as if it would rain, but the mood it cast was enough to make it intolerable.  From where his car was situated, Larry could see the fields on either side of the ridge take on a darker, richer shade of green.  In the sunlight they looked sick, but for some reason grass always looked better in diffused light.
     Larry wanted to get out of there.  If he thought he could make it without his car he would have ran.  Then he would still have to come back for the car.  What would be accomplished then?  He heard something on down the road and he knew it was a caravan of sorts.  That didn't make him feel any better.  That would just be a group of people with transportation.
     No, there was more to it than that.  There was some reason why Larry didn't want to be here.  There were men moving through the field, though for some reason they were less than distinct.  It was almost as if they were wearing camouflage.  Military men with rifles.  Why out here?
     Larry didn't know why, but now the people around him were panicking.  He didn't remember them behaving so just a minute ago, in part because they didn't seem to be there before.
     Then the shooting began.  Maybe it was too distant to hear but Larry could hear it none the less.  He knew now that he was in great danger.  That must have been what was motivating his panic.  Larry had often been told by his father that the government would turn on the people one day.  Larry had been certain that he would never see that happen, but he knew that is exactly what he was witnessing.
     Why here?  Larry was no more than ten miles from home, just outside of Cook County.  Why would the government start by attacking?  Shouldn't it still be hoping it need only subdue dissidents?  Larry grabbed at the people who brushed against him.  He didn't recognize any of them, not from the terror-filled distortions of their faces.  He knew he had to try to save them.
     The soldiers were upon him in no time.  Most of the people were off the road, but Larry doubted that it would do them  much good,  He moved back toward his car.  Maybe it would start.  The hell with that, it would start this time, and Larry would make it home and his father would be ready to fight back.
     Wild shots removed the windshield from his car.  It was old enough that it didn't have safety glass.  Larry paid no heed to that.  Somebody had knocked one of the soldiers down, maybe unconscious, maybe dead.  A rifle lay unclaimed next to the body.  Larry dove for it, landing just short but he quickly scrambled over to it.  Where he had been standing was now filled by some panicked citizen, who in tern was quickly filled with bullets.
     Larry had the gun and made his way back to his car.  Somewhere above a helicopter made its ominous sounds.  Larry tried to track it but there was surprising brightness in the overcast sky.  Giving up on the helicopter, Larry braced himself against the driver's side front door.  He couldn't see much detail now.  The breeze – and maybe the helicopter's wash – were swirling wisps of colored smoke the soldiers were using.  The screams of the people weren't so loud now.  Larry searched his pocket for his keys.
     "Oh Jesus Christ," Larry cursed.  The keys were still in the car.  He opened the door, trying to see if there was some way he could save some of the people.  Better to be at home.  Larry started to get into the car.  He saw something coming around from behind it.
     Larry raised his rifle but didn't have a finger on the trigger.  The soldier couldn't have been out of his teens and Larry didn't even notice the pistol in his hands until it was too late.  Larry was slammed back against the car by the impact of the first bullet. He was beginning to notice the heat of the bullet when a second shot hit him in the gut.  Both Larry and his rifle hit the street at the same time.  The soldier loomed above him, and it was true, Larry mused, that the barrel of a gun – when pointed straight at one's eye – looked as if it were a vast tunnel.
     The third bullet was enough.  Larry was dead before it exited out the back of his head.  The soldier still stood above him, but the helicopter must have been directly overhead.  It grew smaller and smaller until all that was discernible was swirling smoke and the green fields on either side of the street.

     *     *     *     *     *    

     "You read that right off the fax?"
     Melissa cocked her head and smiled.  It was a little early in the afternoon for her to be drinking, but she had already enjoyed one of the beers stocked in Jason MacLeod's refrigerator and was working on her second.  She looked good, which was to say that she looked better than she should have.
     'This is some piece of work, huh?"
     "So what does it mean?"  She had been patient in letting Jason read Larry's three page report of the previous night's dream.  She didn't say anything as he went and retrieved some text books and made notes of what in the dreams he wished to address."
     "It's not an exact science.  It's like Interpretative Lit."
     She sipped some beer from her bottle.  "Okay.  So, what does it mean?"
     'The truth?  I think it's a father-son conflict.  That may seem too easy, but since Mr. Pudenski and Carver are working with Larry..."
     "Still valid, then."
     He finally sat beside her on the couch.  "So what brings you to my dingy abode, milady?"
     "I was just wondering why you would rather get drunk with Larry and Jeff Binghampton than have sex with your girlfriend."
     "Nancy wondered the same thing."
     "She called."  Melissa leaned closer, though not close enough for her liking.  "She called, and we thought it would be better to have our conversation face to face.  That and we lounged around the pool and got drunk."  She caught the arch in Jason's eyebrows.  "Why is that what you guys think?"
     He got up and moved toward the kitchen but stopped short.  "The truth?  What is there not for guys to like in that idea.  It's naked women and sex.  If they can't be directly involved, it is the next best thing for guys."
     "You too?"
     He finally moved back toward her.  "You know that I live in constant fear that someone is going to take you away from me, and Nancy has money.  She's attractive, too, if you were into that.  So it's in my best interests that you find the idea of being a lesbian repugnant."
     "Care to reaffirm my heterosexuality?"
     "Now?  Melissa, but that would mean we couldn't waste time conversing."
     "Sometimes I think you're gay."
     "Everyone has homosexual fantasies."  He sighed, like it was work to be in such an easy relationship.  "Okay, I'll stop being a smartass if you're willing to wait until seven o'clock."
     They fell into a pleasant conversation, something that was common for most couples.  Occasionally it was as if they had a standard relationship.  Then something would happen.
     "You sent J.B. over to Nancy's?!"
     "Will you please, just tonight, call him Jeff?"
     "You sent him over to Nancy's."  He would wait just long enough for her to begin to say something.  She knew the game and she would oblige.  "Why would you do that?  He's the horniest man you know.  And Nancy?"  Jason got off the couch.  They had been in each other's arms, a rare moment of tenderness and an almost guarantee she wouldn't have to wait until seven.  "This is all going to fall on me.  Shit."
     "Please be more melodramatic.  I'll make it up to you."  That lured him back toward her.  "He's not my friend, but I'll bet that Jeff can control himself.  You know you don't have to worry about Nancy so long as Jeff can keep it in his pants."
     Jason thought of what had happened the night before and shuddered.  That broke the mood.  He checked the clock and saw that he still had two and half hours to forget it.
     "What do you say to some Chinese?"
     "Before?"
     "There will still be some for after.  And I don't have any food."
     She held him.  The food arrived and they ate lightly.
     "Isn't this backwards?" she asked.  "Shouldn't you be chasing me.  Isn't that the way all these stories go?"
     "Did I ever tell you about Shashi, the guy I roomed with my sophomore year?  He was a Psych major and hell bent on proving that the idea of the liberated woman was a myth.  He thought that women's nature was what allowed them to be dominated by male society."
     "Bullshit.  Shashi?  What was he, Indian?"
     "Nice racism, Melissa.  I don't know, but he was born and raised American.  At any rate, he thought that men had to be retrained instead of women losing their natures.  He thought it was the Equal Rights movment that actually created a false increase in lesbianism."
     Her look said it all.
     "I know, but not just that.  He was convinced that adopting more masculine type characteristics and patterns of life caused women to look for feminine partners."
     "So that's what you want?  For me to bring home a nice feminine girl for both of us?"
     Jason tried to stifle his laughter.  "Okay, but I was thinking that his theory made me a bit of a sissy and all, you being such an athlete and competitor."
     "And the roommate?"
     "Are you asking if he is a sissy?  No?  He is at his job until midnight, and then there is never a guarantee that he'll come back.  That's what I look for in a roommate, provided he pays the rent on time."
     "His half."
     "Think not.  He's two years behind me, using my notes for the same subjects and has access to all my papers and research.  I let him pay the whole thing."
     Melissa blushed.  "So everyone but you and Jeff has family money?"
     "We're poor, but we're happy."  Jason noted that his glass was empty.  Where Melissa was drinking beer  – she was on her fifth – Jason was drinking Coke.  He still had a two litre in the refrigerator and there was a case in his room.  "Mind if we separate long enough to get something to drink?"
      "And ruin this romance?"
      "For me, this is romantic."
      He came back with a cold beer for her, and a shot glass and a bottle of Speyburn single malt scotch.  He smiled weakly and poured himself a drink.  He gulped it down and quickly poured another but left it on the table and rejoined Melissa on the couch.
     "A night out with the boys makes you quite a drinker."  He had no reaction to her statement but she was happy enough to have him back.  Was he though?  "Are you happy, Jason?  I know it seems like a simple question to ask, but..."
     "You've really never paid attention to that I study, have you?"  He didn't want to chide her, just to make her understand the weight and complexity of that question.  "Okay, I'll skip the lecture—"
     "For once."
     His eyes alone gave thanks.  "Is the question 'am I happy today?' or 'am I happy now?' or even 'do you make me happy?'?"
     "Damn right."
     "I'm glad you've decided to throw away your academic future on me."
     She would have to be back in Evanston before her morning classes on Tuesday but Jason wanted her to stay.  He could have said as much, but there was an eerie sense of comfort in that nothing was said.  Melissa was gone before Jason's roommate arrived back at the apartment, and it fell to him to clean up the remnants of food the lovers left unattended.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Five) (1997)

     Part Five of Dreamers is mostly just a restaurant scene between two characters.  I am just noticing how much it has in common with a scene from a short story I wrote this year.  Need to not put characters in scenes at restaurants, because there is so much that they should be doing other than freely talking to one another.  Anyway, this was about three pages handwritten.

New to Dreamers?
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

J.B.'s breakfast (sort of).

V

     J.B. liked his dreams, but he knew he was dreaming and could control them to some extent.  He couldn't remember ever choosing the setting, or the theme, but he was seldom disappointed.  He had dreamt a movie, complete with opening title sequence and closing credits (he was three quarters of the way down the cast of characters, as himself).  That was when he knew his dreams were not like everyone else's.
     This one had him eating breakfast at home with his family.  He couldn't have been more than nine, and that wasn't a good time for the family.  Dad was eating cereal, of course, but there was a seven year span that J.B. would swear his father ate nothing but baby food and cereal.  His older brother was finishing off his breakfast with a look on his face that told of his disappointment that blueberry muffins were a breakfast and lunch staple.  J.B. didn't mind it that much.
     Mom was in a rush to get to work, and she hugged and kissed J.B.'s brother before she left.  It wasn't that she neglected J.B. so much that bothered him but that he seemed to have a much less fulfilling champion in his father.  It was a boring, depressing dream, and J.B. managed to get it out of the house and to school.
     There was Billy Calhoun, his friend and nemesis.  Both had older brothers whose feats they strove to match, but Billy was slightly more handsome and had the athletic ability that both of them thought they had.  It was a period of time before classes started and the children were allowed to run wild in the converted playground parking lot.  And there was something to compete over.  But instead of the regular competition, they were about to fight.
     J.B. tried to redirect the dream but he and Billy were now surrounded by a circle of mocking children, mocking both of them.  Before either threw a punch the dream faded from existence.  He knew that other dreams would come and go, but most of those didn't register.  Only the rare ones caught his attention.

     J.B. was awakened by a ringing telephone.  He reached over and grabbed the portable unit before it could ring again.  He caught himself before he answered with "what time is it?", thinking of how perfectly cliché that would be for someone with a hangover.  Somehow he composed himself, and despite the night's sleep he had managed to get his voice sounded as if he had been up and talking for hours.
     "Hello, and what can I do for you?"
     A heavy feminine voice filled his head.  "I hear you have my boyfriend."
     Melissa Brooks.  Damn!  "You are calling for Jason, then?"
     "Only if he is awake.  There are plenty of things that you and I could talk about.  Face to face if you are willing to drag yourself out of bed."
     J.B. grunted a little.  "I'm not driving up to Evanston."
     "I'm at Nancy's.  I just thought we could meet at that insipid little restaurant you ramble on about."
     That was actually a good idea.  J.B. looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was eight fifteen in the morning.  He would have to wake up Jason so the lad could make his eleven o'clock class, but he didn't have to tell him about Melissa.  "You know, you're so different from Nancy who would have let me sleep in.  But okay."
     "Yeah, but Nancy wouldn't have picked up the check like I'm going to."
     "Touché."  J.B. paused, because it was just occurring to him that they were going to have a serious conversation.  "This is important, huh?"
     "No,"  Melissa said.  "Not overly, but I think it would be a good if the two of us, who really don't like like one another, could learn to spend some time together not repulsed by the other."
     "Who told you?"
     "Ha ha, pretty boy.  Be there by nine, Jeffery."
     And he found himself there at a quarter til.  Jason would be on his way back to Chicago, and there was a sense that he could tell that J.B. was going to meet Melissa but that had to be J.B.'s imagination.  Sometimes J.B. could just tell things were a certain way.  He liked to think that was an individual trait.
     She was there.  Melissa was, truly, beautiful.  But J.B. had never been sexually attracted to her.  Intellectually, maybe, but it was easy to dismiss that.  Maybe it was that she had gone out with a friend of his and that he had met her as the property of a friend.  He simply could not foster the desire others had for her.  Jason could and did.  What was worse was that Larry obviously held an attraction to her.  Let Jason find that hidden in a dream.
     "I'm surprised you're early."
     "To think I can still surprise you after all these years."
     He sat down at the table across from her rather than next to her.  J.B. knew he looked like hell, but this was his day off and he was hung over; he sure as hell wasn't going to exert any energy to impress Melissa Brooks.  She did not offer him the same courtesy.  She wore a comfortable but stylish blouse and expensive pants.  They were her's, not Nancy's, do Melissa had made the trip with some preparation.  She looked good, and healthy.  J.B.'s women could seldom pull that trick off.
     "I haven't ordered yet."
     "Pick that up from Jason, did you?"
     "Why the venom?"  She did not look as hurt as she was, but J.B. could tell.  He knew the internal pain couldn't really be masked.  Let Jason or Freud or Dr. Katz try to figure out why people hurt, but J.B. could see it every time.  Damn.  Why did she ask that?
     "No venom, Miss Brooks."  Miss Brooks.  Most people thought it sounded cold and distant but it was actually respect.  For J.B., it was an apology.  "Why don't we get some breakfast-type food and you can tell me what an awful person I am."
     She wanted to smile. Her facial muscles tensed to do as much, but she didn't.  "Well, Jeffery, if you know what an awful person you, change."  She took a sip from her water glass.  "That isn't what I wanted to say.  Are you happy, Jeff?"
     "Why do you call me that?"
     "Your name?  Sorry, but J.B. is just a little childish to say.  I catch myself thinking it, but that is as bad as I want to let it get.  So, Jeffery, are you happy?  In life, with where you are and where you are going?"
     She really was brilliant.  Too bad she wouldn't ever follow through on it.  "I'm ecstatic.  No, I —"
     The waitress showed up and J.B. quickly turned his attention to her.  "Ready to order and better to eat.  I'll have a ham and cheese omelet, side of bacon, and orange juice."
     Melissa ordered politely and the waitress disappeared into the kitchen.  "You are going to get fat on sausage and bacon.  What will all your lovelies think of that?"
     "I've already got a healthy gut.  And I hope that I have something better to offer them than my stomach."
     She lightened.  "Your humor?"
     "No," J.B. choked out immediately.  "You have the best humorist I have ever known, but you turned him sober and somber.  I, on the other hand, am a fantastic lover, but even better at portraying the trappings of romance."
     "Someone like me would rob you of that."
     "You would probably have me go back to school."  He could tell by the look on her face that she agreed with his statement.  "Okay, so I'd be in Med School and then a doctor.  That's a lot of freedom to lose for only gaining debt and unauthoritative responsibility."
     "Youth is wasted on the young?"
     "There is nothing wrong with what I do for a living.  Just because I'm twenty five years old and not a doctor doesn't make me a failure."
     "Larry is twenty four and he doesn't own a business."
     "Fuck you, Brooks.  I didn't come here to have you bust my chops.  Maybe its just me."  He smiled at her.  She was just a friend of a friend, and J.B. had been told that those are the people who could hurt you worst.  She wasn't the enemy, though.  She was a closer fit in the circle of friends they both ran in, so maybe he should just pay attention.
     "So you;re not happy.  Just satisfied."  She had a certain grace, one that J.B. would like to find in a woman, the kind of grace reserved for kindly mothers and baby sisters.  It was another quality that made he so unlike the women he knew.  She must have had the grace since childhood and if given the time to think of it, he wouldn't have been able to imagine the awkwardness of her first time.
     "Okay, you win.  I'd be happy if I had stuck with it.  I'd be somewhere in ten years."
     "You'll still be somewhere."
     "Droll."
     "So you'll get your happiness as an MD.  What else will it take, Doctor Binghampton?"
     "Nothing."
     Their food arrived at that time and again Melissa was nice to the waitress.  She went for a half order of french toast and some fruit.  Sometimes she was girlish.
     "You making time with her or what?"
     "I'm not in the mood."
     "I thought she was going to sit right down in your lap and lose herself in your deep brown eyes."
     "I'm not a lesbian, Jeff.  I know the idea turns you guys on, but I have never been attracted to a woman."
     "Shame.  I'd watch."
     Then you should have been there last night.  You could have tried to get Nancy and me together."
     "Were you drunk?"
     "More than a bit."  She didn't want to say it now, but she did.  "Nancy wants your body, you know."
     J.B. looked up from his food to her with puppy dog eyes.  "I've been told...by your man."  The look sold it.  She'd let him take a few bites before continuing.  She let that be the pattern.  He was here to eat after all.  "So, if I give it up to Nancy, I get to see the show?"
     "I'm not gay.  That would be like asking you and Carver to make out so I could get in the mood for Jason."  She grinned impishly.  "How does that strike you?"
     "One in ten.  No thanks, and sorry.  So what do I do?"
     "Stop being an asshole."
     "He set his fork down with more force than necessary.  "I meant about Nancy."
     "So did I.  Then just handle it like a mature adult.  Go talk to her.  She'll be home all day.  You don't have to do anything, Jeff.  Talk will be enough."
     He ate his food in silence and she let him.  When the check came she picked it up, handling both it and the tip.  She seemed happy enough to do it, but J.B. felt guilty about it.  She was ready to leave before him.
     "I've never had a girlfriend I didn't cheat on."
     She eyed him warily.  "This current one?"
     "Not yet."
     "Just try to last the day."
 

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Four) (1997)

     Part IV is the shortest section in the original text.  It is only four paragraphs, all of which could have easily been an addendum to the previous one.  I guess I was trying to give a section to the J.B. character, but that really happens with the next one.
     So, 'Dreamers' was originally going to be a type of horror story where at least two of the characters start acting out their dreams (one of those having some very bad results for everybody).  That fell away rather quickly.  Part of the reason was that I kind of lost contact with the people who very loosely (with the exception of the first dream) inspired the dreams.  As I tried to find the characters I wanted t write, I lost the story I was supposed to be telling.  Not supposed to do that.
     Anyway, if you missed Part III, you can find it here (which has a link to Part II, which in turn has a link to Part I).

For our purposes, imagine J.B. looks like this (and not a young, thin Bill Pullman).

IV

     Jeff Binghampton, J.B., was no a classic lady killer.  He had a charm he could turn on or offm and there wasn’t an ugly girl who would ever find him at all worth being interested in.  Unfortunately, the women he spent time with were exposed to this charm more often than most.  It had a cumulative effect, like radiation.
     The only person who was immune to it was Melissa.  She and J.B. were friends, sort of, but J.B. wouldn’t want her.  She was a better adversary – a friendly one – than she could ever be a lover.  J.B. could never understand why Jason would make the swap.  Maybe the two had figured out a way to keep one and the other.
     At least Jason didn’t lose his sense of freedom.  It never happened before, so it would be uncharacteristic to say that it never happened anymore.  MacLeod wasn’t much of a drinker, but he really wasn;t into the bar scene.  So it was Larry Pudenski, both Carvers, Jason MacLeod, and J.B. in a quest to see how many bars and how much alcohol were necessary for a good time.
     The fourth bar they hit was the first one that wasn’t overcrowded.  Don Loomis’ was a rare thing, a pub that survived in the heathendom that was the suburbs.  Real darts and good whiskey, and even MacLeod seemed happy.  Still, if one looked, and J.B. did, it was easy to see that Jason was at work.  He was after Pundeski’s dreams, but that didn’t mean that J.B. had to let that happen.  This evening was for fun, and Jason MacLeod could do his research some other time.

Dreamers (Original Text - Part Three) (1997)

     This is my least favorite section from the original text.  First, it starts the change from what the story was supposed to be into the mess it became.  Second, it is just barely sketched out enough for it to make any kind of sense.  I would like to think that if I were rewriting this, this section would be very different.  So, take a look at what was satisfactory in 1997.  (In my very limited defense, this is the only section that was written over at least four different sessions – I can tell from the different pens used to write it – and it does try to better realize the characters than anything in the first two sections.)
     You can find Part II here (which conveniently has a link to Part I).

III

     Larry called it Church Sunday.  Originally that meant Easter.  Now it was any Sunday that didn’t conflict with things like vacations, work, the Superbowl, or other sports.  Larry was likely to have two Church Sundays a month.  This was one of them.  Church was something Larry felt he had to do.  He would rather be playing basketball or doing inventory at the warehouse.  Religion did not fit into Larry’s Pudenski’s life with any ease.  His parents had given his to him as though it were a task.  Larry would sit dutifully, quiet, in a neatly pressed suit, and pay his homage to God without it requiring any real thought.

     Church Sundays had a nice structure to them, though.  Up a lot later than usual, a big breakfast, a few hours in the House of God, and then the better part of the day was still available.  Back in the days of high school, Larry and Jason would hit a bucket of balls at the driving range, or go rock climbing, or do something that made it feel good to get out of a suit.  Of course, Jason didn’t dress up to go the church.  He was a guest where he went but he didn’t try to impress.  He and Larry never spoke of religion on Church Sunday.

     This Church Sunday, like many before it, Larry would spend with Nancy Klein.  It was work.  She wanted some rewiring done in her parents’ house and Larry was happy for the side job.  It was easy work, and Nancy was good company.  Not many of the people who hire an electrician stock a refrigerator full of beer for them.  Larry and Nancy would talk for about half an hour before he ever touched a wire.  Then he would make her help out so he didn’t lose the company.  If he was lucky, Mike Carver would stop by and help out.

     “Do you want to hear about my dreams, Larry?”

     His head hidden inside a wall he had been forced to cut into, Larry had a full grin.  “I can assume it was sexual.”

     She playfully slapped his rump.  “No, my ambitions and goals!”

     “Doesn’t sound as interesting.”  He finished fishing out the wire that had fallen from its connector and laid bare against the wood studs.  Fire hazard, if it were still live.  Half the wires that ran through this house were useless, serving only to clutter the space.  Whoever had done this before him did a piss poor job.  “Beer me.”

     Nancy returned in a matter of seconds with an ice cold bottle of Old Style.  It helped clear the dust from Larry’s throat.  It felt good.  Larry sat down on the hardwood floor, his back propped up against the wall.  “So what are your dreams and aspirations?”

     “You just want to talk about sex.”

     Larry shrugged.

     “I didn’t sleep with that guy from Friday.”

     “Good for you.”

     Nancy glared at Larry and silently cursed his sarcastic tone.

     “What?  If you want a guy, you get him.  I’ve seen it.  You remember that time with my brother?”  Nancy blushed and started to turn away, but Larry pushed the issue.  “His girlfriend was coming back in two days and he was going to propose to her, and you take him home and —”

     “That’s enough!”

     “It’s true, Nancy.  It’s a miracle they’re still together.”

     Nancy reached down and took Larry’s beer away.  She gulped down half the remaining contents.  “Get to work.”  She walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a fresh beer for herself.  Four months.  It had been four months since she had sex.  Everyone who knew her just expected the sex.  Larry’s brother was just talking to her, showing an interest in her life.  She wanted that right now.  After Don, Nancy had only slept with one person.

     Soon, Mike Carver arrived.  He brought his own beer and took a can to Larry.  This was Larry’s job and Mike was just there to hang out.  This was never afforded to them on the job for R.A. Pudenski Electrical Contractors.  The beer most certainly not.  Mike and Larry were drinking Guinness and speaking of one of their co-workers, and man called ‘Drover’.  Nancy stumbled into the conversation at an inopportune time and it broke the moment.

     “Pudenski, I want this finished sometime.  You’ve been here four different times...”

     “When are your parents coming back from Europe?”

     She turned to Carver who had asked the question.  He was smiling and happily drinking his beer.  Out of the can.  “Jesus, Carver, get some glasses for that.”  Before he could do anything Nancy walked into the kitchen and brought back two Guinness glasses.  Larry thanked her and Carver finished his first before he poured a fresh one into his glass.

     “So, when are they coming back?”

     “Next week, I think.  I’ll just be gladd to be done house sitting for them.  I haven’t had a night’s sleep in my own bed in over a week.”

     Carver eyed her with curiosity and Larry suppressed a chuckle.  “Oh really.  And whose bed have you been sleeping in?”

     “My parents’, dumbass,” Nancy spat.

     “There are laws against that,” Larry added glibly.  “Sorry.  No, if I stay and finish tonight then I’ll be done tonight.”

     “Then stay and finish.”

     “Holy shit, Jason,” Carver gasped.

     Nancy turned to face Jason, who was most definitely out of place at this gathering.  “How did you get in here?”

     “Walked in.  Door’s not locked, and I figured these two boozehounds would be teaming up on you, and I’m too sweet a guy to let a friend suffer like that.”

     “Bullshit.”  Larry put down his beer and picked up one of his tools and began to play at working again.  “What are you doing here, MacLeod?”

     “I have reasons.  Nancy, could I have something to drink?  Coke if you have it.”  Jason watched Nancy as she stomped out of the room.  Turning back to the electricians, he began, “You guys are entirely too hard on her.  If you want to hang out with her, why don’t you do it at her place?”

     “Nowhere near as nice.  No pool there.”

     MacLeod shrugged.  Carver has a point.  Still...

     “Your dream, Pudenski?  I asked Dr. Hall what he thought.  He wants me to do a paper on it.”

     “And?”

     “So keep your mouth shut next time.”  MacLeod almost smiled, enough so that Pudenski and Carver could tell he was at least partially joking.  Not very many people understood MacLeod’s sense of humor.  “But for now, I need you to keep a journal of your dreams.  Especially anything that shares elements with the first dream.  Then I get to come up with some reason this relates to a childhood trauma.”

     Carver’s face lit up and he pounded his left fist against the wall until he finished his beer.  “Like the time you pushed him off the roof, Jason?”

     Pudenski laughed.  MacLeod shrugged.  “Come on, Pudenski was nine.  We should look for something a little earlier than that.”  He stopped as Nancy came back in with his Coke.  “Caffeine free?  Oh, ‘Beggars and Choosers’.”  MacLeod reached out and squeezed Nancy’s shoulder.  “Thanks.”

     She nodded, but moved towards Larry.  The last thing she wanted to do was even think about sleeping with somebody who was practically married.  “You aren’t going to finish today, are you?”

     Larry looked over at Jason.  “Okay, genius, do you remember anything from when you worked for us?”

     “Three inch heavy wall pipe.”

     Nancy was the only one who didn’t get the joke.  It was a great big no.

     “Then keep Nancy out of our way, and you’re going out with us later.”  There was still the edge of laughter in Larry’s voice.  Still, he and Carver soon became all business and it wouldn’t have taken much more than that to drive Nancy from the room.  She and Jason walked to the TV room.

     “No studying?”

     “Just Larry.”  MacLeod was aware most of the women he knew understood his propensity to use last names almost exclusively, but he tried to be more personable in front of Nancy.  “He’s my new assignment.  Interpretation of dreams, and how work-stress may relate to certain imagery.”

     Nancy sat down in a chair too expensive to be comfortable.  It didn’t even face the forty eight inch LCD television.  To be born with money.  “Does Larry know you’re studying him?”

     “Huh?  Yeah, everything but the work-related stress.  But you were helpful there.”  Jason effected a high-pitched whine. “Do this.  Finish now.  Drink less.”

     “I didn’t invite you here.”

     “You’re not sorry.  Where’s the remote?”

     She handed it to him.  “So, where’s Melissa?  If you aren’t hitting the books, shouldn’t you be with her?”

     Jason got lucky.  He found a game on ESPN.  Sunday nights were made for ESPN.  “Yes.  But I’m not.  I’m here, soon to be out drinking with Pudenski and Carver.”  A slip.

     “And J.B.?”

     “Why don’t you just do him?” Jason blurted out.  “You are so into him.”

     “Fuck you!”

     “Whatever.  If you can’t admit —” It was possibly the greatest catch had ever seen.  He watched it in replay four times, never failing to marvel at the majesty of the leap, the concentration, the catch.  “Where was I?  Yeah, you want J.B.  I’m not saying he’s not an asshole.”

     “Because he is.”

     “Exactly.  Doesn’t change the fact you want him.  And he has a woman, and we both know you’ve had your share of attached men.”

     “I’ve had three girls’ share of attached men.  And if he went along with it, he’d just be a dog.  That’s not what I want.”

     “You’re damned if you do, and, well I guess you’re just damned if you do.  Cheer up and watch the game.”

     Nancy was up and put her hand on the phone.  Jason couldn’t remember he walking over to it; she was just suddenly there.  That, or he was into the game.  “I’m calling Melissa.”  The look on Jason’s face told her that he didn’t much care if she did or not.  “And I’m going to tell her you’re free tonight.”

     The television was off.  Jason practically knocked the chair over getting up.  The look on his face said it all.  Nancy started dialing.

     “Don’t do it, Nancy!”  Jason didn’t realize he was shouting.  His face was beet red, his eyes wide with anger.

     Nancy stopped.  She had heard Jason had a temper but she didn’t think to link it to Melissa.  He was always in a good mood with her.  What the hell was the problem?  The tension was not welcome.

     “She going to be okay?” Carver whispered frm the doorway.  There was no answer.  Nancy and Jason stood there like statues, one enraged, the other terrified.  “Maybe you need to relax.  I’m not going to judge, but I think that one of you has to choose to step out of the room.  Who’s it going to be?”

     “I’ll go.”  Jason mechanically moved, very obviously fighting to find some calm.  “Don’t make that phone call.”

     Carver asked the question with his eyes.

     “Melissa,” Nancy mouthed.

     Carver merely shrugged.

     True to his word, Larry Pudenski finished.  Everything was done, and he and Carver got Jason out of there without further incident.  Nancy still wasn’t at ease about it.  She couldn’t honor Jason’s demand.  She had to make that phone call.

     “Hello, is Melissa there?”  The girl on the other end didn’t answer right away.  Then she made it as hard as possible to actually get Melissa on the phone.  That didn’t help at all.

     “Yeah?”

     “Missy?”

     “Nancy?  What’s wrong?”  Melissa could hear the tremor on the other end.  She had talked to Jason about Nancy just the night before, and Jason was sure that she and J.B. would get together.  Was that it?

     “Jason was just here.”

     That was worse.

     “He has some project involving Larry.” Nancy offered that to put the unasked question to rest.  “I jokingly said I was going to call you and say that he was free tonight, and he went ballistic.”

     And?  Melissa could see it happening.  “You shouldn’t have done that, then.”

     “Is he like that with you?”

     “No.”

     “Then what was it?”

     “Nancy,” Melissa sighed, “I know you might not understand, but Jason is losing his friends.  He and Pudenski are family, really, so they’ll always be close, at heart.  But after he starts working on his Ph.D., he isn’t gong to be hanging out with Carver, Burke, or any of us.  Maybe not J.B., whether he decided to get off his ass and finally try to be a doctor.  He’ll be immersed in academia, and it’s going to help him to do that.”

     “He doesn’t have to leave us behind.  ‘Us’ as in you?”

     “I hope not, but probably.”  Melissa coughed.  “I love him Nancy, and I’d like to think that he loves me, but I think anything’s possible.  He could walk away from Carver?  Then he could do the same with me.”

     Nancy didn’t want to make Melissa feel bad.  She wanted to know why Jason got so angry.  If it anyone else, she could have just asked Jason.  Maybe she still would.  “Okay, sorry about all that.  But why did he get so angry about it?”

     “The truth?”  Melissa didn’t wait for Nancy to respond.  “We haven’t spent a weekend together in over a month.  And I’ve been after him a bit.  Women have needs.”

     Sex?  Jason got angry because he didn’t want to have sex with his beautiful girlfriend?  “Wait.”

     “It’s not exactly what you think.”

     “That he’s insane.”

     “There are details I’m not going to get into, but Jason wants a night with the guys.  We’ll spend some other time together.  School is paramount.”

     “Are you studying?”

     “Not tonight.”

     “Do you want to come down and hang out?”

     “You’re not propositioning me, are you, Miss Klein?”

     Nancy laughed.  “I know you’re not into girls.  And neither am I.  I’ll keep the door open for you.”

     “See you in an hour.”