Another Cheesy Romance Novel (standard:drama, 4656 words)
Author: Kinslayer	Added: Oct 07 2003	Views/Reads: 5614/2734	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is FINALLY the complete version of "As a Reminder." I use complete very loosely because its far from finished but it does have an ending.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


I rolled down the window as she was walking away, “Do you like Robert
Judge?” I yelled. 

She stopped, “Of course, he's my favorite author.” She replied, picking
up her book. As she walked away she asked, “By the way, I never caught 
your name.” 

“Its Ervin, Alex Ervin.” I lied. 

Light was coming through the blinds and into the house. I walked into
the kitchen and pulled a bottle of developer from under the sink, I 
wondered if Holly remembered who I was. 

My bedroom was empty, aside from a cot in the corner. I was careful to
shut the door behind me and stuff a towel in the crack. Working my way 
through the room I stumbled into the closet and clicked on the overhead 
light. A dim red glow illuminated the room. 

Pictures hung everywhere, each one of Holly. Some had been blackened
around the edges, creating a framed effect. I tried to cover up the 
shots taken where, unfortunately, her ex boyfriend had snuck into the 
frame. He infuriated me. 

The next time I saw Holly was a week later. Again she wanted to share a
cab and I accepted. 

“How have you been?” she asked. 

“Pretty good, just had a meeting with an author to revise his story.” 

“Really? Anyone I would know?” 

“Maybe? Ever hear of Robert Judge.” 

“Remember,” she grinned, “He's my favorite author!” 

“I think I remember you saying something about that.” I remembered and
had been looking for a way to drop his name into the conversation. I 
hoping it might help me to get closer to her. 

“What book is he working on now?” 

“It's the third book in the peasant girl saga.” 

“Wow! That's great. Do you like his books?" 

“Yeah, he's a great author.” Saying it made my mouth sour, like I was
chewing on a battery. How could someone so wonderful like that 
atrocious man? 

“So what is he like?” 

He is vulgar, foul, not an ounce of talent. “Oh, he's a nice guy I
guess.” Thinking it through very carefully I told her. “You know, I 
could introduce you.” 

“Would you!” She was exited; she seemed to jump from her seat. 

“Of course, I'll talk it over with him first, but he's always glad to
meet a fan.” 

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.” 

“Not a problem, just remember to bring any books you want signed.” 

“I will.” As we arrived at her apartment I received a hug and a kiss on
the cheek. 

“Here's my card,” she said “give me a call sometime next week. I should
be available then.” 

“OK.” I waved goodbye 

As we drove away, the conclusion was reached that I needed an apartment
that was in the north end of town. I couldn't afford the rides home 
much longer. 

Grabbing my coat, I headed out the door, my photo's needed to rinse a
few hours, so I headed to Sonny's Tavern. As I opened the door, smoke 
billowed out. The few habitual drunkards were there. My friend Miles 
Farris was supposed to meet me here. We were habitual drunks as well. 

Miles was in a corner shooting pool, a thick smoke hung over the table
and an ashtray sat overflowing and smoldering. He was a chain smoker. 

“Hey, Miles.” I called across the bar. He looked up and waved me over. I
stopped by the bar on my way and picked up a beer. 

“How you doing Derek?” Derek George was my real name. 

“Alright.” 

“When you going to invite me over again.” I never invited anyone. 

“Sometime Miles, mind if I join you?” 

“You rack, I break.” He replied. “How are things going with Holly?” 

“I don't talk to her anymore.” Talking about her made me nervous. 

“You shouldn't let it trouble you, just ask her out. Take her to a nice
restaurant.” 

“I don't want to get involved in her life.” 

“Man! Look at you; all you do is mope around. You need to get a life.”
The balls clacked around the table. “You meet a pretty girl, you don't 
even take the time to get to know her and lord knows all you do is talk 
about her.” 

I lined up my shot. “Can we stop talking about her now.” Miles had been
my good friend since college. He was the only person I could really 
talk to. 

“Sure buddy, no problem.” I chalked my stick while Miles shot. “Find a
new job yet?” 

He sure knew how to pick a conversation. “Haven't been looking.” 

“Good, you deserve a vacation.” As he said it He furrowed his brow.  We
took turns hitting balls in, and then decided to play another. As I put 
in the quarters a man walked up to Miles. 

“I've been waiting for this table.” The man stood a good foot over
Miles. 

“Soon as we're done, you can have it.” Miles lit a cigarette and stared
coldly at the man. 

“I wanted the next game.” He clinched his jaw while he said it. You
could see his muscles tighten under his “Livingston Trucking” shirt. 

“Well, I guess you'll have to wait till we finish this one then friend.”
Miles replied condescendingly. 

The trucker took a swing at Miles who ducked the shot, then tossed his
cigarette in the truckers face and kneed him in the groin. The large 
man doubled over and Miles cracked his pool stick across the back of 
his neck. 

The bartender called across the bar, “You! Get out of my bar now!” 

Miles shrugged, “I didn't want to play another game anyway.” He tossed
the broken stick at the man who was crumpled on the floor. “Guess the 
tables yours friend.” 

I walked Miles out to his car. “You want a ride?” He asked. 

“No, I'll walk. It's not that far.” 

“Suit yourself.” As he drove away I couldn't help but think about the
fight I just witnessed. Miles was very antagonistic. I envied him. 

Papers lay scattered across my office, forty-seven pages worth, that
Mark had decided to let me edit. Before he had left the office I had 
torn the pages from his makeshift binding and let them fall 
eclectically. Another successful meeting you could say, we both were 
angry and he stormed out of the building. 

On a lighter note however, he did agree to meet with Holly on Friday. I
pulled her card from my wallet, it read, 

Vacation and Travel Field Associate Holly Coddle 

I dialed the number. 

“This is Holly, how may I be of service?” 

I could think of a few ways. “Holly? Its Derek.” 

“Who?” 

I had screwed up, why did I lie in the first place. “Alex,” saying as if
I was repeating it. 

“Hey Alex, how are you?” 

“Good, “ I sighed, “I'm just calling to say that Robert would be glad to
meet you Friday.” 

“That's great, can I bring some books for him to sign?” 

“Sounds good, how about three?” 

“Three it is.” 

I gave her directions on how to reach the office, as it turned out she
was only four blocks away. After I had hung up the phone I picked the 
papers from off the ground. Tripe, every page was worse then the one 
before. Thinking back on that day, I should have tossed those papers in 
the trash, but something possessed me to hold onto them. Out of spite I 
never kept copies of Marks work, but that day I decided to start. 

A light knocking came from my office door so I got up and answered it.
Holly was smiling at me from around the frame. 

“Hello Holly my dear,” I cast the door open, my desk had a neat pile of
papers on it, “come in.” I gestured to the man sitting in front of my 
desk, “Holly this is Robert.” 

He stood to his feet and smiled graciously, “It is a pleasure to meet
you Holly, and I hear you are a fan?” He damn well knew she was a fan, 
I told him all about her. Why did he play these games? 

“Oh yes for some years now, I've read them all except Cold November.” I
stood next to her, feeling I had to defend my ground. 

I might as well not have existed watching Holly blush while she looked
at Mark, and he, looking her up and down. He might as well have been 
licking his lips. 

“Holly, don't you have some books for him to sign?” 

“Yeah I have them here,” she began fumbling through a bag she had at her
waist, as she did so three books fell to the floor. Bending down to 
pick them up both Mark and Holly caught each other's eyes. It was like 
a bad scene in one of his stories, as they both looked up after 
retrieving the books from the ground. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You know,” Mark said, and I felt it coming, “I'm not doing anything
this evening. Would you like to join me for dinner?” 

I felt my heart push past my throat, “Will you two excuse me for a
moment.” I croaked. I headed down the hall and into the restroom; there 
I stayed for an hour. When I returned they both had left, a little 
Post-it-Note on my computer read, “Thanks Derek, I owe you.” A large 
elaborate signature followed. Pulling my nameplate from out of my 
drawer and grabbing my coat, I sighed. Who did I think was being 
fooled? 

The next Monday my boss called me into his office. 

“I need you to show more respect for Mr. Thatcher.” 

“What?” 

“I've had complaints, he says you don't get along. He wanted a new
editor but I assured him you were the best we had.” 

I thought for a moment, “He doesn't take criticism well.” 

“Its not your job to criticize, just make sure the grammar and
punctuation are correct and call it good. For Christ sake you threw his 
own manuscripts and notes in his face!” 

He continued talking but I don't recall what he said. I found myself
starring at a paperweight on his desk. It was bronze and oblong in 
shape. An oval hole went through the top of it, clearly “modern art” 
that could be classified as tasteless if not tacky. It was too heavy to 
be of any use and if there was a message behind it, I failed to get it. 


“Do you understand Derek?” 

“Hmm, yeah I get it, let the baby have its toy.” 

“Not funny, but you get the point.” He shook his head, “What the hell
where you thinking?” 

Again I found my eyes wondering to the behemoth that he called a
paperweight. The overhead light made a glair off of its surface making 
it out to look like a squat fat Pac-man. I pictured it moving across 
his desk back and forth munching on stacks of paper, it made me giggle. 


“What is so damn funny?” He had continued talking and it was apparent
that I chose an inopportune time to chuckle. 

“Sorry sir, nothing.” 

“Then you may go.” 

I went back to my office and began going through page after page of
Mark's story, making small notes and connotations as I found points of 
interest. After going through the entire story I went back to the 
beginning and started my own. 

I used the same premise he did, but I allowed the words to flow more
fluidly leaving hints to an ending most unexpected. The story remained 
true to his but contained more depth then anything that clown could 
even conceive. The entire time I typed, I laughed. It had been awhile 
since I had felt that good. I stayed three hours after everyone had 
left the office and no one bothered to stop and say good night. They 
must have been too scared from all the laughter. 

In the end I had finished the story, my story. 

“Am I to believe that you threw your stapler at Mr. Thatcher.” I was
getting the third degree from my boss. He had received a phone call 
demanding my termination from the company. 

“Yes,” I replied with no better excuse because it was true. He had
stepped over that fine line and pissed me off. 

“I didn't want to do this, you were a good employee,” I already saw what
was coming. “Derek, your fired. I want you to clear out your desk by 
this evening. Leave whatever belongs to the company.” 

Again I was spacing off, watching the paperweight bounce back and forth
across his desk, and then jumping into my bosses face, shattering his 
nose and sending him backwards through the glass pane. Standing up I 
watched as he fell five stories and landed on top of a car, its alarm 
going off and echoing through the street. The thought made me chuckle. 

“Are you listening to me, you need to clear out your desk by the end of
the day. Mark is getting a new editor. God Derek, why did you do it? 
Normal people don't behave that way." 

I made myself look thoughtful, but knew why I did it. He had stolen
Holly away from me, and for that it would be easy for me too do much 
more then throw a stapler at him. I would have cut out his eyes and 
pissed in the sockets or took a straight razor and made a Pez dispenser 
out of his neck. Instead of airing all this to my boss I chose a more 
civil approach, “Can I have my 401K forms.” 

He shook his head, disappointment washed over his face, “Sure Derek,
hold on.” He began digging through the filing cabinet behind him. 

As he turned his back to me I grabbed the paperweight. For a brief
moment its hollow eyes seemed to stare back at me. It seemed to be 
smiling. I held it below the level of his desk, then when he turned 
around and handed me my file I placed the paperweight behind it making 
sure it was concealed. 

“I suppose that's it,” he stood to shake my hand, “it was nice working
with you.” 

I shook his hand, “You too,” Then I turned and walked out the door,
keeping the file in front of my body until I reached my office. Someone 
had left me a voice mail, checking it I learned that I was going to 
move into the apartment I applied for. Not a moment to soon either. It 
looked like I was going to have plenty of time to move. 

Looking around the room I saw scraps of what my life had been in the
last fifteen years. Photographs of Miles and I hiking the Grand Canyon, 
birthday cards I had gathered over the years, and a snapshot of me 
receiving an award in college. All of these got left behind. I walked 
out of the office holding a small box. It contained the paperweight, 
the file and the story that had been re written. It was finished and I 
used my own ending. Now the story seemed like something new, something 
beautiful. It was not just another cheesy romance novel. It was 
literature. 

The day before I was fired had been trying; Mark strolled through my
door nonchalantly. When I saw him that day it took all the strength I 
could muster not to spill his blood across my carpet. 

“Man, I owe you,” Mark bragged, “Holly is a tasty viddle.” 

I barely looked up from his pages, but made a point to streak a thick
red line across a page. 

“Seriously, I wined and dined her all night, we ended up spending the
whole weekend together.” 

“Hmmmmm,” I retorted. 

“Where did you go anyway? We waited for a half hour before we took off.”


I could have said anything, the coffee shop, the boss's office or told
the truth, but I didn't. “I don't know.” 

“You don't know,” chuckled Mark, “come on man you can tell me.” 

“I did. Why do you insist on talking to me while I review your work.” 

“Making sure your doin your job, lord knows if I wasn't here you would
cut my work to shreds.” 

Calm. 

“Its called editing Mark, taking out the bad parts. Like you would do
with an apple.” 

“Whatever you call it, it takes my work and bastardizes it.” Calm. “Man,
I can't get Holly out of my head.” 

“I know what you mean.” I whispered it, words meant only for me. 

“We talked about you ya know.” 

I looked up, “Really?”  It was a ray of light in the cold dark box my
weekend was. 

“Yeah, she likes you. Thinks you're nice, that bull shit. She said she
was transferred here from Buffalo. Hasn't met anyone. You were the 
first person she had a real conversation with.” 

Trying to keep the smile from peeling off my lips was like trying to
keep a secret. “Yeah, she's a nice girl.” 

“Nice? Yeah I suppose you could use that word. Hell cat works better.” 

“What?” I had heard him us that term before and I was hoping he didn't
mean it in the same context. 

“She's dirty man, easiest Philly I ever charmed.” 

“What?” 

“I mean nothing happened Friday, we kissed Saturday, but fucking
Sunday...” 

No control, hand went down, stapler came up then crashed into the wall
just behind Mark. 

“Fucking Shit!” 

Then, he was gone. 

“So you were fired?” 

“Yeah, apparently I'm not a team player.” Miles and I had decided to
take a break from moving me into my new apartment. 

“Well, at least you have cheaper rent here,” there stood a long
uncomfortable silence, “what are you going to do now?” 

I hadn't really thought about it, now that Mark and Holly were an “item”
my apartment seemed null of the ambition I used to get in it. 

“I'm taking a break from the mundane life that is editing, maybe I'll
write a book, or start as a freelance journalist.” I didn't really plan 
to do those things. I was more oriented towards lying in bed and 
sleeping. I took some photography classes in college maybe I would do 
that. 

“We should go kick his ass,” Miles blurted. 

“Who?” 

“Robert, he stole your woman from under your nose.” 

“That won't fix anything.” 

“No, but it would make you feel better.” 

Miles was right but I wasn't the violent person Miles was, I was less
reactive. 

I stumbled home from the bar one evening. It was about one o'clock and
my feet were dragging from all the beer contained in one leg. The 
pressure to relieve myself overcame my will to walk home so I ducked 
into an alley. Leaning on the wall with one hand and directing the 
spray of urine in the other made me think of how far I had fallen. 

“It's fine baby, you can stay at my place.” 

I heard someone coming so I zipped up and stumbled onto the sidewalk. 

“Holy shit!” 

Holy shit was right, Mark stood in front of me his arm around a dainty
figure. She was too thin, that creepy kind of thin where you might 
break the person if you hug them too hard. I was done talking to Mark; 
I never spoke to him again. 

“Who the hell are you.” I muttered to the woman. 

“Dana.” 

I replied condescendingly, “Well Dana, did you know this man is an
author?” 

“Yes,” she said coyly. 

“Good. Did you know he is seeing another woman?” I had a point to reach.


“No.” 

“Go home Dana, Mr. Thatcher and I have something to discuss.” 

“But I thought he was Robert Jud....” 

“Just go.” 

She continued down the street while Mark stood in front of me. 

“Hey man listen, tail is tail it doesn't...” 

A hard left hook sent Mark stumbling into the alleyway. 

“Jesus,” Mark whimpered. 

Mark started to run down the alley so I chased him. He had almost
reached the middle of the alley when it dawned on me, I had a mid size 
paperweight in my jacket pocket. Pulling it out I gave it a hurl. It 
landed against Marks left temple and sent him to the ground. 

Standing over him made me feel I had accomplished something. He
whimpered and whined but it was too late. I laced my fingers through 
the hole in the paperweight and pulled it up, after that life was slow 
motion. I repeatedly brought the weight down against his face. When 
you're angry the world seems muted. His head bounced of the pavement 
and although I only hit him about ten times he lay motionless. Knowing 
he wasn't alive anymore, I dropped the paperweight and grabbed his 
wallet. On the way home I ditched it in a dumpster, after I removed the 
one thousand fifty three dollars. 

The next day I bought a camera and everything I would need to make my
own darkroom. 

“Do you have any copies of Whisper Soft, it was due for the printer
yesterday. Now I'm stuck paying a fee.” 

“Doesn't Mark have one?” 

“He's dead Derek. Don't you read the paper?” 

“Yeah I read it. Listen, I do have a completed copy I was given before I
left.” 

“Great, perfect, can you bring it down, we will give you a sum out of
petty cash if you do.” 

“Sure,” I replied, “I'll be there in half an hour.” 

I burst through my door and downstairs to catch a cab, it was
unbelievable. I was going to have something printed. It might not of 
been in my name, but I would always know it was mine. 

That was yesterday morning. This morning I wait for the police. They
found the paperweight lying next to his body and traced it back to my 
ex boss. Once they lifted my fingerprints off of it they would come and 
bust through my door. I gathered up the pictures I had taken of Holly 
and stashed them in my coat pockets. I'm sitting in a chair watching 
the door, any minute a tear gas grenade is going to come through the 
window and the SWAT team will bust down my door. 

Do I regret what I've done? No and probably never will, but I do regret
not asking Holly out. 

A knock comes from the door, maybe the police are going to handle this
is in a calm and quiet manner. I wouldn't have guessed it with the 
brutality of the murder; they'll probably lock me in a padded cell. 

I swing the door open... 

“Hello,” came a quiet, calm and exquisite voice. 

“Holly,” was my reply. She nods and wipes her nose with a tissue. Her
eyes look red and swollen like she has been crying. 

“Did you hear about Robert?” she asks. 

“Yeah, I'm sorry,” I am too. Not sorry that he is dead, sorry that I had
made Holly hurt. 

“I barely knew the guy, but I really could use someone to talk to. I ran
into your friend Miles at the bar a few weeks ago. He gave me your 
address and I kept meaning to come see you. Can I come in and talk.” 

“How about we go for a walk in the park, get some fresh air.” 

She smiles, laughs and nods all at the same time. 

We walk through the building and out the front door. It is a brisk cool
fall morning and we hurry across the street and into the park. Sirens 
sound in the distance and Holly pauses to see what is happening. Three 
police cars and a fire truck all come to a screeching halt outside my 
building. One man stands in the street with a load speaker and yells. 

“Mr. Derek George, please stay calm. We are sending a team up to get
you, do not resist or we will have to use force.” 

Putting my arm around Holly I continue down the path into the park. 

“Do you know who that is Alex?” 

“No,” I replied, “Never heard of him.” 

“He must have done something terrible to have the police chasing him.” 

“Maybe, or maybe he was just a victim of circumstances.” 

The End 


Tweet