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Posted By: Berry Nov 19, 2004 - 04:13 am

Hi, this is the first chapter of my story, it may not seem like a fantasy story at this point. i would really like any feedback i can get. including problems with style, structure as well as whether anyone has enjyed it or not.
Thanks Berry.

Chapter 1

Flicking On the light and dropping her bag at the door she looked to the answering machine, 3 messages, with a large sigh of someone who knows that the next few minutes of their life is going to be deeply annoying she pressed play. First message a similar voice though with a good few years on her own – Evening darling, I am just checking to see how you are, can’t have you coming home to an empty house and no-one checking on you, don’t want you to end up like that old Mrs Freeman two roads over… she waited for the punch line or rather just the punch… she didn’t get found for 2 weeks you know, anyway, I’m having a lunch for the whole cast of the play, darling you will come won’t you it will be at Marshall’s on Tuesday, round 6ish, (only her mother would call 6pm lunchtime) try to wear something alluring would you dumpling? Have to pop out now I’m having dinner…with Roberto, bye love.
Roberto, a man that her mother had first thought would be ‘just right for you darling’, this meant he had a job where he is expected to wear a suit not a uniform and had lots of prospects and was single. There was usually a very good reason for these men being single a fact her mother overlooked stating that she was simply too fussy, contrary or both.
Of course to her mother nothing could be more important than her only daughter being married and with child, of course nothing more important than her own much more full dating life with anyone who wasn’t her now long gone husband. Not gone as in departed never to return to the land of the living, gone as in departed to live with his masseuse in a gorgeous penthouse suite, overlooking Hyde Park. She could not mention having visited him to her mother as it tended to make her speech speed up and reach a pitch that attracted the neighbourhood dogs.
The next message was not more encouraging, unless of course she had been dying to upgrade her sky digital package, which obviously, she hadn’t.
The last message of the three was a voice that sounded like honey over gravel over honey asking the owner of the phone out to dinner. Apparently they had met at a club, that she had never been to but had heard testament of it’s ability to throw a party that everyone who was anyone wanted to go to (To be totally clear she had not heard about it more accurately she had read about it in magazines designed to make her feel fat, inadequate in bed and that everyone in London was going to a fabulous party that she would never be invited to.) They had met last night, (when she had been watching documentaries about the English civil war and eating a pot of double cream with a flake) and had hit it off immediately, danced all night and had travelled to paradise (the local B&B) buoyant with new love and excitement. Apparently the mystery woman had not been in such raptures the next morning as she had clearly given out a false number. A smile timidly crawled across her face but changed its mind and decided to bend itself over for a good pout instead. Her moment of sly cheer due to fallen romance of two strangers was soon turned to sadness for the same reason; deep down she wanted to believe that it was possible for love to be that easy, quick and fervent. This last message had shown her a very bleak reality of the state of lovers and relationships these days it was quite clear that even honey man who had swept evil false number bitch off of her feet didn’t do quite enough to make the grade. She did entertain the notion that maybe Mr Honey had been a terrible lover but it did not fit with the very comfortable feeling of hopelessness and injustice that were jostling for prime position in her head.
As she sat down in front of yet another episode of Friends (they were repeating the 2nd series for the 7th time for those unfortunate people who had been in a coma when it first came out and had remained in a coma for 10 years afterwards. Many would suggest that this was a perfectly sensible thing to do and no bad feelings were harboured towards them.) She began to have an idea, it had started small, like the slight barely perceptible shift of a jam jar lid just before you really put your back into it and then hand it to someone else, it slowly gathered into a more formal thought. Then a last minute dive as the sensible and cautious part of her brain had said ‘don’t be stupid’ but then unexpectedly the thought gained enough momentum to break through the cautious barrier and head full steam towards the reckless pathways that had been gathering dust for an age.
Maybe I will go and meet Mr Honey.
The idea was ludicrous of course, it was the sort of thing people do in terrible sit-coms or badly scripted made for TV movies surely normal people wouldn’t hear of it. Of course she would be doing him a service his date was obviously not coming and he would not know that that he had an incorrect number, on purpose. He would be at the restaurant in about 3 hours, waiting, alone, with that yummy voice not talking to anyone.

In minutes she was knee deep in clothes, quite an accomplishment for someone who apparently had nothing to wear. Skirts and trousers flew across the room towards the bed while some were hurled to the floor in disgust either at having chosen the item or at the fact that the item in question could no longer house her growing thighs. Peddle pushers were dismissed and put on a small pile she had mentally labelled ‘to burn’ and some mini skirts that now seemed to form a little tent exposing her bottom when in earlier years the back of the skirt had hugged said bottom in a loving and tasteful fashion were also thrown on the burn pile.
In a mere hour and a half she had chosen a dress and showered, the rest of the next half hour was spent putting on make up taking it off, putting minimal make up, panicking that it wasn’t enough putting more on and then removing it all and going for the natural look. (Obviously the natural look does not work if one isn’t wearing foundation, mascara and lip-gloss)
Ready to leave the house, she listened to the message again, reservations would be in the name of Mr September, she took down the address of the restaurant (it was actually called The Restaurant, the owners found it was much easier to create a hip and happening dining experience with the word ‘The’ placed before it he had used this strategy many times creating the fabulous café ‘The Café ‘ and the infamous ‘The Club’ of course he had the same or at least similar idea in the early 1980’s but the idea had been in French, Le Restaurant, Le Club and Le café had all enjoyed a hip secrecy then a trendy amount of ‘in the know’ fame and then an absolute gate crashing large breasted smash of a success which obviously resulted in no one of note going anywhere near them.)
The restaurant was located in a side street of a side street just off Piccadilly Circus, and was frequented by only the excruciatingly hip, the vomit making rich and a few novelists and artists who hung around nursing a single coffee for 3hours trying to look talented and tortured enough for some one to be their patron. They would line the bar, sallow and unkempt in a stylish way gazing at some unfixed point above them and occasionally having Eureka moments where they would add a few words to their sonnet of a couple of bars to a tune.
She hovered outside for a few minutes just to give herself the chance to lose her nerve and run away but she didn’t. A few strides and she was at the door, a smartly dressed doorman did his duty and she did her best to appear indifferent to the unusual circumstance of any man saying ‘Good evening Madame’ and then opening and holding a door open for her. The maitre D, apart from being a special type of rude and aloof that one can only be if one is aristocracy or obviously terribly terribly hip, was also not programmed to see her. She wasn’t a small woman nor a big one at around 5.5ft she was rather average, her hair a type of brown that one can only describe as brown even with a dictionary and thesaurus at hand was average (though washed and combed with even a type of style implied by the presence of hair clips) her dress was black and slightly sparkly it was her best evening dress, not grand enough to be called a gown was average. She did make a bow to her wanton, woman running with wolves, I am the boss of me sexuality by showing some cleavage. She was and average woman and the Maitre D found it very difficult to acknowledge her presence but she had not that unaffected determination and quiet authority that would allow a person to notice her without trying or making a scene.
‘Excuse me’ she said and prodded the tall thin man studiously reading the booking diary.
“Madame?”
“Table for 2, in the name of September”…please
There followed a moment of slight panic the maitre D was not accustomed to seeing a woman like this, he simply wasn’t paid to see those who were not A - beautiful B –incredibly rich C- terribly trendy D –wonderfully witty and clever or all of these combined. A woman like this should not be sitting in such an establishment and his panic though imperceptible to almost anyone but another maitre D, like everything else he did was thorough. Of course a normal person is ill equipped to sense horror or panic in a maitre D that is the point of them they can keep their sense of aloof superiority even in the face of the ridiculous, the bizarre and even the untrendy. Of course he could see the ‘The Restaurant’ phenomena crumbling before his eyes should a reporter see this woman among his celebrated clientele but he collected himself when realising that there was indeed a reservation in the name of September and he had instructions to show the lady to the table. Of course this only took a few seconds; maitre D time is different to most linear timelines.
“Of course Madame, please follow me”.
They wound their way through a long corridor, heavily embroidered cloth hung from the ceiling , the colours rich and dark creating a womblike feeling, she was really very impressed if this was what was in right now she thoroughly approved. They ended their journey in a room with high ceilings and fans, the dining room was an opium addicts dream, low wooden tables, heavy fabrics in rich colours covered the walls and the diners were sat on richly coloured cushions. Small booths formed most of the intimacy and provided a means of leaning in nonchalant and very cool ways. She was led to one of these tables and ordered a large brandy for her nerves. Sitting alone at this table many things had occurred to her, 1 - maybe Mr September wasn’t coming, after all he had no reply from the message, 2- maybe he wouldn’t appreciate a total stranger showing up for a dinner date, 3 – maybe he would think all the less of her for showing up for said date since it clearly demonstrated not having anything else to do with a Friday evening that could not be cancelled, might he think her desperate? Of course he will she was bloody desperate. All these thoughts and fears welled up inside her, even her brandy did not seem to quell them, so obviously she had another.
3 brandies later she was joined at the table by the maitre D with Mr September in tow she was dazzled by him and utterly taken in, it took moments. He wasn’t tall but he was taller than her, his skin was pale and his eyes deep blue, the suit of dark green along with the hombre made him a classic stranger from a Bogart movie, or so she thought. A white smile with the hint of cheekiness finished her off. He did not look surprised to see her, how very odd she had thought before immediately dismissing it and assuming that he was just super cool.

Posted By: Bmat Nov 19, 2004 - 10:16 am

to look to something means to take care of it. Perhaps here the word "at" or "toward" would work better.

The first sentence could be broken into two sentences. There is need of better punctuation to make the story easier to understand. BTW,at this site it helps to have ample spacing between paragraphs to make it easier to read. Also, the post is very long and may discourage readers. It could help to break it into a couple posts.

Anyway, back to reading. First paragraph. The idea and the personalities are interesting, but the punctuation makes it confusing.

I stopped reading midway through the third paragraph. It was too hard to see with the big block of words. However, what I read is fascinating, and I would be glad to read more- maybe later when I have more time.

So in answer to your request, I give it a thumbs up for writing. You have a way of expressing yourself that is pleasing.

Posted By: Berry Nov 23, 2004 - 07:12 am

Thanks Bmat
you centered on the very things I have the most problems with. I have great difficulty with punctuation as I never really learnt the rules at school. I am going to get someone to help with my grammer/punctuation problem. I am glad you like it though. I hope you will read the next part, of course I'll try to sort out the confusiing aspects before I post next time.

Posted By: talisman Nov 26, 2004 - 11:53 am

Its good, but some parts need tightening up a bit. Some of the paragraphs ramble a little - it comes across as if you're writing as you're thinking the scene up, which is good, but you need to go through and cut lines out in places.

I like the humour thrown in between the thoughts and events. It all flows very nicely - reminds me of Douglas Adams' style of writing a bit lol
Whether it would be lost on some non-British readers I don't know. Certainly some of the references you make e.g. sky digital package would need to be explained more (and the first letters capitalised)

Nice writing though, I'll read the 2nd chapter now.