Call Me Joe Read Online Free Page A
Author: Steven J Patrick
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Retail
romantic to believe that it'll happen. If I don't cave in every time one doesn't work out. The perfect woman could have stood eyeing you at a crosswalk, anytime during the past eight+ years. And you ignored her."
"I've always believed that if it's meant to happen, it'll happen no matter what I do," I replied.
"Man, how old are you?" Eddie fumed. "You get that one out of a Hallmark card? Your mommy tell you that?"
"As a matter of fact," I smiled, "she did."
Eddie squirmed a little and sighed noisily.
"Jesus, don't tell her I said that, okay?" he muttered. "I'm still in the crapper for the Thanksgiving sausage fiasco."
"You couldn't have known," I shrugged, "my family is Southern. When we ask for sausage, we mean pork breakfast sausage - patties, not links - and definitely not Italian sausage."
"So I heard," Eddie winced, "I figure she can be forgiven a few misconceptions in the romance department, seeing as she carries the immense burden of being related to you."
"But," he continued, "that doesn't change the fact that - forgive me, Peggy - the 'No Matter What I Do' strategy is a load of crap. You think you're shy and clueless? Think how intimidated a woman would be, faced with a 6'4", 240 pound, dark'n'scruffy stranger wearing a reflexive scowl. Would you strike up a conversation with you?"
"No," I admitted, "but she could. I'm not gonna bite her. Not at first."
"She doesn't know that!" Eddie yelped. "Dude, you look how you look. Nothin' you can do about that. But you can change your manner. I know - and people who already know you know - that you're a good guy and, in fact, the biggest marshmallow on the planet. But she doesn't. Tell me this: Why are we friends at all?"
"Umm...because we have a lot of stuff in common?" I ventured.
"That's part of why we remain friends," he shot back. "We became friends because you started a conversation with me."
"Well," I shrugged, "you were six feet away and had a bunch of Zappa CDs."
"Yeah, but I wasn't about to start a conversation with you," he grinned.
"Why the hell not?" I asked indignantly.
"Because you're this big spooky white m'fucker!" Eddie laughed. "Ain't no brotha chattin' you up, fool!"
Eddie chuckled and leaned back in his chair.
"Now, I feel that way," he smiled, "Just think how a woman's gonna feel."
"Yikes," I sighed.
I was walking along the waterfront, later that evening, trying to assimilate what Eddie and Dave had said.
The sunset was another of those splashy extravaganzas for which Seattle is famous. Peaches and pale lemons, just above the Olympic Mountains, grudgingly surrendered to dusty reds, hot pinks, and purple the color of a fresh bruise. All around downtown, the fading sky wore a deep satiny shade of lavender.
I never watched sunsets before I came to Seattle. In North Carolina, Scrotes and I used to sit in rocking chairs of an evening and talk, over a few fingers of bourbon. Gorgeous as the sunsets were, it was mostly about the conversation and genteel company, not the lovely skies. Hell, we were young. What did we know?
"Little" stuff like sunsets take on a poignancy as you get older, I've noticed. Maybe it's the days, the strong suspicion that they're numbered...and the certainty that we don't know the number. In any case, my days tend to power down about the time the western sky lights up. It's the time when I do some of my best thinking.
Then, and when I'm in the can, of course.
I was pondering the subject of solitary middle-aged males, an old puzzle, and its effect on those closest to me, a brand new topic.
It never occurred to me that bachelorhood - a condition I've wallowed in since my tempestuous divorce at age 29 - might be anything other than a source of mild amusement to my family and friends. Well, check that. My Mom and Dad were concerned and said so in practically every conversation, but I had always written that
"I've always believed that if it's meant to happen, it'll happen no matter what I do," I replied.
"Man, how old are you?" Eddie fumed. "You get that one out of a Hallmark card? Your mommy tell you that?"
"As a matter of fact," I smiled, "she did."
Eddie squirmed a little and sighed noisily.
"Jesus, don't tell her I said that, okay?" he muttered. "I'm still in the crapper for the Thanksgiving sausage fiasco."
"You couldn't have known," I shrugged, "my family is Southern. When we ask for sausage, we mean pork breakfast sausage - patties, not links - and definitely not Italian sausage."
"So I heard," Eddie winced, "I figure she can be forgiven a few misconceptions in the romance department, seeing as she carries the immense burden of being related to you."
"But," he continued, "that doesn't change the fact that - forgive me, Peggy - the 'No Matter What I Do' strategy is a load of crap. You think you're shy and clueless? Think how intimidated a woman would be, faced with a 6'4", 240 pound, dark'n'scruffy stranger wearing a reflexive scowl. Would you strike up a conversation with you?"
"No," I admitted, "but she could. I'm not gonna bite her. Not at first."
"She doesn't know that!" Eddie yelped. "Dude, you look how you look. Nothin' you can do about that. But you can change your manner. I know - and people who already know you know - that you're a good guy and, in fact, the biggest marshmallow on the planet. But she doesn't. Tell me this: Why are we friends at all?"
"Umm...because we have a lot of stuff in common?" I ventured.
"That's part of why we remain friends," he shot back. "We became friends because you started a conversation with me."
"Well," I shrugged, "you were six feet away and had a bunch of Zappa CDs."
"Yeah, but I wasn't about to start a conversation with you," he grinned.
"Why the hell not?" I asked indignantly.
"Because you're this big spooky white m'fucker!" Eddie laughed. "Ain't no brotha chattin' you up, fool!"
Eddie chuckled and leaned back in his chair.
"Now, I feel that way," he smiled, "Just think how a woman's gonna feel."
"Yikes," I sighed.
I was walking along the waterfront, later that evening, trying to assimilate what Eddie and Dave had said.
The sunset was another of those splashy extravaganzas for which Seattle is famous. Peaches and pale lemons, just above the Olympic Mountains, grudgingly surrendered to dusty reds, hot pinks, and purple the color of a fresh bruise. All around downtown, the fading sky wore a deep satiny shade of lavender.
I never watched sunsets before I came to Seattle. In North Carolina, Scrotes and I used to sit in rocking chairs of an evening and talk, over a few fingers of bourbon. Gorgeous as the sunsets were, it was mostly about the conversation and genteel company, not the lovely skies. Hell, we were young. What did we know?
"Little" stuff like sunsets take on a poignancy as you get older, I've noticed. Maybe it's the days, the strong suspicion that they're numbered...and the certainty that we don't know the number. In any case, my days tend to power down about the time the western sky lights up. It's the time when I do some of my best thinking.
Then, and when I'm in the can, of course.
I was pondering the subject of solitary middle-aged males, an old puzzle, and its effect on those closest to me, a brand new topic.
It never occurred to me that bachelorhood - a condition I've wallowed in since my tempestuous divorce at age 29 - might be anything other than a source of mild amusement to my family and friends. Well, check that. My Mom and Dad were concerned and said so in practically every conversation, but I had always written that
Readers choose
Ben Montgomery
Carolee Dean
Anthony Blackie
J.R. Rain
Tina Folsom
Isabel Wilkerson
Dave Duncan
Lisa Lang Blakeney
Jack Lasenby