For her work on this installment as well as on Ch. 01, I am deeply indebted to my editor, sleeplessgurl. For taking the time from her own illustrious writing to vastly improve my own, and for making the whole process more enjoyable than it has any reasonable right to be, I am eternally grateful.
*
Walking the tree-lined streets from the campus to downtown, Eve thought about the new chapter that was about to start in her life. Professor Michaels was obviously interested in her. He went out of his way to compliment her writing and even to smile at her in class. Now, he'd invited her to his home, on a weekend, for their tutorial. His intent was clear. He wanted a place where they could meet in private. Where they wouldn't be interrupted. No, they were definitely about to embark on a relationship. The only question was what kind and how it would unfold.
As she passed the boutiques and mom-and-pop stores on her way to Professor Michaels' house, among the window-shopping retirees and bustling students, Eve was feeling pretty good. He had picked her after all. Of all the women he could have, she was the one he wanted. She glanced at herself in the reflection of a store window, striding in her tight jeans and jacket, her blonde hair flowing. Her full breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her blouse. She was feeling really confident.
She had worn her sexy underwear - the thong and push-up bra -- just in case. She didn't know how fast things would progress after all. Professor Michaels was married but everyone who read the blogs knew he and his wife were separated. Eve was ready for any eventuality.
There was still some time before her 2pm meeting with Professor Michaels so she decided to grab a cup of coffee. She stopped in the Daily Grind, a café popular with students. It was packed, as usual. After she ordered, she heard a voice.
"Hey Eve!"
She looked around and saw David, a student from her creative writing class, waving to her. He was seated by himself in front of an open laptop. She went over to say hi.
"Whatcha doin'?" David asked. He was quite handsome--a first-year grad student with a surfer boy mien. A former theater major and actor, he was making the transition to writing.
"Just walking. You know...to clear the head." She decided not to tell him she was on her way to a rendezvous with their professor.
"I know. I'm working on my story and it's driving me nuts. Michaels has me rewriting it top to bottom."
"Me too," she smiled. "No fun."
"Hey, after you get your coffee, do you want join me? We could trade sob stories."
"Uh, sure. I only have a few minutes though. I...have an appointment."
She got her latte and sat down at the small, round table. David leaned in, conspiratorially.
"So, what do you think of Michaels?"
If you only knew, David. If you only knew.
"He's okay. Seems to know his stuff."
"No kidding. It's kinda intimidating when you consider all the awards he's won. What was the last one? The National Book Award, or something?"
"Yeah, he's not exactly lacking for street cred."
She took a sip of her latte. She tried hard not to reveal anything about her feelings for Professor Michaels.
"So, Eve, what did you do before this? Tell me about yourself."
"Not much to tell. English major. Decided I wanted to be a writer. Heard about the writing program here and made the move."
"And you're a junior right?"
"Yep."
"Very impressive. Making it in a graduate seminar."
"I think I they wanted to skew the average age or something."
David laughed. He had a nice laugh. Very warm and real.
"You know, Eve, I wanted to tell you I really liked what you said in class. You know, about writing as a way of reaching people. It really resonated with me. I always thought that if I can both entertain people and make them think, or somehow see the world differently--then I'd achieve my goal as a writer. You know what I mean?"
"I know exactly what you mean. That's how I feel. I think this headlong pursuit of money, or awards for that matter, is so misguided. Don't get me wrong. I want to support myself as a writer. I want to do well. But it can't only be about that. That'll leave you...I don't know...spiritually bankrupt."
David raised his coffee cup in a toast.
"Here's to being starving writers," he said with a smile.
She smiled back, then glanced at her watch.
"Oh, I gotta go."
"Listen," said David. "Um, I was wondering...would you like to get together later? I'd like to bounce some ideas around about my story. Are you free tonight by any chance?"
Eve gave him a look.
"You're not asking me out are you?"
"No, no," he smiled. "Just collegial. You know, one starving writer to another."
She nodded. "Uh-huh." She thought a moment.
Eve, a hot guy with brains wants to hang out with you. Why are you hesitating?
"Sure. Why not? I live at Bowman residence. You want to meet there around seven?"
"Great. I'll see you at seven."
"OK. See you then."
She gave him a smile and headed for the door.
Jeez. Months of nothing, then two guys. When it rains it pours.
Walking on Professor Michaels' street, she was struck by beauty of the stately, two-story homes. Each one with its distinctive architecture and carefully-maintained yard. This was a great neighborhood to have a home and a family. Eve thought about what a life with Professor Michaels might be like.
A lot of professors end up with one of their students. What starts as infatuation, pure physical attraction, evolves into something deeper. It's been known to happen. Or maybe we'll be secret lovers. Teacher and student by day, passionate lovers by night. Indulging our sexual appetites. Taking sexual pleasure to new heights. I wonder if he'll come on to me as soon as I arrive? Or feel me out first. To make sure I feel the same way. I wonder what he's like in bed. I bet he's great. Thank God I wore my sexy underwear.
She finally reached his address and ascended the steps to ring the doorbell. The door opened and Professor Michaels was standing in front of her--six feet tall with brown, wavy hair and dark, intelligent eyes. She flashed her green eyes back at him.
"Hello."
"Eve," Professor Michaels said, smiling. "Come in. Please."
He was wearing jeans and a work shirt. He looked younger than he did on campus. More relaxed and casual.
"You have a beautiful house," Eve said looking at the largely empty living room.
"Well, I'm still moving in, as you can see. But it has good bone structure. Let me take your jacket. Can I offer you a drink of something?"
Whoa. Moving fast. Better keep your head.
"Water's fine."
"Water it is. Make yourself at home."
He smiled and receded to the kitchen.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she took it all in: Arts and Crafts home, recently renovated, dark wood interior, molded ceilings and hardwood floors. Partially-opened boxes lined the wall next to the large fireplace. The only furniture was an antique easy chair with a reading lamp.
So this is what the home of a prize-winning author is like. Not bad.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet me here," he called from the kitchen. "I have to meet with my publisher on Monday and it's done a number on my schedule. Plus, the movers are coming today and I have to be here all day. Anyway, I appreciate it."
He returned from the kitchen and handed a glass to Eve, keeping one for himself. He raised it to her.
"Salut."
She sipped her water and wondered where they exactly would meet.
Maybe he'll suggest we talk in the bedroom. Sitting together on the bed?
"I was thinking we could meet in the garden. That is, if it's not too chilly."
"No, that sounds fine. It's nice out."
"Good. Well, then, follow me."
He led her down a hallway. They passed an empty dining room and a large kitchen. He stepped briefly into his office to pick up some papers. It was the only room that seemed furnished, with bookshelves and a large walnut desk with piles of papers stacked on it.
They went out the back door and down a flight of wooden stairs to a large patio and garden. Tall trees lined the property. Two lawn chairs had been set up facing each other among the rose bushes.
"My officina al fresco," he said wryly. "Have a seat."
She sat down and pulled out a notepad and pen. The sun shone on them through a pair of pine trees.
"So, Eve, tell me. How do you feel your rewrite went?"
He always starts with what I think. I have to remember that.
"Well, um, I worked hard to try and deepen Cyn's characterization. I worked on exploring some of her conflicts and desires. Some things that might not be as flattering to her character. I think it went pretty well."
"I see," he answered. He was listening intently.
"And last time we talked about finding ways to bring out her inner life, to dramatize her sub-conscious. Do you feel you were able to do that?"
Oh God, he doesn't think I did that. How do I answer?
"Well, I tried to show that Cyn was attracted to Kyle but that she wasn't able to act on it. And that frustrated her. Immensely."
He nodded. Then he looked at the copy of her story he was holding.
"I think," he said slowly, "you've done a pretty good job of starting to deepen Cyn's character. We do get a sense that's there's more going on beneath the surface. That there's a living, breathing character there. However, I feel you can take it further. For example, the night after Cyn rehearses the bedroom scene with Kyle, when she first sees him without his shirt on, you write: 'Images of him flooded her thoughts, like rogue waves hammering the shore of her psyche. She sought refuge in her solitude and her solitary pleasures.'"
He lowered the paper and looked at her.
"It's evocative writing to be sure, but what does it mean ultimately? Does it mean she takes long walks in the woods? Or swims laps at the neighborhood pool? Or reads Jane Austin by the fire. As a reader, I've virtually no idea. The ambiguity in this passage, the lack of specificity, inhibits our understanding of the character."
Eve shifted in her seat.
Damn it! He doesn't like it. I blew it.
"You need to work on finding the telling detail that brings her character to life. The specifics that reveal the general. You know the old expression 'Don't tell. Show.' That needs to be your motto. You're telling in general terms, not showing in specific ones. That's what I meant by dramatizing the inner life of your characters. Do you understand?"
She thought she did but she had no idea how she was going to do it.
"I think so. I need to find the details, the specifics, that show character. Instead of just describing it generally. I need to find ways to dramatize it."
