I spent my writing sessions this week converting my very detailed outline into the first 10 chapters of my novel. I’ve hemmed and hawed about how I’m going to split it up into serialized parts. I want to make sure I give you guys and gals enough meat in each part of the book so it doesn’t feel like a rip off. This is all very new to me, but I’m going to do my best and I hope that you’ll enjoy what I put out there.
Here’s a little more information on the book. I’m trying to nail down what Amazon category I’ll put it in. As an homage to one of my favorite TV shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I’ve found it fits best into Young Adult Contemporary/Urban Fantasy. If you’re not a fan of that genre, I hope you like me enough to become one for a few books here and there.
This week’s story is going to be the first part of three. If you’ve known me for a few years, you’ve likely at least heard mention of this tale. Before I got hitched, this was my first date story. This was the college adventure that told my friends and loved ones I was a “wild and crazy guy.” Enough build-up. Let’s get into it.
Ms. Kitty and Mr. Cohen, Part I
I don’t know why I did it to myself. Four classes in a row. I supposed that taking an 8 a.m., 9 a.m., 10 a.m. and 11 a.m. class back-to-back every Monday, Wednesday and Friday would give me some kind of afternoon burst of freedom. Instead, it left me exhausted and weird. It didn’t help matters that my last class of the day was an absolute waste. Archaeology was an interesting subject. It wasn’t quite as compelling when the teacher read directly from the notes on her presentation slides, while showing them to you in a dark, echoing classroom. I would have crashed and burned right there if I didn’t have something to look forward to that afternoon.
Elizabeth was the kind of classmate who would wake you up if you fell asleep. She was my Biology 101 safety net in that regard. The previous semester, we’d bonded over her love for Jewish culture and the fact that I’m Jewish. Months ago, we’d committed to cooking a Jewish-Italian meal at her apartment and today was the day. It wasn’t a date, but as a lowly freshman, I was overjoyed to get out of the dorms and tell my friends I went over to a girl’s apartment. I was certain it’d be delicious, entertaining and that it’d get me some street creed among my peers. Elizabeth would pick me up later that afternoon for a grocery run, so I tried to shake my archaeology daze with a quick walk to the ATMs. That’s when I saw it. A limousine with a scantily clad woman sticking her head out of the sun roof.
On a major college campus, you’re bound to see some oddities. Wacky outfits, fraternity pledge pranks and wandering professional wrestlers, to name a few. This stretch limo in the middle of the library parking lot was enough to give me pause. The windows of the vehicle were tinted, so there was no way to see what else was going on inside. All I had to go on was the woman. She appeared to be in her 20s. She wore her makeup well and had the face of a knockout. Her body was cloaked with a fur coat and a ridiculous feather boa. I wondered if I’d walked onto a movie set without even knowing it. The woman must have noticed me staring.
She elongated each word, as if to draw me in with each passing second. Years and experience later, I might have stuck up a conversation. Instead, I uttered a nervous, “Hi,” and went on my way.
My quick pace away from awkwardness led me to the ATMs. After withdrawing a few twenties, my curiosity got the best of me. What was that limo doing there, I wondered. Who was that woman? By the time I got back to the parking lot, the vehicle was gone and the woman with it. It wasn’t the last time I’d see either.
Disheartened with the lack of resolution, I headed to the dining hall. As I walked around the back door, I noticed several hallmates sitting at an outdoor table. I shared my story with them almost immediately.
“Did you guys see that limo?”
My RA spoke up.
“Yeah, it’s in The Pit.”
The Pit was the center of campus. It was flanked by buildings on all sides and I’d never seen a vehicle larger than a golf cart driving through it.
“A limo? In The Pit?”
“Yeah. And a rolled out red carpet.”
My stomach told me it was lunch time, but I couldn’t eat yet. Not when I had a chance to solve this mystery. Not when I could see that woman again. Maybe this time, I’d talk to her too.
“Thanks guys. I’m gonna check this out.”
I steeled myself against the hunger and doubled my pace to The Pit.
To be continued…
Top Image: Flickr Creative Commons “La Dolce Jell-O” by Bonita Suraputra
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