Submitted For Your Disapproval

One by one they seated themselves at the big rectangular table in the middle of the cafe. Greetings were exchanged, coffee and pastries were consumed. When the last member had settled in, the bimonthly meeting of the Hudson Valley Writer’s Group began. 

“Great to see everyone!” Jenny chirped. “I hope you’re all fully recovered from the excitement of the last meeting and ready to pick up where we left off!” 

She was, of course, referring to the customer who’d suffered a heart attack. He was a familiar face in the cafe, one of the many regulars the group had walked past or waited in line with over the sixteen months they’d been meeting there. Watching the paramedics wheel him out on a stretcher was unsettling, so much so they’d ended the meeting early. Now, two weeks later, Jennifer’s attempt at both acknowledging the elephant in the room and breezing past it failed miserably. 

“Does anyone know what happened to that guy?” Liza asked. 

Head shakes all around. 

“I must have seen that guy a hundred times but never said so much as a hello to him,” Jessica sighed. 

“Come on, we can’t beat ourselves up over this,” Patrick said. “We all tend to live in our own insular cocoons. How many of us know the barista’s names?” 

“Courtney, Rob, Ben, and the girl who started last week, Emily,” Liza said, rattling off the names like a student taking a pop quiz. The group stared at her in stunned silenced. When she realized they were actually staring past her, she turned around and was stunned into silence as well.   

Heart Attack Guy was standing in front of them. He was about sixty years old, with more hair in his ears than on his head. Though short and stocky, his clothes hung loose on his frame, as though he’d recently lost weight. He cleared his throat. “Hi, are you the writing group? Name’s Frank. You might remember me from the incident a couple of weeks ago?” He asked with a nervous chuckle. 

“Yes of course!” Jenny blurted out. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Frank replied with a shaky smile. “Just got out of the hospital on Monday. Had a lot of time to think while I was lying in bed hooked up to a bunch of machines, mostly about my life and all the wasted opportunities. Here I am, in my golden years, and what do I have to show for it?”

No one knew how to respond to that. Fortunately Frank saved them the trouble by speaking again, the words pouring out of him like torrential rainwater from a drainpipe.

“Spent thirty-two years as a commercial sales manager for a building materials distributor. Never married, no kids, and on my last birthday my dog ran away. So now what?” He pulled some folded papers from his back pocket. “I’ve been wanting to write a novel for years but I never seemed to have the time. Well, when I got home I sat down and started writing and it was like a dam had burst! Anyway, I have the first couple of chapters written and would love to get some feedback. Would it be okay if I sat in with you guys?”

When Frank finally stopped talking the members exchanged awkward glances until all eyes finally fell on Jenny. She turned to him and nodded approvingly. “We’d love to hear your work. Have a seat!”

A shuffling of chairs and a quick round of introductions later, they were ready to begin. “Okay, Frank, here’s how this works,” Jenny said. “Each person has three minutes to read an excerpt from what you’re working on. Then the group takes five minutes to give that person feedback. Don’t feel like you have to say anything, you can just observe if you want.” 

“Actually, would it be okay if I read first? I’m raring to go!” Frank said eagerly. 

“I don’t think anyone would object to that,” Jenny smiled. The others murmured their approval. “First, could you tell us a little bit about your story?”

“Uh…it’s about a guy who survives a terrible disease that forces him to reevaluate his life,” Frank said sheepishly. “Not very original, I know.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Jessica said reassuringly. “Most stories have a familiar themes. You just have to put your own spin on them.”

“That’s right,” Liza added. “Your voice is what makes your story unique.”

“I hope so,” Frank said, sounding more relaxed.

“Are you ready?” Jenny asked Frank as she set the timer. He nodded and she pushed the button. “Begin!”  

“Bruce was very lonely. After spending three months in quarantine fighting a rare disease he’d picked up fighting insurgents in Afghanistan, he was desperate for the company of another human being. He picked up the phone and ordered a pizza. It arrived forty minutes later, delivered by a beautiful young girl. ‘That pizza took more than thirty minutes so I get it for free’ he said. ‘Please, sir, if you don’t pay for it I’ll lose my job,’ the girl replied. ‘I don’t want that, but I must insist on some kind of compensation,’ Bruce said. She smiled widely and…” 

What followed next was a very long, very graphic sex scene. The group stared at Frank as his voice grew louder and more animated, captivated by his words in the sense that a bank teller is captivated by a bank robber. All around them people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, or gathered their children and hurried out the door. The timer beeped but Frank kept talking, and didn’t stop until Jenny said his name twice and waved her hand in front of his face. 

“Time’s up already?” Frank asked, his face beet red. He let out deep breath and wiped his forehead with a napkin. “Well, what do you think?”

There was a long pause as everyone mentally scrambled for the most diplomatic words.

“It’s really…vivid,” Jessica said.

“Yes, definitely,” Patrick chimed in. “You paint a very clear picture.”

“Agreed,” Liza said. “But you might want to tone it down a bit.”

Frank frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You jumped to a lengthy and graphic sex scene in the very first chapter. There’s no context, no buildup. It just happens,” she replied.

“There’s buildup!” Frank huffed. “There’s about three or four buildups!” 

“It’s just that most publishers aren’t interested in manuscripts with explicit sex scenes,” Jenny said. 

“You expect me to believe that people don’t want to read about sex?” Frank asked.

“Sure they do,” Jenny replied. “But when you write a sex scene it should add something to the characters or the plot. And should appeal to more…conventional tastes.”

“It’s no big deal,” Patrick said. “Just leave out the hardcore stuff, like the part with the dog and the cat.”

“And the cat poop!” Jessica quickly added. 

“I think I understand,” Frank said quietly. He got up from the table. “This was a mistake.”

“Wait, Frank, don’t go,” Jenny said. “We don’t mean to sound harsh, but…”

“No, I get it,” Frank interrupted. “You’re all just a bunch of politically correct little snowflakes! Women’s Lib was the worst thing that ever happened to this country! We let women have careers and birth control and they repaid us by turning all the men into pussies!” He glared at Patrick, as if daring him to deny it. “Well you go ahead and hide in your little world of rainbows and unicorns and let the rest of us…” Frank’s face suddenly paled and he swayed in place, gulping for air, before collapsing to the floor.  

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Krystal stopped reading and looked up at the rest of the group, who were leaning back in their chairs wearing their usual thoughtful expressions. 

“I like it so far,” Matt said.

“Me too,” Sara agreed.

“Is Liza based on anyone?” Lori said suddenly.

“No, why?” Krystal blinked.

“She comes across as kind of smug, like she thinks she’s smarter than everyone else,” Lori said. “It seemed kind of personal, like you were ripping on someone you knew.” 

“Really? Because that wasn’t my intention,” Krystal said, flipping through the pages looking for Liza’s dialogue.

“Why did you make Heart Attack Guy a jerk?” Sara asked.

“Um…I guess I figured most people would expect him to be all humble and stuff after a big scare like that, so I went in the other direction.”

“I sure didn’t expect it,” Matt said. The others nodded in agreement. 

When it became apparent no one had anything else to add, Sara volunteered to go next. “Hey, does anybody know what happened to that guy for real?” She asked.

“I heard he died,” Lori said as she pushed the start button.