One of my older novels Breath of Life, from Chapter Seven:
I sat in my chair, slumped and slouched really, disillusioned once again with my possible appeal to this woman who had suddenly and dramatically become the solitary objective of my desire and affection. It was absurd in some ways because it sort of felt like breaking out of this self-imposed cocoon, and I wanted so badly to fly with it now. To rush into this new air I was breathing which no longer seemed suffocating and cramped and binding. Part of me wanted to jab my arm in the air in the sign of victory or at least celebration of some kind of goal. A score. A treasure. A miraculous discovery even! I was starting to feel life again. Shaylen Price or Cabin LuCaine had slapped the paddles on my flat-lining self and jolted me back from the dead. I shouldn’t wonder that the woman was cautious. And I certainly shouldn’t begrudge her that. If in fact she was a virgin, going out with the likes of what she might’ve gathered me to be—well, that was a potentially intimidating adventure for sure. Wasn’t it? To someone like her?
Ken Pauley snapped me out of my pondering.
“Ready?”
“For what?” I questioned, totally unaware that I needed to be.
“Our meeting with Reuben,” Ken informed me as if I’d lost my sensibility which wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
I sat up rigid. I wasn’t prepared for this meeting I’d forgotten. I could wing it I was sure, but just in case I grabbed a notebook from a bottom drawer and reached for my favorite pen while standing and coming out from behind my desk. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” I decided taking a look at the time on my watch. At least Reuben would be quick—he was never one for long meetings—and I was never more grateful for the fact than at this moment.
As we headed down the hall to the boss’s office, the corporate bigwig’s grand headquarters, Ken said to me, “You forgot about this meeting, didn’t you?” His eyes remained steadfast on the goal which was at the end of the corridor.
“I did,” I confessed.
“You seem distracted lately, Mike. Something going on?”
He meant no harm. I got that. He was actually concerned, I thought momentarily.
“You’re right. I have been distracted. And edgy. And, no, there’s nothing ‘going on’ per se. My head’s in the game. I’m just trying to figure out how to go about some things, maybe make some changes. Nothing I can really elaborate on because it’s all fairly vague right now. Sorry I can’t be more specific,” I conceded.
We only had a few more feet to go before coming to Reuben’s palatial office, and I sensed I’d satisfied his request. Men don’t generally choose to get beneath the surface with each other, especially business associates, and that’s all Ken Pauley really was. We couldn’t justifiably be termed friends—certainly not close ones anyway.
“Still think we should go clubbing, big guy.” His way of saying things were cool, and everything would be better with a good one night stand.
I gave a gratuitous laugh, and we were escorted into Reuben’s office by Miss Moneypenny—my endearing name for Barbara Hutchins, Reuben Barclay’s secretary.
Father, thank you for these characters, their voices, their desires and circumstances. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.