Featured Review on this writing by hullabaloo22

A First Date

Reads: 239  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 4

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
On Booksie you’re a blonde bombshell! -- (600 words)

Submitted: April 05, 2019

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Submitted: April 05, 2019

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Jim MacLeod is a keen young crime-writer from Edinburgh. He thinks he's in the great tradition of police procedurals from that grand city.

He has written a novel and thirteen short stories. There are lots of murders in Kirkcaldy where his stories are set.

He publishes his work on an international self-publishing site. He hopes a cruising agent will pick him up.

It hasn't happened quite yet.

Give it time.

---

Jim has a fan - Hannah Arendt. She is coy about her personal details. Her profile picture shows a rocket launching into pastel stars. She writes romantic stories about handsome men. They are rather risqué.

He is entranced by the vigour of her colourful writing! She is explosive! Irreverent! A rule-breaker!

---

They exchange private messages. They are witty and fearless. Together they transgress. He builds an image from her texts. She is twenty, slim, blonde, bubbly, vivacious. She throws her head back and laughs, perhaps a little too loudly.

He is a crime writer. He understands profiling. This is what he does.

He must meet her, his soulmate!

---

She has agreed! He will have to travel to London. She has demanded security: an exact time and place. They will meet mid-afternoon in the waiting room at Luton railway station.

A little discordance there, he thinks.  But she immediately follows up with the news that she has arranged intimate accommodation nearby.

The trip to her boudoir feeds his imagination.

“How will I know you?” he writes.

What a stupid question, he thinks. He asks only to tease. It's what one of his characters would say.

“I will be carrying a copy of The Times” she coyly writes back.

---

He arrives at ten minutes to three. He is ten minutes early. In his stories, the detective always does this. Arrives a little early to scope out the scene.

Truth is, there is little to scope at Luton railway station waiting room. Which is Victorian-shabby, cracked-plaster and bricks, steel-lace seats screwed to the floor. A floor which is stained and littered with paper, discarded cups and fast-food wrappings.

As Jim steps in he finds three occupants.

An old man wearing a brown overcoat is quietly reading. He's wearing a flat cap. A moustache decorates his pasty face. He's sitting in a wheelchair.

I hope he pushes off, thinks Jim.

A more entrancing prospect is the young lady with the elegant coat, invisible skirt and captivating black tights. He wonders if she might be the one? It's true that her hair is brown, not blonde; that her adjacent pushchair contains a murmuring infant, and that she’s ignoring him.

But is that a newspaper on her lap?

The station clock rings out a count of three. The hiss of brakes and an indecipherable booming from the tannoy announces the prompt arrival of the train from London.

Could this be hers?

The lady with the stroller unfolds her long legs and exits the waiting room. Jim is in a state of feverish excitement. He stands up, scans the platform through the windows. He is sure he will instantly recognise the object of his desire.

There is the sound of throat-clearing behind him. Jim turns around. The old man in the wheelchair has lifted the copy of his newspaper.

“I'm Hannah,” he says in a lisping, effeminate voice, a gathering smile displaying his crooked teeth.

“And you must be .., Jim?”


© Copyright 2019 AdamCarlton. All rights reserved.

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