Part of my idea for this blog was to play around with some characters in my head who haven’t warranted a full novel. I’m going to have them each as a “guest blogger” of sorts. I’ll label the parts of their story numerically so you can follow along. I’ll also create a category for each character over on the right-hand sidebar. I might do a Cast of Characters type page as well, once there are several residing here. Until then, here’s the first one, Reed Callaway…
There is one word that has the power to repel any man, young or old, rich or poor, handsome or plain.
“Lawyer,” I say, counting down: 3…2…he’s looking me up and down, trying to reconcile the long legs extending from a short red dress and the long, flowing blonde hair…1.
“You’re a lawyer?” he asks, as if he could more easily comprehend a unicorn or a leprechaun appearing before him.
Continuing the conversation is pointless. It won’t last more than another minute or two. Then he’ll retreat to the other side of the room so as not to catch whatever it is female lawyers exude from their being. If you haven’t heard, this decade’s version of the black plague is carried solely by females with a law license.
I smile sweetly, “I sure am. Do I not look like Perry Mason to you?”
“It’s just…” he says, stammering as he looks me up and down again, “female lawyers aren’t usually so attractive.”
“It must be that memo we get in law school, the one about how makeup and trendy clothes are grounds for disbarment. Thanks for the compliment though.” I flash another mega-watt smile at him. I know better, but I secretly hope maybe this guy is different.
He continues to eye me while he swigs the frothy amber nearly overflowing the glass in his hand. I’m sure he never imagined I’d passed any bar other than maybe the one next door on my way in from the parking lot.
There’s an awkward pause as he plans his exit strategy. It’s easy to be psychic when you’ve relived the scenario night after night in every bar in town.
“Well, I just wanted to say hi. My buddy, Reggie, over there,” he says, pointing back to his friends by the door, “it’s his last night before reporting to the Army. Gotta go throw a few back for old time’s sake.”
I’m relieved when he scurries back to his buddies, no doubt telling them the crazy tale about the blonde who looked like a bombshell and turned out to just be a bomb.
I finger the skinny straw protruding from my vodka tonic, rolling it between perfectly manicured red nails. They’re fake, like my hair. It’s not my fault I inherited weak nails and impossibly dark hair that makes my natural skin tone resemble paste. As I stab at the lime in my drink with frustration, I wonder why maintaining my appearance means I can’t also be intelligent and successful.
Don’t men always say they want a smart, beautiful female by their side? Who knew there were qualifiers? She has to be smart, but not smarter than him. She can make money, but he has to make more.
Aubrey arrives and convinces me that it’s who I’m meeting and where I’m meeting them. “Reed, honey,” she says, her voice as sweet and Southern as a Vidalia Onion, “you’re never gonna meet a man in a bar.”
Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 1)”