Ranger belongs to Janet E. and I received no compensation for this story.
Strange Interview
I was sitting in a recliner in my living room last night, trying to read a book by one of my favorite authors, Janet Evanovich. My husband, Kenneth, had gone to bed early and my cat, Lucy, was curled up in my lap, with a fat paw covering the page. It was her normal tactic to get attention. So I stopped reading and started day-dreaming about the male romantic lead in Janet’s book.
Since I started my own career as a writer, I permit myself to indulge in such creative moments and try to remember to take notes for future writing projects.
Lucy suddenly sat up, staring across the room. She hissed as she jumped off my lap and raced down the hall to my bedroom to hide. I looked up.
A young, dark-haired man was standing in my doorway. He was about 6 foot tall, give or take an inch, and he was in really great shape. His dark brown eyes stared at me and he seemed to be confused. I recognized him immediately.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Mary Clayton.” I held my breath.
“Yo,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. He walked slowly into the room, looking around.
I waved toward my husband’s favorite leather chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
“What is this place?” I saw his curiosity far out weighted his confusion. He walked over and sat down. “You a writer or something?” he asked, staring at the piles of books, notebooks and manuscripts and the laptop, which was perched on the coffee table in front of me.
“Yeah, I’m trying to be.”
He picked up a manuscript, my latest and just completed effort, which was titled So She Wore Red. “You write this?”
I nodded.
He flipped a few pages, skimming the text quickly, then stopped. He looked up at me and grinned. “Ranger huh?”
“Couldn’t help myself.” I said, returning his grin.
“So, you’re responsible for me being here.” he said. “That raises a question. Does Janet know about this?” he raised his eyebrow.
“Probably not.”
He laughed. “You might be wading into dangerous waters. ”
“Look,” I said, “I just want to interview you. Consider it research.”
“Hum… like ask me questions about stuff you want to know about me, that Janet hasn’t written about already?”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Well, sometimes, Janet is not always clear about why you do things.”
“Oh, so you are into those motive things,” He grinned.
“More like a clarification of motives.”
“Ok, Sherlock, ask me anything, except how the story is going to end.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Haven’t a clue, but if I was as betting person, I would say I probably get shot again.”
“Yeah, what’s with that anyway?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Again, no clue.”
“She leaves you out a lot.”
“Tell me about it.” He stretched his long legs out and crossed his ankles.
“I wouldn’t.” I said, “leave you out, I mean.”
He grinned at me and looked down at my manuscript. I sat quietly as he carefully read several pages.
“This isn’t me,” he said, “but he seems like a good guy.”
I watched him continue to read. He would smile occasionally and glance up at me.
“I like this part,” he said, blushing slightly.
“Sex scene?” I smirked.
“I think you could give Janet some tips.”
“That’s funny.”
He leaned back and stretched his arms above his head and rested his hands on his head. He looked over at the TV, which Kenneth had left on, but with the sound muted. “What are you watching?”
“NCIS.”
“And that is?”
“Military Crime Investigation Something?”
“That’s a weird name.”
I laughed. “OK, wait! It’s Naval Criminal Investigative Service. It’s a good show.” I picked up the remote and restored the sound.
He watched NCIS until a commercial interrupted. “How often is this show on?”
“Every Tuesday. Why?”
“I like it. So, would you mind if I came back next Tuesday?”
“Not at all,” I said.
“You’re cool for an old babe.”
“Thanks, I think. Could you just drop the old part?”
“Sorry,” he looked a little embarrased.
“That Nick guy looks a little like me. Except he is mucho shorter.”
“Yeah, like about 4 inches. Nick is cute, and he has five o clock shadow all day long.”
“You like that?” he asked.
“It looks good on some people.” I glanced at him. “Yeah, probably would look great on you.” I tilted my head. “You know, you should wear more red.”
“Hey, I’m not responsible for what I wear.”
I got up and walked down the hall. When I got back I tossed him a red T Shirt.
He held it up and looked at it. “Babe, this shirt has an ugly pig on it.”
“Excuse me, that’s a razorback!” I glared at him. “It’s a wild animal, not a candidate for the dinner table.”
He pulled off his black shirt and pulled the Red T shirt on. “I wonder what Janet would say if she could see me in this.”
“It is a little out of character for you.”
He grinned at me. “How do I look?” he asked.
“Great! Now you just need to call the hogs.”
“Who? You shouldn’t be calling people hogs. Or is that their name? Okay, what’s their phone number?”
“Oh, gee do you have a lot to learn.”
He frowned, then pulled his phone out. “Ok, whatever you say babe. Let’s call those Hogs.”
“Wait,” I said, “you don’t need your phone.”
He raised his eye brows at me. “Explain?”
“Ah, gee, don’t start with those one word sentences.”
“Saves time.”
“Well actually it doesn’t, it just seems to start more conversations.” I said, waving my arms.
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“OK, Ok, don’t get huffy.” I said, shaking my head.
“So, how do you call someone without a phone?” He shook his phone at me.
I jumped to my feet. “Whooooo pig soooooie! Go Razorbacks!” I shouted, getting into the spirit and punching the air with my fist.
“Babe, are you kidding me? I’m not doing that!”
I gave him my pouty face. He laughed.
“Surely you went to college.” I said.
“Yeah, but they didn’t have a class on calling livestock.”
“Didn’t you compete in any sports, like football or baseball?”
“Sure. But not Porky Pig contests.”
“Razorbacks!” I shrieked.
He just stared at me and I sighed. “Quite a bit of difference between New Jersey and Arkansas.”
“So we’re in Arkansas?”
I just nodded.
He glanced up at the TV. “Hey they have another NCIS show in New Orleans?”
“Yes and yes.”
“You ever been to New Orleans?” he asked.
“Several times, I love it. New Orleans is way cool.”
“Maybe Janet will let me go down there some time.”
“Do you talk to her much?”
“Not really. I have to ESP her. She doesn’t always listen to me.” His phone rang. He looked down. “Gotta go Babe, Janet needs me.”
“So you’ll be back next Tuesday?”
“Mary Clayton, I promise to come back next Tuesday.” He stood up. “This has been interesting. Black and white sometimes gets old.” He smiled.
“Thanks for keeping an old lady company,” I said.
“See ya babe,” he grinned.
“See ya Ranger.”
I sat back reflecting on our conversation. “Drat!” I exclaimed. “I forgot to ask him any of my questions.”
Mary Clayton Writing 